Rip Your Heart Out
A Ripple Effect Mystery
Book Four
by
Jeanne Glidewell
Recipes Included:
Rapella's Heart Healthy Meal
Garlic-Roasted Salmon & Brussels Sprouts
Oreo "Ripple" Coffee Cake
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ISBN: 978-1-947833-41-8
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Table of Contents
Cover
Dedication
Character List
From The Desk of Jeanne Glidewell
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Rapella's Heart Healthy Meal
Meet the Author
Dedication
I was fortunate to have the best grandparents a girl could ask for, with all four of them living in close proximity to me throughout my school years. The first grandparent I lost was my maternal grandmother, Adelaide Hallberg, with whom I was residing at the time, in Longview, Florida. She died of a heart attack at the young age of seventy-three on Halloween night in 1978. I'd like to dedicate this book to Grandma Hallberg, along with all others affected by cardiovascular disease. This includes my friend and neighbor, Melody Zumbrunn, and her sons, Gage and Max, who lost their husband and father, Brad, in December of 2016. He passed away suddenly and unexpectedly at fifty-two years old with a previously undiagnosed heart valve defect. Brad was just one of many incredible individuals gone way too soon due to cardiovascular disease.
I'd also like to dedicate this health-related book to my transplant surgeon, Dr. Daniel Murillo, and the entire staff of the Research Medical Transplant Institute in Kansas City, Missouri. I owe it to them that I'm still alive, writing cozy mystery books. Along with them, my second chance of life was afforded me by my (pancreas and kidney) organ donor, my donor's family, the support of my family and friends, the phenomenal love and care my husband has always provided, and the awesome power of prayer. My heartfelt gratitude goes out to all of the above and to everyone who has ever said a prayer on my behalf. The prayers worked!
Character List
Rapella Ripple: Rapella is a sixty-eight-year-old woman with an inquisitive trait that's just powerful enough to be dangerous. Never one to accept things for the way they appear, she's determined to uncover the truth behind the death of a woman she's never even met.
Clyde "Rip" Ripple: Recuperating from open-heart surgery, Rapella's soon-to-be sixty-nine-year-old husband, Rip, is unable to be as involved in the case as he has been in the past, but he always has his wife's back.
Mabel Trumbo: Following double bypass surgery, Mabel passes away unexpectedly. Her death is presumed to be caused by post-operative complications. But soon after the Ripples move into her home, they see signs that not all is as it appears.
Sydney Combs: Sydney is Rip's cardiac surgeon's private nurse. She is kind, caring, and a bit of a drill sergeant when it comes to the patients under her care. She offers the use of the new "Heart Shack" to the Ripples after Aunt Mabel bequeaths her old Victorian home to the heart center to be used as temporary housing for the families of cardiac patients.
Adelaide Combs: Adelaide is a hairdresser in Yakima, Washington. Mabel Trumbo's niece is all about what she stands to gain from her aunt's death.
Tasman Combs: This disrespectful dude is Mabel's pot-smoking nephew who, like his sister, Adelaide, alienates Rapella at their first meeting. Tasman's just as interested in claiming his inheritance as that snobby sibling of his appears to be.
Ridley Wickets: Mr. Wickets has been Mabel's caretaker for nine years. But considering the condition Rapella finds the home in, he hadn't been earning his keep for a long while.
Itsy Warman: The widow next door impresses Rapella as eccentric, unpredictable, and occasionally annoying. But she's also fun to be around and makes Rapella think of her as the sister she never had. When the two are together, anything could happen.
Chase Cumberland: This deceptive hunk of eye-candy is just another piece of the puzzle that Rapella tries to put together to discover the truth behind her late host's death.
From The Desk of Jeanne Glidewell
Dear Reader,
As I mentioned in my dedication, my family has been touched by cardiovascular disease. I'm certain many, if not most, of your families have also been affected by this number-one leading cause of death in both men and women. I hope you find the information regarding cardiac health I've included in this story interesting and useful, rather than tedious and boring. It's important we all take our heart health seriously, and take steps to ward off heart issues that are often preventable, and too often fatal.
As always, I apologize in advance for any words I have made up and any grammar I have mangled. My editors are remarkable, but not magicians. And that's probably a fortuitous thing for me. If they were magicians, one of them would probably have already turned me into a pile of dust, or something equally as incapable of writing.
With sincere gratitude, I thank you for giving me the opportunity to entertain you with Rip Your Heart Out, the fourth installment in my Ripple Effect Series. To all of the fans of my Lexie Starr cozy mystery series (who I'm proud—and still in disbelief—to say hit the USA Today and New York Times best-sellers lists in early 2016) who have written and implored me to release another book in that series, my next release will be Lexie Starr, book seven. Many have expressed a desire to see Wendy Starr and Andy Van Patten get married. So, as they say, ask and you shall receive. I anticipate releasing Marriage and Mayhem in the fall of 2018.
I'd love to hear from you via my website www.jeanneglidewell.c
om. I always respond. Now sit back, relax and enjoy the ride.
Jeanne
Chapter 1
The view from White Pass Summit was breathtaking: a panorama of mountains, waterfalls, glaciers, gorges, tunnels and trestles. At the summit, nearly three thousand feet higher in elevation than the Skagway Harbor where our cruise ship was moored, we could see the headwaters of the Yukon River. My husband, Clyde "Rip" Ripple, and I were celebrating our fiftieth wedding anniversary in Skagway, Alaska, aboard the White Pass and Yukon Route Railway.
Skagway was one of five Alaskan ports of call on our seven-day cruise of Alaska's Inside Passage. We'd toured the town of Ketchikan on foot the previous day: visiting the Beaver Clan House, the Libby Salmon Cannery, the traditional totem poles of Saxman Village, and, of course, Dolly's House.
Dolly's House was formerly a brothel, but is now a museum on Creek Street, which was the red light district of Ketchikan in the early 1900s. We have a chubby grey and white tabby named Dolly, who is gracious enough to let us reside in her domain as long as we tend to her every need. With that premise in mind, I'd wanted a photo of the two of us standing in front of the Dolly's House sign to use on our Christmas cards in December. I'd asked Rip, "Do you think 'her majesty' will realize the house was not named after her, but rather a long-ago brothel owner named Dolly Arthur?"
"Probably not, Rapella," Rip replied. "After all, she is just a cat. She only cares about two things: her next meal and a comfy place to nap."
"Are you describing Dolly or yourself?" I asked playfully. "I realize Dolly's just a cat. But the Dolly House was a 'house of ill repute'. And where do you think the term 'cat house' came from?"
Rip smiled at my bantering, but the smile didn't quite ring true. It seemed forced to me. It was as if he was trying to convince me he was enjoying the excursion as much as I was. But I knew better. My sixty-eight-year-old husband, and the love of my life, could not easily fool someone who'd been by his side for over half a century.
"I'm going out on that open-air area behind this passenger car so I can get a better photo of Dead Horse Gulch." The rear "porch" had a metal railing with spindles enclosing it, and I could run from side to side as we passed by different landmarks without the risk of making an early, unplanned departure from the train. Convinced Rip was not feeling up to snuff, I decided to test the theory. "Want to join me?"
"You go ahead," Rip said. "I'm perfectly content to stay right here for now."
"Do you feel all right, honey?"
"Of course. Just a little tired. We've been on the go so much that I'm kind of enjoying being off my feet for a spell. Besides, I'm conserving my energy to do some serious grazing at the midnight chocolate buffet this evening." Rip's face bore an ornery grin.
"There's nothing like a self-induced bellyache to finish off our anniversary celebration, is there?"
"Nope! My goal is to not stop eating milk chocolate until one bite before I've reached belly-aching status." Despite the twelve pounds he'd lost, while I'd gained three, on our self-imposed low-carb diet the last six weeks, Rip still suffered from "Dunlap Disease". As everyone knows, that's when your belly has done lapped over your belt. He patted his paunch and smiled. "I can't maintain this sexy spare tire without working at it."
I knew he was trying to alleviate my anxiety with his attempt at levity, but it was doing nothing to calm my concerns. Before I missed the opportunity for a magnificent photo, I patted his shoulder and said, "You rest. I'll be back in a couple of minutes."
"Don't hurry on my account," I heard as I hustled down the aisle toward the door leading to the outside viewing area. After the three-hour excursion along the narrow-gauge railroad route, once used by Klondike Gold Rush prospectors for transportation to the gold fields in Dawson City, we were scheduled to do a little gold panning ourselves and enjoy a salmon bake in the Liarsville Trail Camp before returning to the cruise ship. If not for the fact we were on a shore excursion with twenty other passengers from our ship, I'd have opted to take Rip straight back to our cabin. He had appeared pale and lethargic all day. I hoped he'd get a chance to nap before our celebratory supper in one of the ship's specialty restaurants that evening.
After Rip had retired from a lifelong career in law enforcement, we'd sold our home and bought a thirty-foot travel trailer we affectionately call the "Chartreuse Caboose". Now we travel around the country in our home on wheels as full-time RVers. The previous week we drove from Buffalo, Wyoming, to Seattle, Washington, where we'd signed up for a site in an RV park near the Cascade Mountain Range. From our site we could see the tip of Mt. Rainier in the distance. We planned to park there a full month so we could tour the area after we'd returned from the Alaskan cruise.
On our way to the Port of Seattle, where we'd boarded the cruise ship earlier that week, we'd dropped Dolly off at a pet-boarding facility that had great online reviews. I'd tried to convince our eight-year-old housecat she'd have a wonderful time there while we were on our trip, but I'm pretty sure I saw her raise her furry little paw to flip us off as we handed her carrying cage over to the nice lady at the check-in desk. I noticed Rip's eyes had gotten misty as we drove away from the Paw Spa Ranch and Resort. For a retired sheriff of Aransas County, Texas, the man was very soft-hearted.
It'd been a hectic week, and it wasn't just Rip who was feeling the effect of a much busier schedule than usual. While he napped on our cabin's king-sized bed, I planned to sit out on our balcony and relax with a cup of hot tea from the single-cup hot beverage dispenser in our over-sized cabin, while reading the last few chapters of a novel I was deeply immersed in. I might even place a call to our personal porter and request a refill of our complimentary fruit basket. Just because I could!
I could get used to all the pampering and individual service that came with booking a suite on a cruise ship. I'd already developed a sense of superiority in just four days aboard the floating resort, and wasn't sure how well I'd be able to adapt at being a mere "commoner" when the cruise was over.
Who, I wondered, is going to place my linen napkin on my lap for me before every meal? Who's going to deliver an apple fritter when I have a hankering for a pastry? Who's going to attend to my every want or whim? And most importantly, who's going to make sure I have a chocolate mint on my pillow every night and a white cotton elephant or monkey crafted from one bath towel and two washcloths at the foot of my bed?
We had decided to splurge on a penthouse suite to celebrate such a milestone occasion. As promised, we'd been treated like visiting royalty from the moment we stepped on board the recently renovated ship.
I'd noticed that with each day following our embarkation, Rip had seemed more lethargic, and less interested in the beautiful and fascinating sights we were visiting. However, I figured the following day would be a restful one for both of us. We'd be cruising Glacier Bay all day, enjoying the stunning scenery: bone-chilling clear water, glaciers, floating icebergs, breaching whales, and snow-capped mountains.
As we boarded the bus that would transport us to the Liarsville Trail Camp, I prayed Rip would be back to his normal, lively self by the time we sat down for our anniversary supper at the popular onboard steakhouse. He'd warned me in advance when he said, "I'm planning to completely devour one of their thirty-two ounce porterhouses–or die trying."
Had I known at that time how ironic and prophetic his declaration would turn out to be, I'd have demanded the locomotive engineer kick it up a notch so I could get Rip back to civilization and airlifted to a cardiac care center as soon as humanly possible.
And, had I been able to foresee that I'd soon be immersed up to my elbows in the mysterious death of a woman named Mabel Trumbo, I likely would've cancelled the trip altogether. A party in our hometown of Rockport, Texas, with our family and friends present, would've been a fun option to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary. But we all know that hindsight is twenty-twenty, and it was too late to change our minds.
So, in retrospect, I'm glad I was unaware of the tria
ls and tribulations that were about to befall us. Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss!
Chapter 2
"What do you mean by 'I'll pass on dinner'?" I asked Rip as he sprawled out on the rattan couch on our large balcony on the aft of the ship.
"Just that, dear. Our porter brought in a fresh basket of fruit and a few pastries. I'll make do with that if it's all right with you."
It actually sounded better to me than the broiled lobster I'd been planning to order at the specialty restaurant that evening. After a healthy serving of salmon at the Liarsville Camp in Skagway, I wasn't particularly hungry. But it was our fiftieth anniversary, and a banana and cherry tart sounded like a pitiful way to celebrate it. However, if Rip didn't feel up to the thirty-two-ounce porterhouse he'd been talking about for the last several weeks, I didn't want to force him to stuff himself on my behalf.
For one thing, Rip's primary physician, Dr. Kristy Herron, would have my head on a platter if Rip were to spill the beans at his next appointment. We returned home to south Texas every year for our annual checkups. For years I've tried to get him to see his doctor more frequently, but it was like trying to convince a ten-year-old to eat a heaping bowl of garlic-crusted Brussels sprouts because they were beneficial to his health.
At his recent appointment, Dr. Herron had warned Rip of the consequences if he didn't immediately change his diet and lifestyle. "No more junk food like pork rinds and ice cream, no more vegetating on the couch for hours on end, and absolutely no more avoiding my office like the plague. Or, at least not if you want to be around for your next birthday," she'd told him. To which my bull-headed husband had laughed, and replied, "If I were to adopt those lifestyle changes, I'm not sure I'd want to be around to see my next birthday."
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