In this blog:
Murder at Meadow Lakes……Again
A Note from Joy
New Offers in The BOOB Girl Series
“It don’t git no better,” Wiley Vondra said, lifting his frosty glass of beer to the others in the room. They were gathered around table 12 in Meadow Lakes big dining room. The other diners had left and Hadley, Robbie, Mary Rose and Marge had just poured crystal clean glasses of chardonnay – generous pours. Wiley, Alphonso and Raven were enjoying gourmet beer, cold as ice, from the Benson Brewery in one of Omaha’s trendy villages.
The sun was setting. The evening felt good. It had felt good ever since Alphonso Greatwood, retired Kansas City Chief, had purchased Meadow Lakes Retirement Community from the evil Busch family from Florida. Football had claimed Alphonso’s knees and battered them beyond repair or replacement. He was now pretty much scooter bound. His scooter, he Green Machine, bore a bumper sticker that read, “If you don’t like my driving, get off the sidewalk.”
The wait staff had cleared the table. The friends were enjoying each other and their drinks in silence.
Mary Rose McGill, now married to Wiley Vondra, looked at the spotless floor in the middle of the dining room. Table 12 had a window view as well as a view of the entire dining room. Alphonso liked it that way.
“That was where Percolator Rassmussen’s body was found,” she remembered, pointing to the floor in the middle of the room.
“Long time passing,” Robbie added.
Perky Rassmussen had been a mean old dude who wandered through book II in one paragraph. He had been found, spread eagled, face down on the dining room floor. His head had been bashed in, his throat cut, a nylon cord around his neck, a bullet hole in his jacket and a knife in his back.
They had stood over his body and Mary Rose had said, “Are we sure he’s dead?”
Wiley had looked at her. “If he isn’t, he’d better have damned good insurance!”
Then, onto the scene had come Marge Aaron, retired homicide detective. She had solved the crime and stayed on at Meadow Lakes, becoming one of the Burned Out Old Broads at Table 12.
Marge smiled. “Murder at Meadow Lakes.”
“To great sleuthing,” Wiley said. They raised their glasses to Marge.
“Being a retired detective Great Sleuthing is better than Great Dicking,” Marge replied.
Before their laughter died down, Sheryl, Alphonso’s manager ran into the dining room. One look at her told them something bad had happened.
Sheryl stopped just inside the door, grabbing onto the door frame as if to keep from falling.
“Alphonso! We’ve had a death! Ruthie! 322! I just found the body when I delivered a package!” Exclamation points shot out of her mouth.
Alphonso rushed to his scooter, zoomed out the door and they followed as fast as they could go.
“We don’t run anymore,” Hadley said, panting just a little. “We just do a power hobble.”
Marge’s red cane was banging on the floor, Hadley was doing a super scurry, Robbie was almost jogging, Raven was keeping up with Alphonso’s scooter and Wiley was pulling Mary Rose by the hand.
The door to apartment 322 was open just a crack. Alphonso banged his scooter through the door, Raven caught it and held it open while the others rushed inside. The scooter was abandoned at the bedroom door, and Alphonso limped into the bedroom of Ruthie Vytrznik, whose was flat on her back, eyes closed, looking quite dead.
Marge hurried to the bedside as the others gathered around. The old detective put her hand to Ruthie’s throat and felt for a pulse she knew was not there.
“Ruthie,” Mary Rose said. “I could never pronounce her last name.”
“Vi-Tris-Nick,” Robbie volunteered. “It’s Polish for ‘Troublemaker.’”
They looked at her.
“Google,” she said softly.
They watched Marge lean toward Ruthie’s face. She opened Ruthie’s mouth and sniffed. She pushed Ruthie’s cheeks in and sniffed again.
They were quiet.
Marge looked at Alphonso.
“She’s making trouble even when dead. Call 911,” she said sharply. “And ask for homicide. Ruthie Vytrnik has been murdered.”
A Note From Joy