Mike Befeler Paul Jacobson Geezer-lit Mystery Series E-Book Box Set: Retirement Homes Are Murder, Living with Your Kids Is Murder, Senior Moments Are Murder, Cruising in Your Eighties Is Murder

by Mike Befeler

  At that moment Ciro returned. “You all look hungry. It’s time for dessert.”

  I licked my lips. “Yes, bring us one of everything.”

  “Your wish is my command.” He darted off.

  “Wait a minute. I thought I was kidding.”

  “Ciro has a good sense of humor,” Marion said. “We’ll see what he does.”

  And he did all right. In ten minutes Ciro and two waitresses returned and began piling desserts on our table. We had ice cream, sherbet, strawberry shortcake, German chocolate cake, Boston crème pie, rice pudding, a cheese plate and a fruit selection.

  “You’ve taught me a lesson,” I said, shaking a finger at Ciro.

  “Enjoy.” He gave us a huge smile and pranced away.

  After we demolished a good portion of the sweets, Andrew looked at his watch. “We have half an hour before the show starts. Are you up for some Broadway entertainment?”

  We all readily agreed. As we stood up to leave, I noticed a jacket hanging on a chair of an empty table next to us.

  “Did you see who was sitting here?” I asked.

  Helen, Andrew and Marion shook their heads.

  “Looks like someone forgot a coat,” I said, sauntering over to inspect it. I picked it up and searched the pockets for some identification, finding nothing but a balled-up tissue.

  Just then a man came charging up. “What are you doing with my jacket?” He grabbed it away from me and started patting the pockets.

  “My wallet’s gone. What did you do with my wallet?”

  I stared at the squat, balding man. “I did nothing. I was only trying to find the owner of the jacket.”

  He thrust an index finger at me. “I saw you going through the pockets. You stole my wallet.”

  “Nothing of the sort. I was looking for identification to locate the owner.”

  Andrew jumped in. “That’s correct. Paul was being helpful, not stealing anything of yours.”

  The man’s eyebrows pinched together. “I’m reporting this. What’s your name?”

  “It’s Paul Jacobson, and I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “You’re trying to rip off one of the Oldsters from Reno.”

  “You one of the bingo maniacs?”

  “Don’t insult my favorite pastime.”

  He turned abruptly and stomped off. I saw him stop at the reception desk, point toward me and shake a finger at the receptionist.

  “Very intense fellow,” I said.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure he’ll come to his senses.”

  Marion linked her arm with mine, and we headed off to the theater to be sung and danced to. The enthusiastic performance made me feel old, but I was entitled to that feeling since I was old.

  After the show, Andrew, who seemed to only be gaining energy as I waned, suggested a trip to the casino.

  Along the hallway we were almost mowed down by a group of twentysomethings in weird hats.

  “What the hell’s going on?” I asked politely.

  “Come join the party, old man,” one of them said, blowing a tin horn.

  “You act like it’s New Year’s Eve,” I said.

  “That’s right. We’re the pub crawlers celebrating New Year’s Eve in August.” He tossed a handful of confetti at me and disappeared around the corner.

  “Now I feel really old,” I said.

  “Cheer up,” Andrew said. “You can win big in the casino.”

  But once we entered the land of slot machines and game tables, I continued my winning streak from the bingo game: the machines ate all my money and spit nothing back.

  “I’m ready to wander back to the cabin,” I informed Marion.

  “You go ahead. I’ll be along in a while. I’m on a hot streak.”

  “I’m glad someone in the family is winning.”

  I thanked Andrew and Helen for an enjoyable evening and returned to my stateroom where I stepped out on the balcony to watch the white foam illuminated by reflected light from the ship. No midnight whales.

  My stomach knotted up at the memory of Inese’s twisted body on the spa room floor and the resulting accusations. I had to do something. Maybe Andrew could help. And tomorrow I’d be up against my biggest problem. I’d have forgotten everything from today. Then I remembered what Marion had given me. A journal. I reviewed the activities of the day in my mind, realizing that I needed to speak with a massage therapist named Renee in the morning. Then I sat down at the small cabin desk and documented what had transpired.

  With no Marion back by the time I had finished, I lay down on the bed to await her return.

  * * * * *

  I felt a shaking at my shoulder. My eyes popped open. Where was I?

  “Paul, are you awake?”

  A woman who looked vaguely familiar stood over me.

  “You’re . . . you’re . . .” I couldn’t find the name.

  “Marion.”

  “That’s right. Where are we?”

  “We’re on an Alaskan cruise. You nodded off. Did you know your head is in a pool of chocolate?”

  I felt the pillow and my hand encountered brown goo.

  Marion laughed. “You fell asleep on the chocolate the maid left when she turned down the bed. It melted.”

  “I’ve always been a hothead, but never like this.” I proceeded into the bathroom to scrub off.

  “I see you’ve been writing in your journal,” Marion said.

  A distant memory of writing something came back to me. Now that I was wide awake, I added a few scribblings about attack-chocolate in my journal, left a reminder note and retired for the night.

  * * * * *

  I stretched as I woke up, one arm bumping into a silver-haired woman lying next to me in bed. Who was she and where was I? I surveyed a crammed, tiny room. I plunked my feet down on the floor and padded to the curtains and peeked out. Holy crap. An expanse of ocean filled my view. I was on a ship. My last ship adventure occurred returning on a destroyer from the European theater after World War II. What was I doing out here in the middle of some ocean now?

  I turned back toward the bed and noticed a piece of paper on the nightstand. It read: “Read this first thing, you old goat. You’re on your honeymoon cruise to Alaska with your new wife Marion. Don’t get all worked up just because your short-term memory is in the crapper.”

  It appeared to be my handwriting. So I had left myself a love note to explain which end was up. I let out a deep sigh. New adventures for an old fart.

  Marion stirred. “Paul?”

  “Yeah, I’m up.”

  “I want to sleep a little longer.”

  “I found a note telling me that we’re married.”

  “That’s right. Read your journal and it will fill you in on the details. We can catch up further when I’m up.”

  She turned over and buried her face in the pillow.

  How about that? I’d gotten myself hitched again. I picked up the journal, went to the small desk, turned on the desk light and proceeded to read of the life and times of Paul Jacobson of the errant brain matter.

  When I had finished, I shook my head in wonder. On a honeymoon cruise and being accused of two murders. A homeless man in Seattle and a massage therapist on the ship. An old guy like me couldn’t have done all these things.

  From my reading I ascertained that one other item required my attention. I needed to speak with the massage therapist named Renee who was supposed to be on duty that morning. It was a long shot, but maybe Inese had been involved in some sort of love triangle.

  With the help of a pleasant young woman who was pushing a cart along the corridor, I found the spa and asked for Renee.

  “I’m sorry, she’s with a client right now,” the receptionist informed me as she inspected a bright red fingernail.

  “When might I catch her for a moment?”

  The woman now inspected all the fingernails on her right hand. “I’d say in thirty minutes.”

  I thanked her and decided to take a stro
ll. Following my routine of the previous day as described in my diary, I headed to deck thirteen and began walking along the track.

  I shivered in the cool air and looked up at wisps of clouds overhead. Off to the starboard appeared an emerald green coastline. I had never been to Alaska before, that I could remember, so this would be a whole new experience for me.

  On my second pass around the deck, I heard a voice call out behind me, “Paul, slow down so I can catch up to you.”

  A man in a sweatsuit came trotting up beside me. “Whew. You walk a mean pace.”

  “Once my legs shift into gear, they have one speed. . . . I hate to be impolite, but you know me. Since I can’t remember yesterday from split pea soup, who are you?”

  He chuckled. “We met on this track yesterday morning and had dinner together last night. I’m Andrew Black.”

  The name clicked from my journal. “That’s right. We even went to a shipboard Broadway show with our wives last night.”

  “Memory coming back?”

  “No. It’s gone forever, but I wrote a journal entry last night and read it this morning.”

  “That’s a good way to augment your memory.”

  “My bride will help me catch up more, but she’s sleeping in.”

  “Helen is doing the same. Whereas we male types are too hyper and have to burn off some energy.”

  “Yeah. A good walk boosts my circulation. I only wish it could stimulate my brain cells.”

  We completed another lap, and Andrew cleared his throat. “Last night at dinner I told you I might be able to help you with some of the problems you’ve encountered.”

  “I read that in my journal.”

  “That’s good. Sounds like you’re keeping accurate records.”

  I shrugged. “That’s the only way I can keep a handle on this whole strange sequence of events.”

  “I did uncover a little information. You have moved up from being a person of interest to being a suspect in both murders.”

  “Great.”

  He patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t take it personally. That’s just how the police and ship security operate.”

  “How can I not take it personally? It’s my life, or at least what’s left of it anyway.”

  Andrew chuckled. “The good news is that you’re not the only suspect in each murder, just one of the suspects in each.”

  “Who are my competitors?”

  “A homeless man in Seattle and the waiter who accosted you last night in regards to the shipboard slaying.”

  I thought back to my journal. “I passed a name on to the Seattle detective. Maybe he’s following up on it.”

  “It appears so.”

  “And this guy Grudion. What do I need to do to keep him off my back?”

  “Just cooperate fully. The truth will come out.”

  “I sure hope so. Say, how were you able to find out this information?”

  “I have a confession to make. I used to do some work for Scandinavian Sea Lines. I’m an attorney.”

  “Horse pucky. I’ve always hated lawyers, and here one is being kind to me.”

  He laughed. “Cheer up. There are lots of lawyers who help people.”

  “That’s not been my experience.”

  “You obviously had a negative run-in with a member of my profession.”

  “Many years ago when I ran my own business. The bugger filed a frivolous suit and tried to take my business away from me.”

  “But it sounds like he didn’t succeed.”

  “After two years of court appearances, the thing finally was thrown out.”

  “See, justice prevailed.”

  “Yeah, but it set me back twenty thousand dollars. Took me three years to recoup the money wasted on defending the lawsuit. All because some ambulance chaser had the bright idea of trying to scam me.”

  “I’ll keep checking in on your situation. I spoke with Grudion this morning, and I assured him of your solid character.”

  “But you hardly know me.”

  “I had a chance to see you in operation last evening. I’m a good judge of character.”

  “Well, I’m a character all right. And I appreciate the vote of confidence. If you can only convince Grudion now.”

  “I’ll work on it.”

  We said our goodbyes. I thanked him again for his concern and moseyed back to the spa to find Renee. The same receptionist womaned the desk.

  “I’m back looking for Renee,” I said, “ and you have a chip missing on your right index nail.”

  Her eyes widened in panic, but upon checking, she discovered everything was in order. Rather than being mad, she let out a sigh of relief. “You fooled me there.” She actually looked at me this time. “You can wait in the first room on the left.” She pointed, and I followed her directions and entered a small cubbyhole with a massage table in the middle. I inspected the place and imagined that this must have resembled the room where I received the ill-fated hot stone massage. From overhead the irritating bird-chirping music permeated the air.

  My thoughts of Jonathan Livingston Parakeet were interrupted by an attractive young woman entering the room. She reached out a slender hand. “You want to speak with me?”

  “Yes. It’s in regard to a waiter named Erik.”

  She wrinkled her brow. “Erik?”

  “I understand you mentioned him to some of your coworkers.”

  She laughed and flicked her wrist at me. “Oh that. We were talking about men on the staff. I just said that he was hot.”

  I imagined a hot stone sculpted in Erik’s likeness. “Are you seeing him?”

  “Goodness, no. I have a fiancé in Buenos Aires. It was only girl talk. Why are you asking?”

  I didn’t want to tip my hand, but I had to say something. “I had heard that Erik was seeing Inese.”

  Her eyes flashed. “And because of what happened to Inese you were checking on me?”

  I gulped. “Just trying to learn more about Erik.”

  “Well, I know nothing other than having seen him from a distance.” She turned and exited the room.

  I let out a sigh and followed her out. As I passed the reception area, I saw Renee speaking with Miss Fingernails. Then Renee pointed at me.

  I waved and headed back to my cabin. Marion had awoken, so we headed off to have some chow.

  After breakfast Marion said she wanted to visit the spa.

  “I’m not sure they’ll let me in after the events of yesterday I recorded in my journal.”

  “You’re a paying customer. Until they lock you up, you’re entitled to all the services of the spa.”

  “Thanks for putting it so gently. I just hope they don’t try to stuff me in one of the lockers.”

  Miss Fingernails had been replaced by another young woman who gave me a locker key without any dirty looks. After changing, I entered the pool area and deposited my towel on a lounge chair while listening to the bird-chirping music. Then I headed over to the hot tub. The place was deserted except for one bald-headed guy already in the Jacuzzi.

  “How are you this morning?” I asked.

  No answer.

  He seemed to be asleep or unconscious.

  I shook his shoulder.

  He slumped into the water.

  My heart started racing. He’d drown. I reached under and propped him back up. His head lolled to the side.

  “Help,” I shouted. “I need some help.”

  No one was there. Then Marion appeared.

  “Marion. Find someone. There’s an unconscious man who I’m trying to help.”

  She dashed out and returned with a man and woman in white uniforms who charged over to assist me.

  Between them, they lifted the man out of the hot tub and placed him on a lounge chair.

  “He’s breathing,” the woman said.

  Just then two attendants showed up with a gurney and carted the guy away.

  “Where are they taking him?” I asked.

  “To the infirmar
y on Deck Four,” the woman informed me.

  So much for a calm morning of listening to chirping bird music.

  The woman took down Marion and my names and then she left.

  Neither Marion nor I felt inclined to stay in the spa, so we adjourned to our respective locker rooms to change and then met in the reception area to return to our cabin.

  “That spa isn’t the healthiest place,” I said as we strolled along the corridor.

  “It should be. You’ve just had unfortunate luck there.”

  “I think it’s the chirping birds. They drive people to do crazy things.”

  Back in our stateroom, I decided it was time to look for whales again, and Marion joined me on our balcony. I scanned the horizon and leaned over the railing to look closely at the sea around us. I spotted a log and that was it.

  “Not very friendly whales around here,” I said.

  “A watched whale never breaches,” Marion replied.

  “Hell, I’d settle for a peek at a fin or two.”

  Then I sank back in a chair and continued to peruse the horizon. No whales.

  My reverie was broken by a knock on the door.

  “I’ll answer it,” I said, rising from the contentment of my oceanview perch.

  A man with bright red hair stood there.

  “We didn’t order room service,” I said.

  “We need to speak, Mr. Jacobson.”

  “You seem to know me, but who are you?”

  He whipped out an identification card to show me.

  “Oh, Mr. Grudion. The ship dick.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “It’s slang talk for cop. Come on in.”

  He entered.

  “May I offer you something out of our mini-bar?”

  “No thank you. We have several items to discuss.”

  “Fire away.”

  “Yah, Mr. Jacobson, I received a call earlier that a man matching your description was asking pointed questions of one of the massage therapists in the spa.”

  I gave Grudion my most sincere smile. “Nothing more than trying to check on one of the suspects. I thought there might be some romantic entanglement that led to Inese’s murder. That turned out to be a dead end.”

  “Poor choice of words, Mr. Jacobson. I also received a complaint from Mr. Julian Armour that you stole his wallet.”

  “I don’t know the name, but there was a man at dinner who was all worked up when I tried to return a jacket that had been left in the restaurant.”