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

  “Now that you’ve helped me with my school project, I want to show you how to search on the Internet.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  She sighed. “Really, Grandpa, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you. You need to learn to surf the Internet.”

  “I don’t even want to surf in the ocean, much less the Internet.”

  “It’s easy and together we can gather information that will help clear you in the murder investigation.”

  “If you can find some way to get Detective Lavino off my back, I would appreciate it.”

  “Let’s start by finding out more concerning the company the murder victims worked for. Here…”

  She started clicking away.

  “How’d you learn to type so fast?” I asked.

  “I’ve been using a computer for years, but I took a typing class in the sixth grade.”

  “I never learned to type until I entered the Navy. Had to fill out all those requisition forms.”

  “Here’s the home page for Colorado Mountain Retirement Properties,” Jennifer said, pointing.

  I looked at the screen and read words describing the wonders of owning my own property in the beautiful Colorado mountains. All units connected to a main commons area so when it snowed, I wouldn’t get my feet wet. Indoor swimming pool, Jacuzzi, exercise room, library, gourmet food. What more could I want? Except I hated going in swimming pools. Water over my head scared the crap out of me.

  “See if you can find something on Gary Previn,” I said.

  Jennifer raised herself up from her chair. “Here. You try it.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. Now you sit right there, Grandpa, and I’ll show you. You need to learn by trying it yourself.”

  “But I’ve never used a computer.”

  “Then it’s about time. There’s nothing scary. You can’t break anything. See that box that says ‘Search’? Type in ‘Gary Previn’ and hit the enter key.”

  I started sweating. This was as strange as doing one of those Sudoku puzzles. The modern world wouldn’t leave me alone.

  I followed the instructions of my Drill Sergeant, and in seconds a set of pictures and words popped up in front of me describing the two officers of the Colorado Mountain Retirement Properties Corporation. I stared at the serious face of Gary Previn—clean-shaven, short haircut, square jaw and steely eyes. The description read that he held the position of Vice-President of Sales and Marketing, with a previous twenty years of corporate sales and marketing experience. He had worked in another company with Peter Kingston, the current President of the corporation, and they had met each other while serving in the Special Forces.

  Interesting. My attention focused next on the picture of Peter Kingston III. He looked like a younger version of Uncle Sam in that poster where he pointed a finger and said, “I Want You.” I felt distinctly like he wanted to reach in my pocket and take my wallet. Kingston’s background bio confirmed my concern. After retiring from the military, he received a law degree from the University of Colorado before serving as corporate counsel for an investment-banking firm. Now he held the position of CEO of this scam. He and Previn made quite a pair.

  “Can I print this page?” I asked Jennifer.

  “Sure. See that icon third from the left on the top of the screen? Now click on it.”

  I squinted at it and snapped my fingers. Nothing happened.

  “Grandpa, you need to use the mouse.”

  “I don’t know the mouse from the cat or dog.”

  She exhaled as if trying to expel some unhealthy air. “Put your hand on the black object next to the keyboard.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now wiggle it around and look at the screen.”

  I picked it up and shook it. Nothing happened.

  “Grandpa, keep it on the mouse pad.”

  I looked at the bottom of the object expecting to see mice feet.

  “Put it down on the felt pad and move it like ironing a shirt.”

  “Now I get it.” I followed her instructions and saw a tiny vertical arrow bounce around on the screen.

  “Now position the arrow on the printer icon.”

  “You mean that little box?”

  “That’s the one.”

  I flew the arrow around until I got it centered.

  “Now push the left button on the mouse.”

  I did so, and moments later I heard a whirring sound and a piece of paper spewed out of a box sitting next to the computer. I extracted it and found a nice color copy of my two new buddies, Previn and Kingston III. I felt so computer literate, I couldn’t stand it.

  “Well here are two nice scumbags,” I said. “I vote for the lawyer as the one who did it.”

  “Oh, Grandpa. We don’t know yet. We have further investigating to do.”

  “You’re right. I need to track down Previn and talk to him. Here, I’ll let you drive the computer now. The excitement exceeds what my old body can stand.”

  Jennifer took over and started searching to find out more information on Colorado Mountain Retirement Properties.

  “Cool. Look, Grandpa, they’re sponsoring a team for the Kinetic Conveyance Race.”

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Please, Grandpa, watch your language. You’re with a child.”

  I opened my mouth to say something but thought better of it.

  She gave me the most angelic smile. “I’m kidding. I hear much worse than that near the lockers at school. You can speak any way you want.”

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “To answer your question,” Jennifer said in her most professorial voice, “every May there’s a big race at the Boulder Reservoir. Teams dress up in crazy outfits and race contraptions that need to both float and move through the mud flats. Teams are judged on both speed and style. It’s a big party and lots of fun. And it says right here that Gary Previn heads the team.”

  “So if I can’t track him down before then . . .”

  “Right, Grandpa. We’ll go to the race in two weeks and question him.”

  “You’re planning to show up at this thing?”

  “Of course. We go every year. But this time, you get to come with us.”

  “Just as long as I don’t have to go in the reservoir. I hate bodies of water.”

  “You’re funny, Grandpa. You hate so many things: pills, lawyers and water. But what do you like?”

  “I like you. Now get back to your homework.”

  “First I have a web site to show you.” She hit some keys and a fill-in form appeared on the screen. “You can write a message to yourself or someone else and put a future date for when it will be sent. You could use this to send yourself a message to remember what you’ve forgotten.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll stick with my handwritten journal, although I could send myself a message each day to ask if I’m still alive. That might help with the green banana syndrome.”

  Jennifer looked at me and wrinkled up her nose. “What’s that?”

  “People my age aren’t supposed to buy green bananas because we might not be around long enough to eat them.”

  “Oh, Grandpa, you’re going to be around for a long time. You have to come see me graduate from law school in twelve years.”

  “I don’t think my green bananas will last that long.”

  Chapter 7

  That night I sat on my bed pondering the events of the day. I felt overwhelmed. Witnessing a bank robbery, the experience at the police station, the world of Sudoku puzzles and using a computer put too much stress on my shoddy brain. I sat there holding my head in my hands. I’d have to control my life better if I intended to stay out of the clutches of Detectives Lavino and Hamilton. Then I thought how my friend Meyer who had written me the letter knew the intricacies of the legal system. I wondered if he had any contacts in Denver who might be able to help me understand the circumstances of the mysterious death on the plane when I arrived from Honolulu. I’d have to pursue that
in the morning.

  * * * * *

  The next morning when I woke up in my usual confused state, I found a note on top of a notebook that read: “Welcome to the computer world, you old fart. Read this before you do anything stupid, and it will remind you to call Meyer today.”

  At breakfast Jennifer told me that I needed to come to her school in the afternoon. “Do you have any medals from World War II that you could wear?” she asked.

  “No, but I could stick on some Presidential campaign buttons.”

  “What are those?” she asked.

  “You don’t see them around much anymore, but in my sprightly youth, we wore metal buttons that promoted our favorite candidates during a campaign. I may still have one kicking around somewhere that says, ‘I like Ike.’”

  “Never heard of him,” Jennifer said.

  “Yes you have. You studied him. He commanded the Normandy invasion. Dwight D. Eisenhower’s nickname was Ike when he later ran for President.”

  “See, that’s why I need to take you to school today. You’re a walking encyclopedia.”

  “More a limping who-done-it with a few pages missing.”

  After Jennifer left for school and Denny for work, I asked Allison if I could make a phone call. I wanted to call Meyer to ask his advice concerning the murder on the flight from Honolulu to Denver. I located the letter and punched in the phone number written there.

  After five rings a sleepy voice answered, “Hale Pohai Care Home.”

  “I need to speak to Meyer Ohana,” I said.

  “At four in the morning?”

  “Damn, I got the time zones all confused. I’ll call back later.” I slammed down the phone.

  I waited until after lunch and then called Meyer again.

  “Paul, it’s great to hear from you.”

  “Thanks for the letter. My granddaughter Jennifer helped me remember you.”

  “Colorado mountain air hasn’t rejuvenated your memory?”

  “No, but Jennifer has me keeping a journal so I can review things from recent days.”

  “That’s like you used to do in the retirement home. You may not remember Henry Palmer, but he sat with us at meals. He’s here with me in the care home recuperating from a heart attack. He still recites baseball statistics and insults everyone. We both miss you.”

  “I’m sure I’d miss you if I could remember you. Say, I have a favor to ask.”

  “Fire away.”

  “I sat next to a guy on the plane coming here who died under strange circumstances . . .”

  “Getting involved in murders again?”

  “Let’s just say I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Meyer chuckled. “Same old Paul.”

  “Old being the operative word. Since I’m a curious geezer, would you have any contacts in Denver who might be able to shed some light on what happened?”

  “I have a friend from law school whose son works in the Denver District Attorney’s office. I could check with him.”

  “That would be great. The dead guy’s name is Daniel Reynolds. See what you can find out.” I told him to phone me back at Denny’s number.

  “I’ll call you as soon as I track down any information,” Meyer said.

  “How are you doing?”

  “My eyesight isn’t getting any worse. I can still make out shapes pretty well. You probably don’t remember, Paul, but you used to read to me. Now I have a nice girl who comes twice a week to do that.”

  “Sounds like you may have a girlfriend.”

  “Unfortunately, I’m sixty years too old for her. You’re the one with the girlfriend. How’s Marion?”

  “I’ll find out pretty soon. She’s coming to visit.’

  “You sly dog.”

  “We’ll see. This will be a whole new experience for me.”

  “Not new, but with your interesting existence, your experiences are always fresh. Say hi to Marion and Jennifer for me.”

  That afternoon, after Allison pointed me in the right direction, I strolled over to Jennifer’s school, enjoying the warm spring day. I could see shadows forming on the Flatirons, the rock formations that dominated the foothills above Boulder, and in the distance, white from the caps of North Arapahoe Peak and Mount Audubon caressed the blue sky.

  I arrived at Marshall Middle School and made my way into a building full of emerging hormones and misdirected energy, reminding me of two hundred Jennifers on steroids.

  I pulled out the note Jennifer had given me and asked the first adult I encountered where to find Mrs. McConnell’s room. This man with rumpled hair and darting eyes looked like a refugee from a prisoner-of-war camp. I guessed when you’re around a school full of pre-teens, that’s the way you ended up. He directed me down a hallway lined with lockers.

  Marching in the direction he pointed, I expected live creatures to be rattling around in the rusty, dented lockers while green ooze emerged from the vents.

  Nothing attacked me, and I navigated my way into Mrs. McConnell’s class. With her short blond hair and no makeup, she didn’t look much older than some of the girls who appeared more like twenty-year-olds than pre-teens.

  I spotted Jennifer.

  She waved to me.

  I found an empty seat in the back and squeezed my aging frame into a little chair with attached desktop. I felt that school-day excitement and dread from ages ago when I was a mere emerging human being.

  I listened to a boy give a report describing how the atomic bomb interrupted over a hundred thousand lives in Hiroshima, a bubbly girl spoke on the role of WACS and WAVES in World War II, and then Jennifer stood up.

  She did a commendable job explaining Operation Overlord. “And my Grandpa, sitting in the back of the room, helped move supplies from England to Ohio Beach in Normandy. He wanted to be in the fighting, but had a different job to do.”

  Mrs. McConnell cleared her throat. “That’s a nice report, Jennifer, but I can’t imagine anyone wanting to be in the fighting if they didn’t have to.”

  I raised my hand, and the teacher nodded to me.

  “Not to disagree, ma’am, but the times were different in World War II than in the Vietnam War or these other recent conflicts. We had to shut down an evil machine, intent on taking over the world. My granddaughter means that my generation was united in support of the war effort—everyone wanted to fight. We were committed to doing whatever it took to stop Hitler, even if it meant killing a bunch of Nazis.” My voice rose with vehemence. “I still feel that way.”

  Several of the kids gasped, and the bell rang. In the ensuing pandemonium, I didn’t know if I had helped or hurt Jennifer’s grade, but after class she came bouncing up to me. “Thanks, Grandpa. That was great.”

  “I hope speaking my mind didn’t upset things.”

  “No, you clarified the issue.” Jennifer grabbed my hand and led me toward another classroom. “Come on. I have some people I want you to meet.”

  A woman and a girl Jennifer’s age sat at a table covered by a variety of plants.

  “Meet my science teacher, Mrs. Evans, and my best friend, Katherine,” Jennifer said. “Everyone, this is my grandpa.”

  I waved to both of them. Mrs. Evans was a perky young woman with long, flowing, streaked blond hair, and Katherine resembled Jennifer, but with her hair held back in a clip rather than in a ponytail.

  “We’ve been classifying plants,” Katherine said as she looked up through her glasses and gave Jennifer a smile. “But I need to get home. Thanks, Mrs. Evans.”

  “We’ll walk you home, Katherine. Is that okay, Grandpa?”

  “Sure. I like walking, and my old legs could use the exercise.”

  After the girls visited their lockers, threw some things inside and grabbed a few books, we left school with the two of them yakking about the end of the school year.

  “We’re having a game night next week, Grandpa. You’ll have to come.”

  “I’m game,” I said.

  “Oh, Gra
ndpa, don’t start making dumb jokes like my dad does.”

  “Where do you think he learned all his dumb jokes?” I said.

  As we ambled along Jennifer said, “I spoke to all my friends today and asked them to look for money with red dye on it.”

  “That will be fun to check on,” Katherine said. “It will give us an excuse to go in stores all over town.”

  Jennifer nodded her head. “If anyone sees anything, they’re supposed to let me know right away.”

  “I’ll mention it to my mom as well,” Katherine said. “She’s a lawyer and might have some further ideas.”

  I grimaced. “How come there are so many lawyers these days?”

  “It’s a noble profession, Grandpa.”

  After a pleasant stroll we arrived in front of a white two-story house with a neat row of white and blue irises planted in front. A black Mercedes was parked in the driveway.

  “Daddy,” Katherine shouted and ran toward the car.

  A man in slacks and a blue pullover sweater extracted himself from the car and gave Katherine a hug.

  “Everything okay?” I asked Katherine.

  “Sure. I’ll see you at school tomorrow, Jennifer. Nice meeting you, Mr. Jacobson.”

  As we headed home I said to Jennifer, “She seems like a nice girl.”

  “Yes. We’ve been best friends all year. But Katherine has been through a tough year. Her parents recently divorced.”

  “Maybe her dad found it hard to be married to a lawyer.”

  “Oh, Grandpa. It wasn’t that at all. They simply couldn’t resolve their differences.”

  “Was that her mom or dad’s house we just stopped at?”

  “That’s her mom’s house.”

  “I wonder what Katherine’s father was doing there today.”

  Jennifer shrugged. “Probably one of his regular visits to pick her up. Although I’m going to be a lawyer, I don’t think I’ll practice divorce law. Divorces can be tough on kids.”

  “I’m glad your parents aren’t going through something like that.”

  “Me too. But if they did, I’d sit them down and tell them to work things out like adults.”

  “I’m sure you would.”