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

by A. W. Blakely

  "If I ever will. Where did the time go, Kate? I keep forgetting I'm an old age pensioner now."

  "I think the same thing, Dad. One minute I was in school, the next I'm divorced and forty. And anyway, you aren't an OAP, you're an OAPI. Remember?"

  "That's right!" said Stanley, perking up a little. "We're a team. Private detective and gorgeous secretary-cum-sidekick. Will you look at that pair. Spider's like a different person, isn't he?"

  "You can say that again. I can't get him to shut up now. I think I preferred him when he was moody and kept quiet."

  "I didn't."

  "No, neither did I, not really. Come on, let's go home. Bet Mum's made something nice for our dinner."

  "You're stopping for dinner?" Kate nodded. "That's great. At least there's one bonus to having Auntie Pam staying. I get to see you more." Stanley kissed the top of his daughter's head and smiled at the familiar scent of her shampoo. God, how he loved this beautiful, smart—okay, sometimes dippy as a brush—woman. But, she was tough, strong, and he could stand there forever in the park, smelling her hair and cuddling her, if it wouldn't seem strange.

  "Okay, enough with the weird sniffing of my head. Time to go." Kate called for Roobarb and Spider. They bounded over, out of breath and smiling, like two kids without a care in the world.

  Stanley wished he could chase squirrels, too.

  Some Alone Time

  Throughout dinner and afterward, Pam and Babs smiled like they had a secret, but it was clear that both women were simply inordinately pleased to see Spider so joyous and full of the vigor of youth.

  He talked, recounting their adventures in detail, so there was little for Stanley or Kate to add. The boy was genuinely delighted to have been allowed to tag along, and keen to really get involved.

  They glossed over the visit to the landlord, Stanley telling the tale quickly and with little insight. The truth was he was tired, more than he wanted to admit, and when Kate offered to take Pam and Spider to her home he mouthed a silent thanks and got a knowing nod in return. She was a good girl, the absolute best, and knew her old dad well enough. Babs too. She was happy, but looking a little frazzled. Mad Auntie Pam can have that effect on you, and Babs had been with her the whole day plus the previous one too.

  Roobarb was already asleep by the time they left, curled up tight and whimpering, feet twitching as he chased squirrels.

  Babs told Stanley to sit in his chair and she disappeared into the kitchen, clattering about and cleaning up the dishes after their dinner. Fighting it, Stanley remained awake, trying to go over the day but finding his thoughts confused, nothing slotting neatly into place. Was this old age, or just tiredness? Was he losing his marbles?

  He smiled to himself. Of course he wasn't going senile, it was just that he was trying to solve a double murder on day one of the inquiry. The police hadn't managed it after months, so why should he suddenly have the answer, solve the riddle so fast?

  His head was swimming. Mixed in with visions of men clawing at coffin lids, and a woman in strange leisurewear, was the memory of the landlord and his bucolic life. People were becoming mixed up, characteristics of one superimposed on the other like they were all in it together. All part of a wider conspiracy that threatened to overwhelm him.

  Was he up to this? Once again thoughts of what he had taken on crowded into his mind. There was self doubt, a lack of confidence. He just wanted something to do to stem the tide of boredom from retirement. Was he sure he could be a private eye and help solve serious crimes that could involve gangsters and dangerous criminals, even murderers? What if Kate, or Spider, or Babs got hurt? What if he did? His family needed him, and he needed them. They would be lost without each other.

  Should he just sit in his chair and get used to daytime TV, take up carpentry again and try to make a go of it? No bloody way. This was his calling, he was sure of it. He just needed to take things easy and stop questioning his own abilities. He had the support of his family and he needed this. He wouldn't let them or himself down.

  "Here you go, love." Babs put a cup of tea next to the remote control on the small table beside Stanley.

  "Thanks, Babs. Gosh, I'm worn out."

  "I can see that. Me too."

  "You still look as gorgeous as the day we got married." Stanley smiled at his wife, meaning every word.

  "Thank you for saying that, Stanley, even if you are blinded by your exhaustion. Here, for you." Babs grinned like Custard the cat when she stole one of Stanley's rationed biscuits. Babs held out a shiny foil packet and wafted the open end under his nose.

  "Ooh, wow! What is it?" Stanley breathed deep of the chocolate and orange aroma. It was heaven in a silver packet.

  "It's orange and dark chocolate biscuits. I've been saving them. Here, take them."

  "What, the packet?" Stanley couldn't believe it. He was never allowed such luxury any more, what with the strange case of the expanding waistline, and all.

  "Yes, you deserve it." Babs smiled as Stanley took the pack.

  "Thank you, but I'll just have one."

  Babs turned in shock, poised to sit on the sofa. "Stanley Bloom, you never cease to amaze me."

  "What, just because I don't want to eat all the biscuits?"

  "No, Stanley, because you do want to eat all the biscuits, but you are thinking of me, and of Kate, and of yourself. You are being good, have been good about your food. I'm sorry if I nag." Babs sat down and visibly relaxed, tension easing as she soaked up the quiet atmosphere the same as Stanley. This was what they were used to, what they liked. Them, their living room. Being together.

  "I'm trying to lose the belly. And I know you're looking out for me, love, and I appreciate it. Um, sometimes, anyway."

  "Haha. Now, why don't you tell me about your day of detectiving?" Babs' face was serious, focused. Stanley still had no idea if she was doing it on purpose or not, using her made-up word, but it didn't matter either way.

  They talked for a while, both speculating as much about what was going on with Pam and her landlord as about the murder, but by nine o'clock Stanley could talk no longer.

  They went to bed and he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Babs did a crossword and by ten the house was silent.

  ***

  Roobarb was still in the exact same position in the living room the next morning when Stanley went to wake him.

  There was also a large pile of dark sick in the kitchen. Custard the cat had clearly found the biscuits Stanley had refused. He wished he'd eaten them after all.

  "What a waste," he moaned, before he went off to shave, being quiet so he didn't disturb Babs.

  Stanley had a good feeling about the day. He was refreshed, free of aches and pains, and if he was lucky he would have the house to himself for an hour before anyone woke up.

  His plans for a peaceful morning were shattered when he found the bathroom door locked and could hear Pam singing while she showered.

  "So much for a pleasant morning and a peaceful cup of tea." Stanley went to clean up the sick instead.

  Office Work

  Stanley felt butterflies in his belly as he unlocked the office-cum-shed at the top of the garden and opened the door wide. He'd led a long life, done many jobs, driven all manner of machines, solved crimes, managed to keep his head above water and always provide for his family, yet he still felt nervous when confronted with a screen and a tower with an on/off button.

  It wasn't the machines themselves, it was what they delivered—a virtual world he felt lost in, unable to understand on a simple level, let alone master. He knew it was silly, but he kept thinking he could break it, somehow mangle the Internet or the computer if he clicked on the wrong thing. Kate had told him time and time again that he couldn't, not unless he did something really stupid—and that was what he was afraid of. He assumed he would do something monumentally stupid.

  Stanley decided to have another bowl of tobacco—strictly for medicinal purposes—so turned the computer on then stepped bac
k out and performed his smoking ritual. It calmed him, the familiarity, and as he stood there by his shed, surrounded by a cloud of smoke listening to the birds chatter happily about the beautiful day the sky promised to deliver, he let the clarity of a clear, rested mind put things into perspective. He relaxed.

  It was just a stupid bloody computer. If kids could do it then so could he. Maybe he wouldn't be doing Online banking any time soon, but he could certainly do a little research. And besides, it was better than all the chatter at the house now everyone was awake. He'd promised to be an hour and then he would take Spider with him and Kate when she arrived.

  But, for now, it was him, his pipe, and the birds. Nice!

  An hour later, Stanley locked the shed after shutting down the computer. Nothing exploded, nothing beeped a warning at him, and his brain cells hadn't all been fried by invisible rays. Maybe he could master his phone too? One step at a time, no need to get carried away.

  He'd found what he was looking for though, eventually, and the day was definitely looking up. Sure, he'd had to clean the shower before he used it as Pam seemed to think leaving hairs and all the shampoo suds for someone else was what guests did, but the sun was shining, he felt fresh, and his mind was focused. Best of all, he even managed not to break the Internet.

  After half an hour of pestering everyone to get a move on, he was out the front door with Kate, Spider and Roobarb, heading back to Mackle and the scene of the discovery of the van and the bodies. Something had been annoying him about the place and he couldn't figure out what it was, so that would be their first stop of the day.

  He promised Babs he would be sure not to overdo it, and reminded Pam that her things would be moved into storage that day and that he'd take care of it all. They should go out, take the bus into town or something.

  Stanley wondered if he'd be allowed fish and chips if he kept up such good behavior, then remembered his waistline and decided that maybe he'd keep up his diet until he got back to the notch of his belt when he was working. He had a few still to go, which could have put a damper on the day if he wasn't in such a good mood. He'd had a productive morning in the shed and hoped his careful delving into the wonders of the virtual world would pay off, and then some.

  That, or he'd broken it and just didn't know it yet.

  Second Time Lucky

  "What are we doing here again, Uncle Stan?" asked Spider. He studied the ground, head hanging low.

  "Don't you go getting moody. You're lucky you aren't on a stakeout. Now that is boring."

  "Dad," said Kate, "when have you ever been on a stakeout?"

  "That's not the point. I'm just saying that the life of a private eye isn't all glamor."

  "None of it is glamorous," said Kate, seemingly reminded of her makeup and fishing her lipstick out of her bag of wonders.

  "To answer your question. We are here because something doesn't feel right about this place at all. I know none of this double murder makes much sense but this in particular feels wrong. I can't understand it."

  "Okay, Uncle Stan. But isn't that the whole point with crime? The criminals do things to confuse you and lead you in the wrong direction, right? That's what I'd do, anyway. I'd leave fake clues, send the cops looking somewhere that will lead them nowhere, confuse the hell out of them."

  "Exactly! And that's what's missing. Well done." Stanley beamed at Spider but he just looked confused, unsure what help he'd been.

  "Huh, I don't get it?" he said, still looking pleased to have helped.

  "Me neither," said Kate. Both of them stared at Stanley as if waiting for a big revelation, but he was silent, turning slowly in a circle as if anticipating more help.

  "Ah, I get it," said Spider. "What if it's not like that at all. What if what we see is exactly how it looks? Right? I'm right, aren't I?"

  "I think so, yes," mused Stanley. "We've been trying to come up with an explanation for why things are the way they are, and what the truth is behind all of this, getting lost in believing that it's all misdirection and some great criminal plan. What if none of that is true at all, and our clues aren't clues left by the murderers, but are here because they lead directly to the answer?" Stanley was warming to the idea.

  Was this where the police were going wrong? Were they looking for things that weren't really there? Believing that things had been set up to make them believe something that wasn't true?

  "Dad, what are you saying? I'm not following." Kate copied Stanley, turning in slow circles, looking from the lane where the van had been found to the shallow grave and the wide marked area of police tape, then into the woods and back again.

  "Come on, Uncle Stan, don't keep us in suspense." Spider copied them both, all three of them looking like they were on a rotating platform, slowly circling the scene of a grisly crime that baffled the police and left them confounded.

  "It just doesn't make sense, does it? And that's because everyone is looking at this the wrong way." Stanley looked down as he felt a pull on the lead. Roobarb was tugging away, unhappy about the walking circles thing. "Oh, sorry." Stanley unclipped the leash and put it in his pocket. Roobarb wouldn't run off. He was too good a dog and liked to be home for his dinner way too much to risk being left behind.

  "Dad, come on. Where is this all going?"

  They gathered close, as if in the middle of a massive conspiracy, Stanley the ringleader. "I'm still thinking about it, but what Spider said rings true. Criminals leave fake clues or try to cover up their crimes as well as they can, and this is a very poor show if that's what has been attempted. The van was left here, with just the dead men's fingerprints, and the graves were really shallow, and close to the road. Now, that isn't exactly the way you would do it, is it? Not if you were trying to hide the crime and lead people in the wrong direction when the bodies were finally discovered."

  "So?" hinted Kate.

  "So, what if there was no attempt to commit murder and get away with it? What if there is another explanation entirely?" Stanley let the ideas come to him. He was right to return here. It was opening up the case to him, he was sure. There were a lot of missing pieces still, actually all the pieces, but if it meant their investigation turned onto the right track then it would have been more than worth it.

  "But they were buried alive in coffins, Uncle Stan, and their fingerprints were the only ones on Mack the Knife's van. That means they either stole it and um... No, that's not right. We talked about this, right? What did we decide? If they stole the van then there would be other fingerprints too. Mack's, for one. And if someone else stole it why put the dead dude's fingerprints on it?"

  "Because there is another explanation, that's why." Stanley was sure of it now, he hadn't been looking at things the right way. He needed to adjust his mindset, let logic take over and allow what was obvious to shine through.

  "Ah, I've got it," Kate beamed, as though she were following along with Stanley and thinking about things in the most logical way possible.

  "Go on then, tell us," said Stanley.

  "If it looks like they stole the van, and it looks like they wiped it down but left their own fingerprints, then that's just silly, isn't it? You can be a bad criminal but you wouldn't clean the van and then allow your fingerprints to be all over the doors and windows and the inside, would you?"

  "Not unless you were as dull as an Adele concert in the rain," said Stanley.

  "Dad! I like her."

  "Along with everyone else, it seems. I don't get it. Where's the oomph?"

  "What, you mean like with all those old crooners you used to listen to when you were driving around in your work van, on cassette?"

  "What's a cassette?" asked Spider.

  "Oh my god, I am officially an old woman," moaned Kate.

  "Let's get back on track. If we are saying that Charlie and Robert were neither bad nor stupid enough criminals to wipe down a van then go touching it again, then either their fingerprints were planted, which could be a red herring from whoever murdered them, or they
never cleaned the van at all."

  "But if they didn't then why no other fingerprints?" asked Kate.

  "I think we need to go talk to Mack the Knife again, don't you?"

  "Sure. Now?"

  Stanley checked his watch. If Mack was at home they would have time to visit him then get over to Pam's and deal with the removal. It was a lot of to-and-fro but if it put things into perspective then it would be best to talk to him now. Stanley knew he would be too distracted otherwise and he wanted to make sure that Mike didn't mess about with Pam and Spider's things and that they were stored properly. "Yes, now, if you don't mind all the driving?"

  "No problem. Come on, let's go."

  Stanley whistled for Roobarb then pretended he had to go look for him and said, "Be back in a few minutes. Just going to get Roobarb." He hurriedly stuffed and lit his pipe then stood next to his best pal and stared at the shallow grave, now half full of leaves that had failed to rot under the dry conditions beneath the dense canopy.

  He puffed furiously then carefully put out the ash on a rock. "Come on, Roobarb, we have to go see Mack the Knife, again."

  Roobarb marked the tree for a third time, just to be sure any passing animal knew exactly who it belonged to, then trotted after Stanley happily.

  Back to Mack

  "What about Amy Winehouse? She's modern," said Stanley.

  "Okay, fair point." Kate and Stanley had been "discussing" music on the drive back to the village and Spider had chimed in at first, giving them names of bands and singers he liked—neither of them had heard of a single one. He eventually left them to it, lost in the digital world of his phone.

  "I think we should call Denise, tell her how we are doing with the investigation. What do you think?" Kate turned to Stanley and he knew to answer fast. Kate would keep looking at him otherwise, which is never a good idea when traveling at seventy miles an hour.