Greatest Hits Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

by Langtry, Leslie

  Oh hell. I knew what was going on. “Mom, you have grandkids. Monty and Jack. Remember them?”

  “Oh, I know. I just thought it would be fun to have a baby in the family again.” Her eyes narrowed meaningfully at me.

  “I’m forty-five. I don’t want another baby.” I pointed at my aunt. “Borrow hers.”

  No one spoke for a minute and I haaaaaate uncomfortable silences, so I offered, “How’s Louis?” I was referring to her other new grandchild, seven-year-old child genius, Louis Bombay.

  Carolina beamed, “Oh! He’s so adorable! My only grandson. I spoil him rotten. But I have to admit, I have no idea what he’s saying most of the time.”

  I had to laugh at that. Louis was scary-smart. The long-lost son of my cousin Dakota, Louis was more like me than his father.

  “I’d love to have him visit,” I ventured. “He could work in the lab with me. Do you think I could borrow him sometime?”

  “Of course! He talks about you a lot. You made a huge impression on him when he was here last.”

  I nodded, and changed the subject. All this talk about babies felt like fire ants breeding under my skin. “Mom, I think you need to pull a few more strings on that Canadian show. It would be easier if I knew where we were going to be. Then I could do some research and make some plans based on the lay of the land.”

  “Hmmmm, what?” Mom looked up, her mouth full of Twizzlers. Where the hell had they come from? “Oh yes. You’ll be in Costa Rica, dear.”

  My heart leaped, “Really! That’s terrific! I’ve been there about thirty or forty times!” It was true. Costa Rica was my favorite places. I’d been just about everywhere – the beaches, San Jose, the cloud rainforest, the volcanoes. I felt a wave of relief drown the aforementioned imaginary fire ants.

  I frowned. “But if you know that and we find out what we need to know early, why can’t I just go and wax Vic before the cameras arrive?”

  She shook her head, “It just won’t work, Missi. The producers will notice that Vic died and you disappeared. We don’t want any untoward publicity.”

  I rolled my eyes. This from the same group that ordered my cousins Dak and Paris to come up with a marketing plan for the family business earlier this year, complete with a website and branding.

  “Fine. At least I know where I’m going.” I stood up and brushed the sand off my legs, getting ready to run back to my workshop.

  “Missi,” Mom said slowly, “why don’t you pack your bikinis for the trip? You have a nice figure and might as well show it off. You never know who will be watching the show.”

  “Mom, this isn’t a bizarre, jungle, blind date-a-thon. I’ll be on assignment. I’m not there to pick up men.”

  She leveled her eyes at me. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try. You’ve been without a man so long, you’re starting to get, well, a little strange.”

  This was coming from a stoned, sixty-seven-year-old woman with a floppy hat, 150+ sunscreen and a bag of Twizzlers.

  “She’s right, you know,” added the woman who, up until this moment, had been my favorite aunt. “Look at Gin and Dak! They found wonderful spouses. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life alone, do you?”

  I looked away, into the surf, repeating a silent mantra of I won’t kill them. I won’t kill them. I won’t kill them. After a few deep, cleansing breaths, I turned back to their upturned and inquisitive faces.

  “Well, I’ve got work to do, so I’d better get back. Nice to see you again, Carolina.”

  As I turned back and jogged in the direction of my lab, I realized that I’d finally figured out who would look after the twins while I was gone. And good luck to her. Mom wouldn’t miss grandkids after keeping up with those two for a month.

  That thought made me feel a lot better.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Hey Romy, remember Mrs. Divitz’s class, there was like always a word problem. Like there’s a guy in a rowboat going X miles, and the current is going, like, you know, some other miles, and how long does it take him to get to town? It’s like, ‘Who cares? Who wants to go to town with a guy who drives a rowboat?’”

  - Romy & Michelle’s High School Reunion

  Sure. I’d like to find someone special again. But that was not first and foremost in my mind. I was married once. He was a great guy. Rudy could make my heart swirl, was fantastic in bed and he fathered two, wonderful sons. Unfortunately, he had really bad timing while crossing the street in Dallas. It’s said that when the bus full of evangelical teens hit him, you could hear him screaming a mile away.

  I slammed a few drawers in my bedroom. Mom had to know she pissed me off with this crap. I decided a long time ago that I’d met my perfect match. And while it was unfortunate that fate intervened in the form of a busload of Christian adolescents singing, “Kumbaya,” my chance for love was over.

  The accident left me a widowed mother of twin boys going through their terrible two’s. I fled my life in Texas and moved back here. And that’s how it’s been ever since.

  I was happy. Living on a tropical island was everyone’s idea of a dream. It made it possible for me to pursue my first loves – science and invention. I had a huge trust fund (all Bombays did) and could travel whenever I wanted. Life was perfect. My stomach clenched. Where did that feeling come from? I loved my life on Santa Muerta.

  Which might be why I wasn’t looking forward to this upcoming trip. I scanned the collection of swimsuits now laid out on my bed. No, I wasn’t going to wear any bikinis, no matter how bad Mom wanted me to. Not that I was worried about my body – I took care of myself and exercised. I even invented a skin cream that made me look much younger than I was. If I had to, I could turn the cosmetics industry on its ass. Even so, I chose a couple of one-piece suits and put the rest away.

  It occurred to me that I didn’t know what to pack. There were no instructions. Maybe we’d get to take a backpack? I’d heard somewhere that contestants were allowed to bring one personal item. What would I take? Deodorant? A toothbrush? Scissors? Twister? I love that game!

  Hmmm. From what I’d seen before, the biggest trouble was making fire and cutting things. I’d need to come up with something that would hide flint and a cutting edge. That gave me the first glimmer of hope and I took off through the jungle to my workshop.

  I went through boxes with my usual stab at organization – throwing crap everywhere. Truth be told, I wasn’t very tidy. Oh, I knew where everything was – but I didn’t know what I was looking for. But I still haven’t found, what I’m looking for. Mental note – download more U2 onto iPod. I wonder if they’d let me take that with me?

  Hmmm. Surveying the clutter, I realized I’d need a plan. Well, I could always come up with some sort of flint scissors. No – I’d never get on the airplane with those. Whatever I made had to get past security screeners. Of course, I could hide a blade in some sort of lead enclosure.

  Oh brother. That’s what I get for reading the kids’ Superman comic books. In my own defense, I’ve always been a comic book geek. I’m still not sure how the boys got hold of an Action #1 from June 1938. They were extremely rare and very, very expensive. Truth be told – I didn’t really want to know anyway.

  Okay. What would Batman do? Bruce Wayne was an inventor. He had what I thought was the best superpower – a brain. Sure, Superman could fly, was bulletproof and strong. But he wasn’t near as smart as Batman – who could do all those things, with his BRAIN. Wait a minute. I don’t mean that his brain was bulletproof and could fly. That would be ridiculous. I mean, where would it go?

  GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Focus, Missi! Focus!

  Unfortunately, it was impossible. So I fired up the speed boat to head to the mainland for some supplies. There was this great surplus store in Ecuador (Hey! That rhymes!) where I filled up on flints and knives in various shapes and sizes. I was back home by evening and unloaded everything on the kitchen table while I whipped up some tapas for dinner.

  “Cool stuff, Mom!” Jack and Monty
burst into the kitchen like Siamese twins. Hmmm. I don’t know if I’d ever seen them apart. There was that stomach thing again.

  “Is this for Survivor?” Monty frowned as he flipped one of the butterfly knives expertly back and forth. Most moms would be freaked out to see their teenage son do that, but I was proud. I taught them that trick when they were seven.

  “It’s Survival. A Canadian show. And yes. I’m trying to figure out how to smuggle them onto the program.” I shoved a couple of plates toward them and we all sat at the breakfast bar to eat.

  Jack picked up one of the flints shaped like a small rectangle, “Can you hide it in soap or something?”

  I shook my head. Damn. These tapas were gooooood. I reached for the sour cream. “I don’t think they let you take stuff like that. I think we get to bring a small tote bag of clothes, but I don’t know if we’re allowed anything else.”

  The boys looked at each other, then down at the stuff, then back at each other. I know this may sound weird, but I admired that connection. It was comforting knowing they’d have it for the rest of their lives. Monty and Jack would never be alone. My stomach winced, and this time I reached for the antacid.

  We continued to eat while picking at the pile of flints and blades. None of us spoke. But I knew that was because we were all trying to come up with a solution to my problem.

  Wow. I’d never really thought of my sons as adults before. They’d had their training and first kills of course, but it didn’t occur to me until this moment that my sons could help me with anything. Kinda brings a tear to my eye.

  The phone interrupted this Hallmark moment and I picked it up.

  “Gotta go, boys,” I said, replacing the receiver. “The Council’s got the scoop on the other contestants.”

  Jack leaped up. “Can we go?”

  “Please?” Monty begged.

  “I don’t see why not.” I shrugged. “After all, it doesn’t really matter who anyone is but the Vic.”

  The three of us headed downstairs to the conference room to meet with the Council. Despite their age, they were very protective of me. Both taller than yours truly, they flanked me like bodyguards.

  You know, it was sort of nice that the boys were interested in my assignment. I felt a bit of pride welling up. Someday maybe the three of us could work together. Neither boy had any interest in inventing, but their brains were as slippery as Lex Luthor’s, and that made them smart enough to be helpful.

  As we entered the room, I noticed that only Georgia and York were there, pointing to a cluttered table.

  “He’s a stud!” Jack pointed at the picture of one of the contestants.

  “Yeah! Mom could actually get some!” Monty nudged his brother and they grinned at me. Okay. Maybe not so helpful.

  “Get some?” I hollered. “Get out!” I pointed to the door and watched as they put on their saddest puppy dog eyes and slunk out of the room.

  I turned back to York and Georgia. Where was Mom? And the others?

  Georgia smiled – she’d had two boys too. Unfortunately, I’d killed her evil son Richie a little less than a year before, but she didn’t seem to hold it against me. She still had Coney – her son with a Ph.D. from an Ivy League school who up until recently was a carnie. I heard he was on some sort of sabbatical now.

  “Here’s a list of the other participants.” She brushed her dark brown hair from her eyes before continuing. “I managed to hack into the studio’s server.”

  The table was littered with 8”x10” glossy photos and resumes. I picked up the one the boys had pointed out. Hmmmm. Lex Danby. Lex? Like the bad guy in Superman? I brought the photo closer. He was cute. I felt my face redden and quickly put it down. Looking up at Georgia confirmed my fear – she’d seen it. My aunt winked at me.

  Isaac Beckett, the Vic, was there too. Apparently he claimed to be an expert poker player. I guess putting “terrorist” on his application might have made them think twice. He was almost as hot as Lex. But bad guys were verboten. Maybe it had been too long since I’d had a boyfriend. Of course that would mean Mom was right and there was NO WAY I’d admit that!

  “Take these with you and study them,” York interrupted with a yawn. Apparently I was boring him. “You should be getting your instructions in the mail today.” He waved his hand, indicating with arrogant dismissal that I was done here. You know, being on Survival might actually be a nice break from dealing with the Bombays.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Olive: I'd like to dedicate this to my grandpa, who showed me these moves.

  Pageant MC: Aww, that is so sweet.

  [Audience applauds]

  Pageant MC: Is he here? Where's your grandpa right now?

  Olive: In the trunk of our car.

  - Little Miss Sunshine

  I gotta hand it to Georgia – she did a good job of getting these profiles. Sitting at the dining room table, I spread the sheets and photos out. There would be twelve of us in all. And except for one African American, it appeared that diversity was an afterthought. Oh well. I wasn’t really there to save the world.

  I was already bored. Isaac Beckett grinned at me from the table top so I thought it was time to play “Get To Know Your Vic!”

  He was cute. Actually, he was gorgeous, with dark, wavy hair, an olive complexion and striking green eyes. The profile told me he was forty-one, single, a pro poker player from Toronto who liked Mexican food and had never been camping a day in his life. I squinted at the picture, as if that would allow me to see something I missed. It occurred to me that I didn’t have a dossier on him yet. The Council was definitely slipping.

  “Mail!” Monty and Jack shouted in unison as they dumped a pile on the table. I moved my stuff out of the way. I liked mail. Granted, we had to go to the mainland to get it, but the boys loved doing that.

  “Hey!” Monty stared at a brown envelope on the table.

  Jack grabbed it. “It’s from the show!”

  I snatched it from my son and opened it. All that was inside was a checklist of things I could bring. Damn. I could only bring a couple sets of clothes, eyeglasses, and one personal item. The examples included a Bible (a Bible?), toothbrush, or a photo of loved ones. I guess that if you didn’t survive, you’d at least be able to see your loved ones for the last time, get last rites and leave the earth with clean teeth.

  “You have to be there in two days!” Monty read (loudly, I might add) over my shoulder.

  Again, I squinted, expecting a miracle of vision I guess, “That can’t be right! I should have more time than that!”

  Jack shook his head with – did I detect – glee? “You have to be in Canada the day after tomorrow.” He pointed at the small print.

  I threw my hands up in the air. “But I can’t be ready in that short amount of time!”

  The boys wisely said nothing. I picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Mom! I just found out I have to leave tomorrow for Survival!”

  “To survive what, dear?” My mother’s voice was relaxed. Too relaxed.

  “The show! I have to be in Canada for the show in two days!”

  I could feel mom smiling through the connection. “That’s nice, sweetie. Drop me a postcard, okay?”

  What?

  “No, Mom, I can’t. We won’t have any contact with the outside world whatsoever.” I took a deep breath. “I can’t do this. There’s no time to get organized. You’ll have to call it off.”

  “Sorry, babe,” Mom said in a sing-songy voice. “A job’s a job. Oh! I knitted you a knapsack to take. Send the boys over for it, will you?” And then, she hung up on me. Yes, my own mother.

  To say that panic had set in would be unfair. I was on the edge of full-blown mass hysteria. I started to pace back and forth while my children calmly watched me rant like a lunatic.

  “I can’t do this! There’s no way I’ll be ready in time! And why do I have to fly to Canada just to come back down here to Costa Rica? That would at least buy me a day or two! Who are these pe
ople? If I kill the producer would they drop the show?”

  “It says here that you are a homemaker from Texas,” Jack said quietly. In spite of his mischievous nature he knew when to avoid a joke at my expense.

  “What?” I spun on my heel.

  He sighed as if having to deal with me was some sort of chore. “You’re a homemaker from Texas. Widowed. You went to college on a bowling scholarship and in your free time like to cook, decorate and long to find another man to take care of.”

  “Bowling scholarship?” Monty asked, missing the point entirely.

  “Give me that!” I ripped the page from my son. Yup. That’s what it said, alright. Where in the hell did they get that? I can’t cook, and decorating the condo damn near killed me. Mom! She must have written this. I’ll kill her!

  “You can’t bowl!” Monty informed me.

  I pointed at the door. “Go upstairs and tell Grandma I’m NOT going!”

  A few minutes later, my son returned with the bag and a note from Mom that read, Hope you like the bag, honey. Be sure to get waxed before you go. Can’t get a man if you’re hairy like a monkey. The tote bag she knitted for me said Hot to Trot. Get Me While I’m Hot.

  If she weren’t my mother, I’d kill her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Elaine Dickinson: There's no reason to become alarmed, and we hope you'll enjoy the rest of your flight. By the way, is there anyone on board who knows how to fly a plane?

  - Airplane

  Two days have never, in the history of womankind, gone so quickly. As my plane landed in Canada, I couldn’t help thinking about how stupid this assignment was. Mom agreed (like she had any choice after I zapped her with a taser) to take the boys. Monty and Jack exchanged a grin when they found out they were under Grandma’s control. That made me worry.

  Monty and Jack tried to contain their excitement that I was leaving. It’s not that I’m the strictest mom, but those two can really cause trouble when they put their minds to it – which they do nearly one hundred percent of their waking hours. And did I mention they are precocious? Here’s what they said my last hour on the island.