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

by A. W. Blakely

  "Let's wait until the evening. You never know, we might have good—Watch out!" Stanley pushed his feet into the footwell as if he could brake, while Kate casually turned her head, swerved to avoid the wheel of a truck that was as large as the Mini, flew past the truck itself and pulled back into the lane ahead of it.

  "Okay, if you think that's best. Why, got some more ideas, have you?"

  Stanley ignored the sweaty feeling under his herringbone cap and answered as calmly as he could, even though his heart raced like he'd been running the whole way back to Banrook. "Not yet, nothing concrete. Let's speak to Mack again, not that I want to keep pestering him, and take it from there. Auntie Pam's house after that, then we'll see."

  "Sure thing, Dad. Just don't overdo it. And what was all that with the office this morning? Finally getting to grips with the computer, are you?"

  "Sort of. I just wanted to check a few things out, for my own peace of mind."

  "Care to share?"

  "Sure, but it's a bit grisly."

  "Dad, you know me. I'm not squeamish."

  "I know, sorry. It's just I always picture you as this little girl running to me crying and being scared whenever you saw a hint of blood. I know you're all grown up, but still."

  "You silly thing. I'm more than grown up now. To the likes of Spider I'm positively ancient. I can't believe he doesn't know what a cassette was. That's nuts."

  "Wait until you get to my age, then you'll really feel old."

  "Still, could be worse, right?" Kate slowed at a roundabout, actually checked for traffic, then put her foot down.

  "Much. It could be much, much worse." Stanley closed his eyes and tried to think calm thoughts.

  ***

  Once again they were buzzed in by Mack the Knife's wife. Stanley wondered why there wasn't a servant to answer the gate but supposed that would be going a little too far. It was a nice house but not that nice. It wasn't like they had a butler or anything, or did they?

  They were directed to the back garden where Mack was apparently located. As they rounded the corner, once again quiet and somewhat awed by the strangely sterile landscape, the back of Mack's head could be seen from his position on a sun lounger.

  "I don't care. Just get the job done, or else." Mack's hand stretched out and put what to Stanley looked like a very expensive mobile phone on a small side table next to a newspaper. Then he put his hands behind his head and sighed.

  Stanley, Kate, Spider, and Roobarb stood ten feet away, not one of them making a sound. Stanley nodded toward Mack, telling Kate to announce them. She shook, curls wobbling and catching the sun. Spider had suddenly found Roobarb's ears fascinating and was crouched down, looking the other way.

  "Ahem." Stanley coughed and waited.

  Without turning, Mack the Knife said, "Stanley, another unexpected visit. What can I do you for this time?" It sounded a little less friendly, and who could blame him? This was the second time in two days they had turned up unannounced, disturbing him.

  Stanley tried to forget the rather ominous tone of the overheard conversation and said, "Sorry, Mack, I wouldn't call again unless it was important."

  "I'm sure. Please, do come where I can see you." Mack kept his hands behind his head, thoroughly at ease.

  Stanley raised an eyebrow to Kate and the now standing Spider, who didn't look nearly as confident as the day before about meeting the man for the second time.

  They walked across perfectly manicured grass—how on earth did he get it so green?—and stood in front of Mack the Knife, thankfully wearing a pair of buttercup-yellow shorts rather than the budgie smugglers.

  "Stanley. Kate. Spider." Mack held their gaze in turn, smiling slightly, but there was definitely an edge and Stanley knew he wasn't imagining it this time.

  They all said hello, then Stanley got straight to the point. "I'm so sorry to disturb your sunbathing, Mack. I just have another question for you."

  "Fine, Stanley. I figured you'd be back."

  "You did?"

  "Is that your question?"

  "What? Oh, no. Your van, had it been cleaned before it was stolen?"

  "Cleaned? Whatever do you mean?"

  "You know, valeted or something. Here, at the house."

  "We do have a fellow that does it regular, if that's what you mean. But I have no idea. The wife takes care of that side of things. She knows how I hate a mess, so usually she gets it done after a dog show."

  "Had you been on one, before the van was stolen?"

  "Yes, now that you mention it I believe we did. Hang on." Mack picked up his phone and slowly tapped at the screen. "Hi, love. Did you get the van valeted after our last dog show? ...You did? ...The usual guy? ...No, it's just that Stanley wanted to know. ...Okay, thanks."

  "So she got it cleaned?" asked Stanley.

  "Yes. That must have been the day it was taken. You know, I never gave that a thought."

  "And would it have been cleaned very thoroughly? You know, so there were no fingerprints.?"

  "Yes, of course. I'll let you in on a little secret. I'm a stickler for order and cleanliness. The valet always wears gloves and goes over the cars with a fine-tooth comb. I won't stand for smudges."

  "Thank you, Mack, that explains a lot."

  "Well, good. Now, if you don't mind?" Mack waved them aside as he was getting shaded.

  "Oh, sorry. And one more question." Mack frowned, Stanley gulped and asked anyway. "Had Charlie and Robert been doing any work for you very recently?"

  "Yes, they made some repairs to the boundary wall not so long ago. Actually, they pulled a section down and rebuilt it a little straighter. Other odds and ends. Look, where is this going? Are you saying they took my van and that's why it was only their fingerprints on it? Because they stole it? I don't believe it, Stanley. They wouldn't. To me it seemed much more likely their fingerprints were planted to make it appear as though they had taken it. But I honestly hadn't considered the fact it had been thoroughly cleaned here beforehand. Still, no, they wouldn't dare."

  "I'm just trying to piece it all together, Mack. Maybe you're right and they were framed, but why?"

  "I have no idea, and as I said before, Stanley, be careful. All of you." Mack closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun. The questions were over.

  "Thank you. Bye."

  "Bye, Mack, thanks," said Kate.

  "Be seeing you," said Spider. He led the way, with Roobarb as keen as him to get out of there.

  In the car, Stanley said, "Let's go get a cup of tea."

  "Good idea."

  "Uncle Stan, can we go to the burger place? I fancy a milkshake."

  "Sure, if Kate doesn't mind?"

  "No. I might even have one myself."

  "I won't," said Stanley glumly.

  Kate did her best to drive away making a dramatic exit, but she didn't even put a tire mark on the perfect asphalt.

  A Nice Cup of Tea

  Stanley sat on a plastic chair at a plastic table in a plastic environment and wondered if this was what the future would be like everywhere. Everything fake, disposable, service a thing of the past. Everyone having to line up like automatons, do everything themselves apart from the actual cooking or pouring of drinks delivered in oversized cups that warned you that your drink would be hot even though that was the point of tea.

  He watched as people finished their trays of food served in polystyrene and plastic looking paper and then emptied the whole lot into a bin. Did it get recycled? How? It was all mushed up together. Was this what progress meant? Why couldn't it be served on proper plates with a knife and fork? Was it cheaper to have the packaging produced and let it go to landfill than to pay someone to wash the dishes?

  It seemed entirely at odds with what he heard on the news or read in the paper about finite resources. Why was food served in cardboard, paper, or plastic when it could be presented on something that could be cleaned and used thousands of times?

  "Someone should have a word about that," he said to h
imself, getting a few odd looks from the people next to him.

  What happened to the good old days when you could sit in a place to eat and drink and also smoke your pipe, an ashtray on every table? Maybe that wasn't the best example of better days, as it was hardly a healthy environment, but still, it would be nice.

  Kate and Spider joined him, with a tray holding two large plastic cups with straws and tea for him in a cardboard cup with a cardboard handle and the ubiquitous warning about it being dangerous to pour it into your eyes, or something along those lines.

  With an envious glance at the thick, pink and brown contents of their cups, Stanley sipped his tea and tried not to pull a face.

  "Come on then, out with it," said Kate, looking like she'd suck the information out of him with her straw otherwise.

  "Yeah, Uncle Stan, what's the great reveal? You gonna stand up and smoke your pipe while you tell us who the murderer is?" Spider winked at Stanley. He was getting to be a right cheeky little sod, and no mistake.

  "Haha, very funny." Stanley really, really wanted to do that. But now wasn't the time, or the place, plus he didn't have a clue yet who had done it. One thing he was sure of though, things were slotting into place.

  "Uncle Stan, Uncle Stan. Hello?"

  "Sorry, miles away. Right, here is what I think, and tell me I'm wrong." Stanley took off his cap, put a hand through his hair then squared it back on his head. "Charlie and Robert did some work for Mack the Knife, and much as he refuses to believe it I'm sure they stole the van. More, I believe they disabled the gate so they could take it at night without causing a disturbance and had every intention of returning it before he even knew it was missing. I wouldn't be surprised if—" Stanley was interrupted by a large man banging into the back of his chair and making it squeal across the floor. His tea, held in his hand, nearly went everywhere.

  The man glared at Stanley like it was his fault, then left. "Charming." Stanley put his tea down then continued. "I think they had something planned and had no idea the van had been cleaned to within an inch of its life. They wouldn't know and wouldn't have cared anyway. They weren't worried about fingerprints as they were going to do whatever it was they had planned, then put it back."

  "Ooh, you're good," said Kate.

  "That sounds like proper detective work to me," said Spider smiling.

  "Why, you cheeky—"

  "Joke." Spider held his hands up then laughed. "Seriously, Uncle Stan, I knew you were onto something in the woods when you said things were probably obvious, but didn't know this was what you meant. What made you think Mack had got the van cleaned?"

  "Just because otherwise it seemed ridiculous there were no other fingerprints. You don't wipe down a whole van then leave your fingerprints behind. And if someone was trying to confuse the police then why bother leaving any at all? They were all over the van, and what person would make his victims go touching everything just to make it look like they stole it?"

  "Dad, stop right there. You'll end up confusing me if you carry on. I get it, I think."

  "I do, I understand, Uncle Stan. You're amazing."

  There was silence. Spider blushed, hid behind his hair and drank his milkshake noisily. Kate and Stanley exchanged a surprised glance. This was praise indeed from Spider, who always used to act like anyone out of their teens was from another planet and not worth talking to, certainly not praising.

  "Thank you, Spider," said Stanley softly.

  They drank their drinks quietly. Stanley tried not to get too excited. All he'd done was confirm the obvious—it looked like the men had stolen the van and they had. But it was a start, and it wasn't mere speculation, it was what had happened. Unless, of course, Mack the Knife was a liar and a ruthless gangster and had told a load of lies to Stanley.

  Damn, now he was more confused than ever.

  The Move

  Mike was early, already there and leaning against his work van when they arrived. He was tall, strong, and rather handsome, with well-defined muscles from spending plenty of time at the gym. Stanley could tell he fancied Kate. He always tried to show off in front of her. But when Stanley mentioned it to her, and that he was a nice lad, she'd laughed and said he was, but he was also half her age.

  Stanley didn't see it himself, always thinking of Kate as the most beautiful and ageless of women, but he guessed it might be a little inappropriate. Mike was only in his twenties, after all. Did it matter though, in this day and age? What was a few years if it meant happiness?

  "Hi, Mike, sorry to keep you waiting. Been here long?"

  "Just a few minutes, Stanley. And hello to you, too. Hi, Kate, you look nice." Mike blushed a little but flexed his muscles. A little too obviously, Stanley thought. "And who's this?"

  "Hi, Mike," said Kate. "This is Spider, my cousin."

  "All right?" said Spider.

  "Not bad, young 'un," said Mike. He turned to Kate. "You two must be about the same age then, am I right?"

  Stanley tried not to roll his eyes. Surely he could do better than that? Spider stifled a chuckle but ended up coughing and sounding like a sea lion instead. Kate merely smiled prettily and put a hand to her hip. She was as bad as Mike. What happened to subtle chit-chat and saying something clever?

  "That's enough hanging about. Time to get to work."

  "Right you are, Stanley. Your missus has been on the phone to me, though, nearly chewed me ear off she did. You aren't to lift anything larger than a cup of tea, is what she said."

  "Never mind that, let's get the job done. And, Mike, the place is a mess. The lad's mum has been having a hard time with the landlord so no comments please, and remember we are family."

  "No problem, Stanley. You should see the state of my place." He realized what he'd said and turned to Kate. "You know, just needs a quick dust. It's nice really, honest. Come around any time. I'll get a quality bottle of wine, maybe we could watch a movie."

  "I said let's get to work. You can flirt and talk nonsense once you've used those muscles of yours."

  Mike saluted and said, "Yes, sir."

  Stanley opened the front door and they went to work.

  Mike made no comment about the condition of the house, merely whistled when they entered the kitchen then began grabbing boxes and carrying them outside. Spider, uncharacteristically, moved straight into efficient furniture removal guy and worked at a frantic pace shifting anything he could carry and helping Mike with all the furniture.

  Stanley and Kate worked at a more sedate pace. Stanley took it easy and made just a few trips, always mindful of how he carried the light boxes that made him feel less than useless.

  As the house emptied, he wandered from room to room, the full scale of the state of the building revealed. Some rooms weren't bad at all, in fact were clean and well-presented, but others, especially at the back of the house, were worse than he'd realized. Still, it was done now. Pam and Spider could move into their nice new home soon and put the whole unfortunate business behind them.

  In just over an hour the house was empty. Kate went around with the vacuum cleaner and a duster even though Spider said why bother. She insisted though, explaining she didn't want to risk the landlord trying to hold back on the deposit or cause any trouble. Stanley had the feeling he wouldn't. If an old age pensioner worried him, Stanley knew that if he sent Mike around to have a chat there would be no issue with the deposit at all.

  Spider closed the front door with a smile, looking happier than he'd been since they came to stay. He was relieved, that was obvious, but it was more than that—he was practically ecstatic.

  Sure, the place was bad, but could it have been that awful? Stanley knew there had been a lot more going on than just a negligent landlord—Pam had been struggling and spiraling down into depression, and obviously Spider had been sucked down into the pit of despair along with her. Easy enough when you are talking about a teenager who practiced being moody on principle.

  Maybe this was the beginning of a new era for the lad? He had cert
ainly perked up since being allowed to tag along with him and Kate, and now with that simple act of closing the front door, he looked years younger. As if he'd locked the unhappiness away in a rundown house and was eager to explore a fresh world where he could be happy and live with his mum somewhere nice.

  Wasn't he worried about starting a new school though, and having to make new friends? Maybe he didn't mind, or maybe he thought it was worth it to get away from the unhappiness. Stanley hoped the boy wasn't setting his expectations too high. You can move to the other side of the world, but you still take your emotional baggage with you.

  "Come on, let's get this lot back to Mike's and then we can go home and tell your mum we've finished."

  "Thanks. And thanks, Kate. Me and Mum really appreciate the help. Ugh, I'm glad to see the back of that place. Stupid house, stupid town, stupid school."

  Spider ran off to the van and shouted back, "Can I ride with Mike?" Stanley nodded and the two young men got into the van. Mike drove off with a beep of the horn as Spider grinned through the open window.

  "What was that about school?" asked Kate.

  "No idea. It's the first I've heard of it. I think he's just happy and looking forward to living somewhere nice. It'll do the lad good to be somewhere a little more rural."

  "Maybe," said Kate. "What a nightmare. This must have been driving Auntie Pam crazy, you know how fussy she is."

  "Hmm, must run in the family."

  "Cheeky. Come on, let's get this finished and then we can go have lunch."

  "Lunch, now that sounds good."

  They got into the Mini, Roobarb climbing in eagerly and settling down on the back seat, stretching out now he had it all to himself again. The poor guy was shattered—he'd had to sit and guard the whole time they emptied the house, just in case anyone decided to steal anything. He needed a nice rest.

  As Kate drove off, Stanley wondered if all the back-and-forth would end soon. He felt like all he did was drive from the village to the town and back again.

  Butterflies hit his belly and his nerves flared. What about the case? What were they to do after lunch? He needed a plan. All he'd come up with was the suspicion about the van and the feeling something was off at the murder scene, but beyond that he had no idea what to do next. Should he call it a day and go over the notes Kate had made?