by Mike Befeler
The light switch clicked and nothing happened. “Shit,” Daggett said.
Several more footsteps and then a pause. “I’ll bet you’re hiding in the closet. I think it’s time for a dead body in the closet.” Daggett laughed.
Mark shuffled his feet backward. His right foot bumped into something. His equipment bag. Mark reached down and pulled out his platform tennis paddle from the bag.
More heavy footsteps approached.
Mark could make out the faint outline of a head leaning into the closet. With all his strength, he raised the paddle and bashed it down on Daggett’s head.
The closet reverberated with a dull thud, followed by a thump as Daggett collapsed on the floor.
Mark felt the blood pulsing in his veins. He realized he’d been holding his breath and took a lungful of air.
Daggett didn’t move.
Mark stepped over the body and raced downstairs. He grabbed his roll of duct tape and ran back up the stairs, taking them three at a time. He screwed a bulb into the closest bedside lamp and turned it on.
Daggett lay motionless with blood trickling down his forehead. He breathed unevenly.
Mark turned him over and thrust the limp arms behind Lee’s back. He wound duct tape around both of Lee’s wrists. Then he wrapped Daggett’s ankles as well.
Moments later Mark’s doorbell rang.
He dashed downstairs and opened the door. Two police officers stood on his front porch.
“He’s upstairs.” Mark pointed.
The first officer pulled out his gun.
“That won’t be necessary. The intruder’s unconscious and tied up.”
Up in the bedroom, one of the police officers added handcuffs to the duct tape and cut the tape from Lee’s ankles.
Daggett moaned as he started to regain consciousness. The officers helped him to his feet.
Still groggy, Daggett tried to lunge at Mark, but one of the officers restrained him.
“Asshole,” Daggett muttered.
“A pleasure doing business with you, too, Daggett,” Mark said.
CHAPTER 38
First, Mark punched in Norm’s phone number.
Dawn answered.
“Hi, this is Mark. Thanks for providing Sophie a home away from home.”
“We’ve certainly enjoyed her visit. When will you be coming to see us?”
“No specific plans, but I think it’s time for you to have your place to yourselves without a visitor. May I speak with my bride?”
When Sophie picked up the phone, Mark said, “I’m done with all the investigating. I’m sorry for everything I put you through.”
“That sounds like the beginning of a good apology. Keep going.”
Mark let out a breath. “I love you and won’t do this again.”
“And you’re ready to return to normal?” Sophie asked.
“Yes. I sure miss you. Will you come home tomorrow?”
“I think that can be arranged. We’ve been apart too long. Expect me back late afternoon.”
Mark felt a smile cross his face. “That’s one of the two best pieces of news I’ve heard in weeks. The other good news is that Dr. Gallagher gave me a clean bill of health.”
Mark awoke at nine-thirty the next morning. He couldn’t recall any troubling dreams for the first time in weeks. A ribbon of sunlight danced on the rug as waves of radiant heat from the baseboard gently nudged the curtains. He stretched and pulled himself out of bed. He hadn’t slept this late since college.
He fixed a cup of instant coffee and two pieces of raisin-bread toast. Before he could decide what to do next, the phone rang.
“Mr. Yeager, this is Detective Peters. I need you to come here and make a complete statement.”
Mark looked at the sun-covered hillside and thought how it would be nice to take a hike. On the other hand, he had a platform tennis game at lunchtime so would have a chance to exercise then. And the courts would be staying at the North Boulder Rec Center.
“Sure. I can be there in half an hour. By the way, what happened to my ‘friends’ from last night?”
“Lee Daggett remains in custody for mutilating a deer. Under the animal cruelty law he could receive up to eighteen months in prison and a minimum fine of one thousand dollars.”
“That’s all?” Mark said, and heard his voice rising.
Peters chuckled. “Just testing your sense of humor. Daggett also faces two counts of murder and one of attempted murder. After we obtained a search warrant for his house, we found a dented platform tennis paddle and a pile of cracked coconuts in his backyard. Guess he practiced. We’ve also arrested Cheryl Idler for attempted murder and conspiracy to commit murder.”
“And Ken Idler?”
“No charges for murder, but he’s still being held. We have enough evidence to try him for drug smuggling.”
Mark smiled to himself. “Did you check the background of the rifles in the storage shed?”
“Yes.”
“I bet they turned out to be modified from semi-automatic to automatic.”
After a momentary pause Peters said, “That’s correct.”
“You should be able to track that modification to Howard Roscoe.”
“I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.”
“Peters, you play it so much by the book, but I know you’ll lock up Roscoe. Answer this one question for me: Who did Manny plan to sell the rifles to?”
“I don’t have to tell you that.”
“I know. But Manny’s already dead so the information won’t affect your investigation. Please soothe my curiosity, and I’ll stay out of your life from now on.”
Peters chuckled again. “You’ve heard my lectures, and none of them did any good. It will be worth it to get you out of my hair. I’ll tell you this much. A group of survivalists in Montana planned to buy the weapons.”
“Now, you only have to remove Jacob Fish from the streets of Boulder.”
“A warrant has been issued on federal charges of software piracy. The FBI will put him away for at least ten years.”
“Well, Peters, you made a clean sweep.”
Mark owed a friend a phone call. He punched in the number for Al Lawson at the Denver Post.
“I promised you a full report, Al, and here it is.”
“I’m eagerly waving my fingers over the keyboard.”
Mark recounted all he had learned concerning Idler, Roscoe, Fish and Daggett.
“I don’t know how much of that I can use, but you’ve given me several juicy stories,” Al said.
“Have at it and enjoy yourself.”
When Mark returned the phone receiver to its cradle, he thought that Ben’s comment when they found the rifles in the shed might have been right. Maybe Manny wanted to start a war.
Mark sighed.
Manny sure had failed him. And yet he had Manny to thank for insisting that he go in for a prostate checkup. He remained alive because of Manny, and Manny had died, caught in a strange web of illicit dealings, identity confusion and bad luck.
Mark finished his cup of coffee and took one more fleeting look out the window at the hillside. He saw a deer grazing amid patches of snow left over from the last storm. He smiled, thinking of Sophie and her battle with her garden marauders. Then he sauntered upstairs and removed his tennis shoes from the closet.
Extracting his roll of duct tape from the pantry, he sat in his favorite easy chair in the living room and carefully applied strips of tape to the bottom of his tennis shoes.
Sophie would be home this afternoon. After speaking to Peters and playing today’s platform tennis game, he’d tidy up the place and be ready for her return. Then he’d be seeing his daughter and her fiancé. Maybe after Audrey and Adam’s visit, he and Sophie should complete plans to take that trip to Hawaii. Somewhere to really relax before he started consulting. Just the two of them.
He stretched.
After surviving the last few days, only one wish remained.
He th
ought again of Sophie. He felt a long overdue stirring he had not experienced since his prostate-cancer surgery. Maybe tonight.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mike Befeler is author of six novels in the Paul Jacobson Geezer-lit Mystery Series: Retirement Homes Are Murder, Living with Your Kids Is Murder (a finalist for The Lefty Award for best humorous mystery of 2009), Senior Moments Are Murder, Cruising in Your Eighties Is Murder (a finalist for The Lefty Award for best humorous mystery of 2012), Care Homes Are Murder and Nursing Homes Are Murder. He has four other published mystery novels: The V V Agency, The Back Wing, Mystery of the Dinner Playhouse and Murder on the Switzerland Trail, and a nonfiction biography, For Liberty: A World War II Soldier’s Inspiring Life Story of Courage, Sacrifice, Survival and Resilience. Mike is past-president of the Rocky Mountain Chapter of Mystery Writers of America. He grew up in Honolulu, Hawaii, and now lives in Southern California, with his wife, Wendy. If you are interested in having the author speak to your book club, contact Mike Befeler at [email protected]. His web site is http://www.mikebefeler.com.
