Old Age Private Oh My! (Old Age Pensioner Investigations (OAPI) Cozy Mysteries Book 2)

by A. W. Blakely

"You mean they dealt in stolen goods?" asked Stanley.

  "Ask no questions," said Denise, tapping the side of her nose.

  "So they sold bent gear?" said Stanley.

  Denise was suspicious. Stanley could tell she'd kept quiet about anything she thought would have got the men into trouble. She could have hindered the investigation because of it. Some people simply would never tell the police things, even if it meant helping solve the murder of their own flesh and blood.

  "Okay," said Stanley with a sigh, "let's try this again."

  Getting Things Straight

  "Now, Denise, let's get things straight here. If you want my help, our help, then you have to be honest with us. We don't care if they were up to dodgy stuff, we aren't the police. We work for you, and we want to solve this terrible murder. How about that?" Stanley thought that sounded right, professional enough, but also not like he was too official either.

  "Sounds okay, I guess. What, is it like that client confidentiality thing you always see on crime shows on TV?" She sucked deep on her cigarette, a strange smudge of purple-red lipstick on the cigarette catching Stanley's attention. He really wanted to light up his pipe, but knew Kate would tell him off. Plus, even he knew that passive smoking was bad and Spider shouldn't even be in the room—he'd keep this part quiet, no telling Babs or Pam.

  "Um..." Stanley turned to Kate. Was there such a thing? She nodded. "Yes, client confidentiality, sure."

  "Well, why didn't you say." Denise physically relaxed, the nervousness vanishing. "Look, they were as bent as two pretzels. They were always up to no good, but it was just the small stuff. Selling dodgy gear, working without declaring it, but honestly, most of what they did I don't know. It's not like they told me everything."

  "So nobody you can think of that would want to murder them, then?" asked Kate.

  "No, definitely not. Nobody has even come around to say how sorry they are. I don't think they had any friends, but no serious enemies either. They were just a bit dim is all. I haven't lived back here that long, and, well, I wish I had never come back. They said one of the places they did some work on was quite nice, and that they'd see if they could get me in there, but now I guess I'll stay here. The council said I can. Next of kin and all that."

  "I thought they were bouncers?" asked Spider. Stanley was about to tell him to be quiet, but realized it was a good question.

  "Yeah, on weekends sometimes. But mostly they did odd jobs, repairs and the like. They are both really handy with all that kind of thing. Were really handy. Plumbing, plastering, all kinds of stuff. They just preferred to do dodgy things if they got the chance."

  "Who did they work for?"

  "Dunno. They worked all over the place, word of mouth, or contacts from down the pub I suppose. We were never that close until I moved back, again. I'm not fussed on trouble, but I had no choice. My bloke ran out, so I came home."

  Stanley exchanged glances with Kate, getting the feeling they wouldn't get much more out of Denise. Kate scribbled in her notebook then moved to put it away.

  A thought came to Stanley and he said, "Had they been busy lately? Doing more work for someone, or up to more dodgy stuff than usual? Anything that will help us to start. We need to know where we are looking."

  "Well, now you mention it, they were working a lot the few weeks before they, you know. But, um, it was weird, didn't make sense."

  "Okay, go on."

  "Nah, it's nothing."

  "Anything you can tell us might help. You want us to, don't you?" Stanley couldn't imagine holding anything back if he lost his family, he certainly wouldn't hide things from the police or somebody he paid to help.

  "Well, they kept saying it was the easiest money they had ever made. I dunno what they were doing, but they said instead of fixing stuff they were breaking stuff."

  "Like what?"

  "Who knows? They were weird about it. Said they couldn't say any more but they sure liked the money."

  A few more minutes of questions, with no more revelations, and Stanley knew it was time for them to leave. They had a lot still to do that day, including going to Pam's and collecting a few things, although the Mini wasn't exactly ideal for moving anything at all really. Maybe a couple of boxes and that would be it.

  They said their goodbyes at the gate, Kate and Stanley promising to be in touch as soon as they had any news.

  Denise seemed to take it all in her stride, as if she wasn't utterly distraught about the men's deaths, but at the same time wanted the crime solved. Maybe for her own peace of mind as much as anything. After all, if someone had killed two members of her family there was no saying she wouldn't be next. That was the unspoken truth behind the whole thing, he was sure, and she had picked him because he was the cheapest. What did that say about how much she valued her own life? Could that be right, or was he reading too much into things? If you thought your life was in danger you'd certainly say something, even if it was to budget detectives.

  Still, a job was a job, and inside Stanley was smiling. If he solved this double murder you could bet they would be queuing up to hire him—they'd be fighting off clients with sticks.

  "What you smiling at?" said Kate as she drove off at record speed.

  "Nothing, just thinking."

  "That was so cool. Can we go see where they found the bodies? Do you think the coffins will still be there?" Spider leaned forward and stared from Stanley to Kate eagerly, eyes bright, his usually pale face flushed.

  "No. It happened ages ago, there won't be anything there now. And besides, we have to go to your old house now," said Stanley.

  Spider's mood changed in an instant. His brow creased and he turned his mouth down. "I don't like it there, it's weird."

  "How so?"

  "You'll see."

  Chaos

  "Blimey! How long did you live here for?" asked Stanley as he shoved the door open against the mail piled up behind it.

  "Ages. Too long. You've been coming here, you should know," said Spider, walking down the hallway, looking uncomfortable. "But I don't like it now. The place feels weird."

  "It feels full of mold, is what it feels like. God, imagine what it's doing to your lungs." Stanley sniffed. He could taste it in the air. Feel it in his nostrils. The place was a deathtrap.

  "You're a fine one to talk about lungs," said Kate.

  "Smoking is different. I don't breathe it in constantly. And Spider here is just a kid."

  "Oi, I'm not a kid. I'm fourteen."

  "Okay, let's have a look at the place. How bad can it be? When did we last come, Kate?" For the life of him Stanley couldn't remember. Was the Christmas incident the final visit? It must have been.

  "Christmas. How much could have happened since then?" she asked.

  "You'll see," shouted Spider from the kitchen.

  Stanley put an arm on Kate to stop her in the hallway. He bent close to her ear and whispered, "What has Pam been thinking? Why is all the mail piled up behind the door? Look at the state of this carpet, at everything. It's filthy. Think she's gone loopy?"

  "Dad! No, I think she's been overwhelmed and is really stressed out. She said she couldn't cope, and looking around I can see she wasn't joking. But it's because the place was falling apart around them. That's what she said, anyway. So don't go judging. You know how highly strung she is."

  "Fine, but she could have at least picked up the post. So could Spider."

  "So, it's Spider now, is it? Not George?"

  "If he's finally calling me Uncle then I'll call him Spider. Fair's fair." Kate looked at Stanley aghast. "What? What's wrong?"

  "Nothing, just it's nice to see you mellowing in your old age."

  "You cheeky sod, I've always been as cool as a cucumber."

  "Yeah, right. More like as pickled as one. Come on, let's see how bad this actually is."

  Stanley followed Kate into the kitchen. He was freezing; the place was like an icebox. That would be the problem with the heating. He'd have a look at the boiler
, not that he could fix it—gas and him were not friends. The smell got worse and it was chaos. There were boxes all over the floor, the table, and the counter, but plenty of loose items strewn about. Stanley and Kate just stood there, unsure what to do or say.

  "Mum kind of gave up on the packing. She's way too stressed out." Spider stood in the center of the room, head bowed, looking more like a child than Stanley could ever remember. He looked lost, unsure of himself.

  "Didn't you help her?" he asked as gently as he could manage.

  "I tried, honest, but she kept losing the plot and shouting at me for putting things in the wrong box. It's this place, it got to her."

  Black mold was all over the back wall, stains streaking down, even on the ceiling, all caused by the gutter. He stepped up to the sink and tried the tap, but it refused to turn off properly. The sink was partially full of water so he opened the cupboard and bent to look at the u-bend. There was a bucket catching drips even though the actual plastic pipe looked new.

  "Mum's changed the thing five times. I even know how to do it now, but it keeps blocking up. It's like the place is haunted or something. Nothing works and everything keeps breaking. The landlord says it's us not looking after things properly, but you know Mum, she's a scatterbrain but she's never been dirty or untidy. She sort of gave up as we haven't got the money to keep buying pipe and getting things sorted. I guess it all got too much and then she didn't care any more."

  "She cares," said Stanley, straightening up, feeling a slight twinge in his back. Maybe he did still need to take it easy? He was sixty-eight, new hip or no new hip. "It's hard to maintain a house, especially when you aren't the one that's supposed to pay to fix things. Let me have a look outside before we check the rest of the house. But, Spider?"

  Spider turned and parted his hair to look at Stanley. "Yeah?"

  "It's not your fault, or your mum's, okay?"

  "Okay," he mumbled, then walked off. Feet could be heard going up the stairs.

  "This is getting weird," said Kate. "Auntie Pam hates dirt, and she's never untidy like this. Why would the sink keep blocking if she changed the u-bend and got a plumber out?"

  "That's a very good question." Stanley used the excuse of going outside to check on things to have a quick smoke of his pipe. Roobarb trotted down the garden, sniffing and following scents only a Labrador of many years experience understood.

  While he puffed away, Stanley bent to where the waste pipe came out of the wall. It was mostly clean apart from the end where it stopped above the drain. He wiggled it and turned it sideways, then pulled the fitting off. Water poured out from the shortened pipe, the sink emptying.

  Stanley let the water drain from the length of pipe in his hand, then looked inside only to be met with darkness. "Full of junk? No wonder the sink gets clogged." Banging it on the ground, a large wad of cloth fell out, black and noxious. He fitted the clear pipe back in place.

  Taking a few steps away from the house, he could see where the gutters overflowed, water running down the wall in numerous spots, staining the faded red brickwork. Something like that was a simple maintenance job, and if Pam had cleared it as she said she had, then why was the problem returning? Something wasn't right, not at all.

  He took another step back, squinting up at the gutters. Piles of leaves could be seen hanging over the edge, the only problem being there were no trees in the garden, or the neighbors' for that matter.

  "Something fishy is going on here, Roobarb. Roobarb?" Stanley looked down, expecting him to be interested in what he was doing, but Roobarb was at the other end of the garden, digging furiously, stubby legs working manically at the soil, soft from the rain that usually fell every night even in the summer.

  Trailing a cloud of smoke, Stanley wandered down the garden. There was definitely something untoward about the whole situation. Somebody was messing with the house on purpose. It went beyond neglect by an absentee landlord. This was sabotage. Pam was being driven out, had been driven out, he reminded himself, by the worsening conditions.

  A thought came to him and he rushed back to the house, Roobarb's antics forgotten.

  "Kate, Spider, you need to get out of the house. Now. Come on."

  Kate and Spider appeared at the top of the stairs, staring down blankly at Stanley. "What's up, Dad? We were just sorting out some of Spider's things."

  "Never mind that, not for now. I want you both down here and out in the garden, immediately. Come on, hurry up, it's dangerous in here. Now!"

  Kate raised an eyebrow and Stanley nodded, their silent communication, perfected over innumerable years, telling Kate that her father was not joking. He wasn't playing games. "Come on, Spider, let's humor the old man." Kate grabbed him by the arm and practically dragged him down the stairs.

  "What's going on?" Spider looked utterly confused.

  "I'll tell you when we are outside. Just move it!"

  Stanley led the way, with Kate and Spider close behind.

  Once out in the garden, as Stanley peered at the back of the house, lost in thought, Kate said, "Okay, Dad, spill it."

  "Someone may be trying to murder Auntie Pam and Spider."

  Dodgy Goings-On

  "What's going on, you silly old sod?" Kate looked bemused yet worried at the same time. Spider just looked excited, as if Stanley had told the best secret ever.

  "Things aren't right here, and I've only been in the kitchen. Someone is messing with things. No wonder your mum has been going nuts, Spider, it's sabotage."

  "Eh? What do you mean. Nobody's been here. I told you, the landlord is just neglecting the place, and put the rent up too high."

  "No. Well, maybe, but there's more. Wait here, and do not come inside until I say it's all right. Okay? Kate? Spider?" They nodded, confused, as Stanley knocked out his pipe on a rock, stamping on the embers. He cursed silently, not believing he'd run in to get them with it still lit. Sometimes he was a daft old sod, and no mistake.

  Back at the door to the kitchen, he turned and called, "Don't let Roobarb in either. You all stay right there." And with that he stepped inside.

  Across the clean, but cracked, red quarry tiles, Stanley made his way to the corner of the kitchen where the boiler that serviced the house was fixed to the exterior wall.

  Stanley was no expert when it came to gas, but he'd had enough experience with DIY over the years to know the basics of plumbing, gas, and electrical wiring to be able to repair simple things in the home he and Babs had lived in their whole married life. Especially since they had never been rich, and the cost of handymen was often out of their price range—he learned a thing or two out of necessity. If Pam had said the heating had stopped working properly, meaning no hot water or central heating, it was understandable that she couldn't keep calling out a boiler repairman. That kind of thing was expensive.

  Inspecting the interior of the boiler, it all looked normal to Stanley, not that he would know if there was anything wrong anyway unless it was glaringly obvious. He flipped the switch on, took a deep breath, and turned the dial to maximum for the hot water. The boiler flared into life, making Stanley jump back in shock.

  "Daft old bugger, haha." Watching the blue flame, it suddenly died down a little and began to burn yellow, a sure sign there was a lack of ventilation, dangerous carbon monoxide fumes building. "Well, that explains the headaches and the bad tummies. Maybe the moods, too." Stanley knew enough about carbon monoxide poisoning to know that side effects included headaches, mood swings, upset stomachs, even flu-like symptoms, and could result in death.

  Would a landlord go that far to get them out of the house? Surely not? Feeling nervous, and not wanting to push his luck, knowing he had already done something foolish, he turned off the boiler.

  Back outside, sucking down lungsful of fresh air, Stanley called, "It's okay, panic over," and walked over to the vent for the boiler. It was fairly new, still shiny, and Stanley got the cowl off the top with a quick twist. Stuffed inside was a wad of fire retardant insulat
ion like you find in the attic, not to be put in boiler flues that would stop sufficient oxygen for the boiler and prevent harmful gases venting outside away from the house.

  "I think someone really wanted you to leave." He turned and showed Kate and Spider the offending article. "There was something done to the sink waste too. Someone has been blocking things up, so no matter how often your mum, or you, tried to clear it, it would never work."

  "What! Why would anyone want to do that?" asked Spider. "Mum always paid the rent on time, and she always kept the house tidy. I know she's a bit batty, but come on."

  "Dad, are you sure? Couldn't it be a mistake?"

  "No, not really. The rag was stuffed into the outlet pipe, and no gas engineer would ever put insulation in a boiler vent. They could have died, Kate, this stuff is really dangerous."

  "Blimey! Well, it's a good job you're staying with Mum and Dad then, Spider," said Kate.

  Spider stood there, confused but angry. "They could have killed Mum. They could have killed me! Dammit, we never did anything to anyone."

  "Language," warned Stanley.

  "It's always something. Like Mum isn't mad enough already. Now we have to move. You don't want us. Nobody wants us." Spider stormed off to the end of the garden, where he stood and watched Roobarb still digging away frantically.

  "Go and check on him, Kate. I want to have a look around the rest of the house."

  "Okay, Dad, but you really think someone has been driving them out? Doing this on purpose?"

  "Definitely. Come in when you're ready, just don't turn any lights on or anything like that. Who knows what this death trap has had done to it."

  "I'll tell Spider. Poor kid, but maybe this explains the moods?"

  "Maybe, or maybe he's just a typical teenager."

  More Exploring

  Stanley tried to focus on the house, but thoughts of the meeting with Denise Everwood played on his mind. They had a case, a double murder to solve, and to be honest he wasn't sure where to start. What had he believed was most important? The crime scene? Yes, of course. You always start with the crime scene, then you take it from there. It would probably be pointless, the trail would be stone cold, but it was a start, a way to get some momentum going.