Mike Befeler Paul Jacobson Geezer-lit Mystery Series E-Book Box Set: Retirement Homes Are Murder, Living with Your Kids Is Murder, Senior Moments Are Murder, Cruising in Your Eighties Is Murder

by Mike Befeler

  I hesitated in mid-bite.

  “Let me get this straight,” I said to Meyer. “You think this’ll help me remember things?”

  He shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt.”

  “A diary like a teenage girl?”

  Now he gave me a Cheshire cat smile, peeking out from his white beard. “It might do the trick. You’d need to remember to read it every morning.”

  “I’d have to write myself a note and leave it on the diary: ‘Read this before you pee.’ Then the only problem would be deciphering my own handwriting.”

  “You’ll have to print neatly.”

  “You sound like my second grade teacher, Mrs. Ames,” I said.

  “See? You remember her better than what happened to you yesterday. How long have you been this way?”

  “Who knows. I can’t remember.”

  “So try thinking back. What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “Your dumbass question.”

  He laughed. “Okay. Before today, what’s the most recent thing you remember?”

  “I sure don’t remember coming to this hell hole. Let’s see. After I retired, Rhonda died, may she rest in peace. I lived in a condo in Honolulu. Played some golf. My granddaughter came to visit. She was six years old. That’s about the last thing I recall.”

  “How old is she now?” Meyer asked.

  “I have no clue.”

  “So all you have to do is find out how old your granddaughter is today. Then you’ll know how long you’ve been having memory problems.”

  “What good will that do me?”

  “Probably not much,” he said. “But we’ll know what we’re up against. Aren’t you curious about it?”

  “I’m more curious where my memory cells went. But I’m also willing to find out how screwed up I am.”

  “Anyway, try keeping a journal,” Meyer said. “By the way, I found out a little regarding the Tiegan case.”

  “So, are the police going to lock me up?”

  “You are a suspect. With the connection between you and Tiegan, there is motive.”

  “I still don’t remember him,” I said.

  “That’s another good reason for you to keep a journal.”

  “It’s a little late for that. As a casual observer, I’d say it doesn’t look good for me. How do you know I didn’t do it?”

  “After years of dealing with criminals, I have a sense for this,” Meyer said.

  “Guillotine,” Henry chimed in.

  “No, in Hawaii it would be life imprisonment,” Meyer said.

  “That wouldn’t be much longer for me,” I said.

  * * * * *

  Later that night I found my address book and looked up the phone number of my son. I intended to talk to him to see what he might know about Tiegan and to find out how old my granddaughter was. My daughter-in-law Allison answered.

  “How old is Jennifer?” I asked.

  “You wake me up at midnight with that question?”

  “Damn. I forgot the time zone difference. I’m sorry to disturb you, but as long as you’re awake anyway, what’s Jennifer’s age?”

  “She’s eleven, Paul.”

  “That’s amazing. I last remember my little granddaughter being six. Since then my mind has been piss poor.”

  “Please watch your language.”

  “Oh. My apologies. When did you notice my memory going in the crap . . . going bad?”

  “You’ve had trouble remembering things for at least five years.”

  “I can’t even recall what happened yesterday anymore.”

  “That’s why Denny went over to relocate you to the new place.”

  “He’s in the islands?”

  “He moved you in, but had to go to Maui for a business meeting. He’ll be back to see you tomorrow.”

  “I don’t remember him being here. But I also don’t remember coming to this joint.”

  “So how do you like your new home?” Allison asked.

  “There’s a problem. It’s full of old people.”

  “Of course. It’s a retirement home. Meet anyone yet?”

  I thought of telling her I found a murder victim, but decided that would be unproductive. “I have two eating buddies. I like one of them, Meyer. He’s the one who suggested I find out how old Jennifer is since I last remember her being six years old.”

  “We’ll all be over to visit in less than a month, when Jennifer’s done with school.”

  “That’s good news. I look forward to seeing my favorite daughter-in-law and granddaughter. Thanks for putting up with my mistimed phone call. I still can’t believe it. Jennifer’s eleven years old!”

  After I hung up, I sat there stunned. Where had five years gone? I needed to get a handle on this strange world of mine. I had the impression I’d been plunked down into someone else’s life. As I reviewed the day, I thought about what Meyer had said. The events were still clear in my mind. Then I tried to remember the day before. I squeezed my eyes shut, clenched my fists, and tried to extract any memory I could find. One big blank. I considered the advice given me by a fraternity brother, “Live your life one day at a time.” By default, that was exactly what I was doing. But it might be in prison if I didn’t clear my name.

  I started getting sleepy around nine-forty-five. Apparently, I wasn’t much of a night owl. After rereading the same paragraph six times in a Tom Clancy novel, I washed my face, and took the elevator to the ground floor.

  A bored-looking young man in a brown uniform sat at the reception desk. I looked at his scraggly black mustache and then into his sleepy eyes. It made me want to yawn. “You Jason Kam?”

  His eyes focused, and he stared back. “That’s me.”

  “Do you remember any visitors late last night?”

  “Wouldn’t have been any after ten P.M.”

  “How do you know that someone didn’t drive up and sneak into the building?”

  He smiled at me like a teacher regarding an idiot student. “The gate locks at ten.”

  “What gate?”

  “The front gate automatically closes at ten P.M. No one can drive in without contacting me. There’s a button and speaker by the gate.”

  “And no one called you last night?”

  “Nope,” he said.

  “What about earlier than ten P.M.?”

  His gaze flicked up toward the ceiling. “I don’t remember anyone specifically after eight.”

  “There was at least one visitor that evening,” I said. “Take a look at the log.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Why are you so interested?”

  “It happened on my floor. I don’t like the idea of dead bodies on my floor.”

  Pretty lame, but he bought it.

  He shuffled through the sheets on the clipboard, stopped, and then went through them again. With a puzzled expression he looked up at me. "That page is missing."

  I clutched the counter. “It was here earlier today.”

  “Someone must have taken it,” he said.

  “I have a copy. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  I headed toward the elevator with a knot in my gut. Who could have removed the page? The police? Someone in Kina Nani management? Or had the murderer returned to get rid of the evidence?

  Chapter 4

  When I reached my room, I opened my secret hiding place, the underwear drawer. Rummaging through, I extracted a folded piece of paper imbedded near the bottom of the stack of shorts. Success.

  Back at the front desk, I showed the page to Jason Kam. “Do you recognize this signature?” I asked.

  He squinted at it. “Looks like an ‘H’ and some squiggles.”

  “I got that far. You must remember someone coming by.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “This person must have signed in when I was in the back room.”

  “Great. We have this mystery visitor that nobody can identify. What kind of security do you have in this place?”

  “This is a retirement
home, not a prison.”

  “You could have fooled me,” I said.

  * * * * *

  With no more useful information from Jason Kam, I retired to my room for the night. I sat at my desk, picked up a pen and pad of paper. I tapped the pen three times on the edge of the desk and began writing.

  * * * * *

  Where was I? This was my bed, my nightstand, and lamp, but I didn’t remember the room.

  In the faint light my eyes focused on a picture mounted on the far wall. Yes, that seascape. I remembered painting it in 1955. Rhonda and I were driving from L.A. to San Francisco on Highway One. Stopped in Cambria for a bite to eat, wandered down to Moonstone Beach, and watched the waves breaking on the rocks as the fog lifted at sunset. Took out my sketch pad and pastels and caught the moment. Back in our apartment a week later, I completed it in oils.

  Okay, the painting was mine. What else looked familiar?

  I turned on the light. There was a big note on top of a pile of paper on the nightstand. “Read this before you pee.” My handwriting. I didn’t remember writing it. Where the heck was I? I thought about throwing the paper away. Still, the note said to read it. What the hell?

  I started reading.

  * * * * *

  What a surprise. It appeared my memory had been crapola for five years. I was in a place called Kina Nani. I ate my meals with two goofballs named Meyer and Henry. I was a suspect in a murder. It was like reading someone else’s story. Did this really happen to me yesterday? I certainly didn’t remember it. Yet, this was definitely my handwriting. I didn’t lie to myself. Except for that one time with the blonde in Cleveland. But that had been sixty years ago.

  I dressed and then a manic young woman came and stuffed a mountain of pills down my throat. Following the instructions I had read, I took the elevator to the second floor, where I saw dozens of old people shuffling along with their canes and walkers. Then I found the chow hall. I didn’t recognize anyone. A nice young woman with dark, warm eyes steered me over to a table.

  A man sitting there pointed to the empty chair. “Good morning, Paul. Have a seat.”

  “Do I know you?”

  He laughed. “Sure do. I’m Meyer.”

  The name clicked. “I read about you.”

  His eyes twinkled under a baseball cap and above a snow-white beard. “Good for you. You wrote down what you did yesterday.”

  “I found this epistle in my handwriting. I don’t remember anything about it, but it had the names Meyer and Henry in it.”

  “That’s right. Henry’s our other companion here.”

  I looked at the other guy, a little squat pissant. “Not much of a conversationalist is he?”

  Henry ignored us and kept right on eating.

  “We have an interesting problem here,” Meyer said. “Yesterday, you and I had good conversations, but you don’t remember anything about them.”

  I scratched my head. “Not a thing. But the journal referred to our talks. What’s this about me being a suspect in a murder?”

  He frowned. “That’s right. You found a body yesterday, a victim you were linked to.”

  “This is the shits. I can’t remember anything. How am I going to defend myself?”

  “That’s why I recommended that you get a lawyer.”

  “I hate lawyers.”

  “You told me that yesterday,” Meyer said. “I was a lawyer.”

  “Present company excepted.”

  He chuckled.

  I could imagine a bowl full of jelly except he was skinny.

  “One other thing,” I said. “I read that I called and found out my granddaughter is now eleven years old.”

  “So your memory has been bad for five years,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s a long time not to remember things. And you lived on your own all that time?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “How’d you do it?”

  “Not so good, I guess. That’s why I’m an inmate here.”

  “We’re going to have to work on that attitude,” Meyer said with a laugh. “I’ll help you as much as I can by partially being your memory. You need to continue to write down everything that happens during the day in detail every night before you go to bed. You could even keep a computer journal.”

  “Hell no. I’ve never learned to use a computer and I’m not going to now.”

  “Then keep a handwritten diary and leave a note on top like you did last night to remind yourself to read it first thing in the morning,” Meyer said. “Then at breakfast you and I will need to review the previous day.”

  “Damn it,” I said. “Seems like a lot of trouble just because I can’t remember which end I piss with.”

  Meyer flashed me his pearly whites. “I don’t mind. I have nothing better to do, anyway.”

  He stood up and began pacing around.

  “What are you doing?” I asked as he circled behind me.

  “I can’t sit in one place long.”

  “Crap. Get your butt back in your chair. I can’t carry on a conversation with you waltzing all over the place.”

  He settled back down, recounted his version of what happened the day before and asked, “Sound familiar at all?”

  I shook my head. “But seems to fit with what I read. That’s about it.”

  “Are you on any medication?”

  “I’m taking every color and shape of pill they can find. Does nothing for my brain cells that I can tell. I hate taking pills. That girl showed up this morning and stuffed three capsules down my throat.”

  Meyer popped up from the table.

  “You’re pacing again,” I said to Meyer while he circled the table.

  “I get restless sitting. I have to get up and work off some nervous energy.”

  “You always been that way?”

  “Yeah, in addition to going blind, I have attention deficit disorder.”

  “Well, pay attention,” I said. “I have something important to tell you. From what I read, it sounds like my son will be visiting today.”

  “Good. I’d like to meet him.”

  “We’ll have a regular old party. Henry, you can come too.”

  Henry had stuffed a last bite of sausage in his mouth. He chewed quickly, adjusted his metal-rimmed glasses, and then said, “I hope your son isn’t another criminal and as ugly as you are.”

  “Actually, he looks a lot like a younger Meyer without a beard. Tall, not bald and squat like you, Henry.”

  Henry gave a dismissive wave of the hand.

  Meyer said. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

  “Fine by me. That’ll be an easier way to talk to you than when you’re traipsing around here.”

  “Do you want to join us, Henry?” Meyer asked.

  Henry looked up from his plate. “Nope. Going to work on my coin collection.”

  “What’s with you, Henry?” I asked. “You the strong silent type? Not up to socializing with your table buddies?”

  “I don’t associate with murderers, and my coin collection is more interesting than you,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist and leaving the table.

  “He may not say much, but you know where you stand with Henry,” Meyer said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “People are obviously at the bottom of his totem pole.”

  “You’ll get used to him. Are you ready for that walk now?”

  “Sure. Why don’t you give me a tour of my estate?”

  We descended the stairs and strolled out the front walkway.

  “Was it hard for you to give up your independence and move here?” I asked Meyer.

  “Yes and no. Having to hang up my car keys was the most difficult part. But I knew it was necessary when I couldn’t see traffic lights and signs clearly. After I got to Kina Nani, I realized I had been having difficulty taking care of myself. Now there is a kind of freedom in going down at mealtime and not having to hassle with food packages I can’t read. At first I thought Kraft was making the labels sm
aller. Then I learned it was me losing my eyesight.”

  I peered at him. “I don’t know. It’s kind of depressing being around all these old people.”

  He shrugged. “You get used to it. You can take a cab or walk somewhere when you need to get away. There are excursions. It’s not like anyone is confining you here.”

  We wandered around the grounds and came to a shuffleboard court.

  “I have just the solution for your hyperactivity,” I said. “I’m going to challenge you to a game of shuffleboard.”

  “I haven’t played in years.”

  “Go grab a stick,” I said. “I’m going to whip your ass.”

  “Oh, yeah? You and who else?”

  With the gauntlet thrown down, we engaged in a heated battle. I discovered I wasn’t good at getting the puck in the scoring area, but could blast Meyer’s disc out when he had one in position.

  After several rounds, Meyer said, “First one to a hundred points wins.”

  “At the rate we’re playing that could take the rest of the day.”

  “Paul, what else do we have to do?”

  “You’re right. I’d probably just get in trouble with the police anyway.”

  We started slowly and finally got the hang of shooting the puck down the cement court. Back and forth we went until Meyer scored on a shot, knocking one of my pucks into the grass and bringing his total to a hundred-and-three to my ninety-five.

  He slapped me on the back. “Good try, but you weren’t as good as the old master.”

  “Shit. We were both pretty pathetic.”

  “Uh, oh,” Meyer said. “I need to get to a restroom quick or I’ll have an accident.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll pick up the equipment.”

  He raced off toward the building while I reached over to retrieve the errant puck that had ended up in the grass. I noticed something shiny on the ground. Bending over, I extracted a key.

  I inspected it and decided I’d be a good Samaritan and turn it in. I walked inside and stopped at the front desk.

  The receptionist was at the back of the office, filing some papers, so I dropped the key on the counter.

  “Here’s something for the lost and found,” I said to the back of her head.

  “Thanks,” she said without looking up.