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The Finale

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In this blog:

Murder at Meadow Lakes ……Again

A Note from Joy

New Offers in The BOOB Girl Series


 


In the last blogs:


Ruthie Vytrznik was flat on her back, eyes closed, quite dead.


“Vi-Tris-Nick,” Robbie volunteered. “It’s Polish for ‘Troublemaker.’”


“She’s making trouble even when dead,” Marge Aaron said. “Ruthie Vytrznik was poisoned. She died of an overdose of onions.” Ruthie, it appears, is a vampire. Detective Elle Mentary arrives with three big men in trench coats. The body is gone, Ruthie did not come out her apartment door. The windows of Ruthie’s apartment are locked. The only clue - - a ragged piece of dental floss.


“We have something,” Detective Elle Mentary said, looking at Marge Aaron. “If you can clarify the meaning of the one clue we found, we’d be grateful.”


Trench Coat number One stepped forward. He was holding what looked like a small, ragged piece of thread.


Marge squinted.


Trench Coat One moved closer and held the ragged thread directly in front of her eyes.


Marge squinted harder, then reached up and touched the two-inch remnant.


“Dental floss,” she said after a second.


They all looked at her.



“I know how the body got out of the room,” Marge said, and she lifted her glass of Chardonnay to Dectective Mentary.


They looked at Marge. Silence. Marge grinned. “If you wrap a string of dental floss around a window lock, when you go out the window you simply close the window, pull on the dental floss, it moves the lock, secures the window then follows you out. This piece didn’t quite make it out. It broke off.”


Marge rested her hands on her red cane and looked smug.


Elle Mentary nodded.


Before anyone could speak, Zed Zonker, troublemaker himself, threw open the door to Alphonso’s office, banging it against the wall and yelling, “Greatwood We have a problem!”


“Sounds like something from Apollo 13,” Robbie whispered to Hadley.


“Bats!” Zed Zonker almost yelled. “There were two giant bats perched on my balcony railing. As soon as I opened the sliding door to scare them away, they flew off.”


They all looked at him.


“I swear they both grinned at me! And they left this on my deck.” He held up a bag of onions.


Detective Elle Mentary grabbed the sack from Zed Zonker’s hand. “Evidence!” she exclaimed, handing the bag to Trench Coat number One.


“It’s simple,” Robbie said with a smile. “Ruthie and her friend, Luciminara have taken off to a better life.”


Mary Rose looked at Zed Zonker and smiled a sweet smile, “They were vampires, Zed. They have flown off together.” She held her hand over her heart in a romantic move.


“They just wanted to leave us with a little mystery and some fun,” Hadley said.


“Job well done,” Marge added.


“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Detective Mentary said, a stony edge to her voice. She turned to ward the door. The Trench Coats followed with the bag of onions and two inches of dental floss.


“Probably not,” Marge said as she watched them leave.


“Vampires!” Zed Zonker yelled. “Ain’t no such thing!”


And he stormed out of the office on the tail of the police.


“Pour the wine, Wiley,” Robbie said. “Let’s drink to the two ladies who are still in the air headed to Transylvania.”

 



Joy’s Stories


A World War II Hero who never left Iowa

My father, Roy Francis Millard, was a great man, although I didn’t realize it until I was older than he when he died young at age 63. He was what we then called, a mailman.


During WW II, around three in the afternoon, my dad would hurry home from his mail route, hurry through the house, go to the phone and say to the lady we called, “Central”, get me Bob Shouse (or some other name). Then I would hear him say simply, “We have a letter from overseas.” That meant a letter from a soldier son fighting a thousand miles away.


I would always get to go with him to make this most special delivery. We would pile into our old Plymouth, and I would watch him run up the steps to a house anywhere in our little Iowa town of Creston. In the winter, a couple would be looking out through a frosty front door. In the summer they would be standing on the porch, waiting.


Dad would give them the letter, the lady would hug him, the man would shake his hand.

What he was doing was simple. The letter had come into the post office. Instead of putting it in his case to deliver it the next day, he brought it home, called the family and delivered it a day early. A hero.







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8141 farnam, #322, Omaha NE 68114


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