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    Late for Love
    Late for Love
    Late for Love
    Ebook228 pages3 hours

    Late for Love

    By M K Scott

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    About this ebook

    The senior sleuths love a good laugh, but this conundrum is no laughing matter. A missing journalist, an African Grey parrot, and a possible mob connection sound like the beginning of a bad joke. Unfortunately, there is no punchline and no one, aside from the seniors, who would dare to take the case on.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherM K Scott
    Release dateMar 28, 2021
    ISBN9781005091712
    Late for Love
    Author

    M K Scott

    M. K. Scott is the husband and wife writing team behind the cozy mystery series. Morgan K Wyatt is the general wordsmith, while her husband, Scott, is the grammar hammer and physics specialist. He uses his engineering skills to explain how fast a body falls when pushed over a cliff and various other felonious activities. The Internet and experts in the field provide forensic information, while the recipes and B and B details require a more hands on approach. The couple's dog, Chance, is the inspiration behind Jasper, Donna's dog. Murder Mansion is the first book in The Painted Lady Inn Mysteries. Overall, it is a fun series to create and read.

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      Book preview

      Late for Love - M K Scott

      Special thanks to John, Barbara, and Carl

      Books by M K Scott

      The Talking Dog Detective Agency

      Canine Cozy Mystery

      A Bark in the Night

      Requiem for a Rescue Dog Queen

      Bark Twice for Danger

      The Ghostly Howl

      Dog Park Romeo

      On St. Nick’s Trail

      The Painted Lady Inn Mysteries Series

      Culinary Cozy Mystery

      Murder Mansion

      Drop Dead Handsome

      Killer Review

      Christmas Calamity

      Death Pledges a Sorority

      Caribbean Catastrophe

      Weddings Can be Murder

      The Skeleton Wore Diamonds

      Death of a Honeymoon

      Cakewalk to Murder

      Sailors Take Warning

      The Way Over the Hill Gang Series

      Cozy Mystery

      Late for Dinner

      Late for Bingo

      Late for Shuffleboard

      Late for Square Dancing

      Late for Love

      Late for Love

      By

      M K Scott

      Copyright © 2020 MK Scott

      Smashwords Edition

      This eBook is licensed for personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person. Please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and didn’t purchase it, or was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Many thanks for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author.

      All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

      Table of Contents

      Acknowledgments

      Books by M K Scott

      Title Page

      Copyright Page

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter Twenty-Five

      Chapter Twenty-Six

      Epilogue

      Excerpt from The Wedding Cakes Blues

      Author Notes

      Chapter One

      The late morning sun illuminated the senior citizens below, bringing with it a touch of heat. Indian Summer was the common name for the hot weather that stretched into Autumn. For the residents of Greener Pastures Convalescent and Retirement Center, it was a bonus. Too often, they were trapped inside with the mingled scents of antiseptic cleaner and the lingering aroma of whatever was burnt in the kitchen that day. A gathering of five residents took enjoyed the warm weather.

      Being bored, the senior sleuths had gathered in the courtyard for a little croquet. Marcy suggested they should take advantage of their leisure time before she made her exit from the facility, taking with her any possibilities of solving more cold cases. A mockingbird perched on the edge of a gutter broke into full-throated song, breaking Jake’s concentration as he glared at the painted ball on the patchy grass.

      Who invented this game anyhow? What was so great about hitting a wooden ball through wire hoops? He might be old and living in a senior home, but he was still a veteran pilot, which should count for more than a cracked leather jacket and a handful of memories.

      His former war buddies, Herman, and Gus, lived at the center along with their sweeties, Lola, and Eunice. Herman and Lola had tied the knot in Vegas and North Carolina recently, which was a story. Feeling even more like an extraneous fifth wheel when it came to the two couples made Jake sigh.

      Come on. Eunice brandished her mallet as if she might use it to encourage Jake. Quit stalling. None of us want to waste what time we got left watching you trying to remember how to hit a ball.

      He glared at Eunice, who smirked back. Even the sharp-tongued harpy had found love, while he had not. What did that say about him? The wooden mallet made a solid thud as it connected with the ball, sending it rolling only to bounce off the wire hoop. Dagnabbit!

      Before Eunice could remark on his poor shot, the glass doors leading to the residence wing opened with a distinctive groan. Marcy and Lance, her former partner, stood framed in the opening for a second before stepping into the courtyard. Despite the surgery on her shattered leg and her time spent recovering, Marcy still leaned on Lance. It probably had more to do with affection than her ability to walk, but it could be a little bit of both.

      The senior sleuths didn’t need to use their deductive skills to notice the budding romance between the two former partners. It was hard to believe you could work side by side with someone for years and never notice the attraction or possibly never act on it. However, he wasn’t one to talk with one failed marriage and no serious relationships after that. On the good side, their appearance detracted from the tedium of the game.

      Good morning! Marcy trilled while flashing a cheery smile.

      The dark-haired detective could be counted on to bring out the best in folks. She took a seat on a nearby bench and glanced around, possibly checking if there might be an extra resident who hadn’t been a part of the Senior Sleuths organization who might be eavesdropping. While residing at Greener Pastures, Lance had brought Marcy cold cases to keep her mind active and obviously, to visit. Since some of the cases were so old, she came up with the idea of enlisting help from a few select residents who could remember old street names, places long ago torn down, and knew many of the associated rumors.

      Solving the cases had been the highlight of his current existence. Jake might even put it up against being an air force pilot because as a pilot, he never saw the direct results of his work and could only speculate if he’d done any good. As a Senior Sleuth, he could take pride in helping round up criminals who had gone scot-free for so many years.

      Everyone abandoned their mallets to crowd around Marcy.

      How have you two been? Gus asked in an overloud voice. Having worked in explosive ordinance, his hearing wasn’t the best. It didn’t help that he also refused to wear a hearing aid. He said it was something old people wore.

      Lance grinned, but Marcy answered as she slipped off the straps of a backpack and pulled it onto her lap. It’s been okay. Getting to know my house again. I’m back at work, but they have me riding a desk.

      Even before she left, Marcy made her feelings known about being tied to the desk. All the sleuths managed a sympathetic murmur or word.

      Lola, the former showgirl with her elaborate coiffure and acrylic nails, used her walker to ease closer and sit down on the bench. She patted Marcy’s hand. Tough break. At least you have a job. I know you were worried about being forced into early retirement.

      True enough. Marcy forced a laugh, withdrew her hand from under Lola’s, and placed it on the backpack in her lap. I’m not here to whine. Frankly, I miss you guys. It seems like it has been forever since we worked on our last case, as opposed to only having been a month.

      Herman, a tall, portly man, nodded his silvery head in agreement. Feels even longer to me. Have you solved any more cold cases on your own?

      A throat clearing drew their notice to Lance. Even though the detective was a few years younger than Marcy’s fifty, most people would never guess it with his thinning hair and pot belly. Still, his grin retained a touch of boyishness. Leave it to you to cut to the chase.

      His eyes landed on Herman, and he then went on to make eye contact with all the sleuths. I think you might be interested in what Marcy has to say.

      This sounded promising. I’m listening, Jake said, not making the mistake to answer for the others. He’d learned on previous occasions the error of assuming too much.

      Me, too! Herman echoed.

      Lola and Eunice also agreed, while Gus held a hand up to his ear and asked, What? with an impish look.

      Eunice elbowed him and didn’t bother repeating the question. It was always hard to tell if he hadn’t heard or was just jerking their chains.

      Instead of replying, Marcy unzipped her backpack with a metallic zing, filling the silence that stretched between them. She removed some manila folders with typewritten labels and numbers. Jake’s shoulders went back, and his chin went up as he recognized cold case files. His day just got better. It made him feel like he should salute and report for a mission.

      The files made a shushing sound as Marcy shuffled them casually as a person would a deck of cards. You’d be surprised at the dozens of cold cases we have. At first, I thought Lance was bringing me files to solve because he felt sorry for me.

      Nope. Lance grimaced. "The budget is limited, and there are no new hires in sight. Besides, anyone who gets hired will start out on active cases. There’s no manpower. He cleared his throat when Marcy arched her eyebrows at the last word. I mean people power to deal with the cold cases. We do what we can, but usually move from one active case to the next."

      That’s why we’re here. Marcy spread out the folders and used them as a fan. Sure, I missed you guys, but I could use a little help, too. Anyone interested?

      There was a chorus of yeses with Herman raising his hand as if still in the classroom.

      Eunice, even though she was the shortest, worked her way in front of Marcy and plucked a folder at random. I’ll take this one.

      Even though they were used to the woman’s bossy ways, no one took it lying down.

      Lola snatched the plump folder from Eunice and opened it. She blinked a couple of times to bring it into focus without any luck, and then retrieved her readers that hung on a chain around her neck. Let’s see what we have here before you go volunteering us for a case that is older than we are.

      The pages whispered as they turned, as if sharing their contents. Every now and then, Lola would murmur something inaudible to herself. Her legs were crossed, and one foot would vary in its rate of swinging.

      Whatever it was had to be good. Jake could barely stand it. Out with it. What is it? A bludgeoned body? A jewelry heist?

      Lola closed the folder and waited. As a former showgirl, she knew how to pick a moment. Satisfied that she was the focus, she tapped the folder with a fuchsia-colored nail. We have a real live mystery. It was in the papers not so long ago. She flipped the folder open, consulted the file, and addressed the group. Two years to be exact. A young investigative journalist had the goods on some big rollers. She was supposed to be a prime witness, but then she went missing. Not only that, the evidence vanished with her. She gave the file another tap. Makes me wonder why they gave up so easily with this one.

      Lance made a lunge for the folder. I don’t think that would be a good one for you guys. It might be too dangerous.

      Lola pulled the folder close to her ample chest, refusing to hand it over.

      A loud harrumph came from Gus, proving his hearing might be better than most assumed. Remember when I got trapped by that drug lord? What about when that house was almost demolished with us in it? You think it’s worse than that?

      I don’t know, Lance admitted with his shoulders slumping a little. I just don’t want you to get hurt.

      No worries, Jake said to reassure the well-meaning detective. I figure all of us must be doing something right since we made it this far. Besides, if we encounter any trouble—even a whiff of danger—we’ll call you right away.

      Lance sniffed, shot Jake a doubtful look, and nodded. I guess that could work. Feel free to call, and we’ll come by after work to check your progress. He checked his watch. We have ten more minutes before we need to go.

      Wrought iron chairs and a few benches sat in random spots in the courtyard. At one time, there might have been some organization to it, but various residents rearranging them made the area look like an abandoned jacks game played with outdoor furniture.

      Eunice walked over to a chair and pulled it closer to Marcy. Let’s circle around and find out more about our newest case.

      Even though it galled Jake to take any direction from Eunice, he did. He wanted to find out about the case, too.

      Chapter Two

      A small decorative wrought iron table better suited for the occasional coffee cup or iced tea served as a work counter as Marcy laid out various items from the file. Several black and white photos, along with color snapshots, showed a dark-haired woman with intense eyes. In some photos, she was standing with other people.

      The sleuths crowded around the table, most with their readers perched on their noses. Lola made a tsking sound and gestured to the photos. So young. Just a baby.

      Herman, Lola’s new husband, hovered behind her and peered at the image. How can you tell? Anyone under the age of fifty looks young to me.

      With a flutter of paper, Marcy held up a photo. Lyre McCovey was thirty-nine. She’s considered dead, although there was no identification found on the body.

      Body? Gus commented without asking for the soft-spoken detective to speak up. It confirmed Jake’s theory that Gus could hear just fine, or maybe he had selective hearing. Plenty of people had that.

      Ah, about that… Marcy said and hesitated. She made brief eye contact, grimaced, and examined the empty manila folder in her lap.

      She was trying to protect them. For some reason, younger people always assumed their elders were porcelain dolls that would break with the slightest shock or off-color remark. It never occurred to them that the same alleged porcelain dolls had dealt with war, famine, disease, and various other calamities. You didn’t live as long as he had by being some shrinking violet. Go on. Gus, Herman, and I have been in battle. Lola worked in Vegas. As for Eunice, I’m sure… He stopped, not wanting to talk for Eunice and possibly imagining any disasters of major proportions in Eunice’s life that she’d probably orchestrated.

      As for me, Eunice held up one hand as if testifying, I’ve seen things. Ugly things.

      Since she had mentioned when working on a previous case that she’d worked in a furniture showroom, Jake wondered if she might be talking about crushed velvet furniture.

      It seemed to satisfy Marcy, who cleared her throat. In the court case that was supposed to happen, Lyre had information on the mob boss, Tony Delmonico.

      Eunice leaned forward and asked in a shocked tone. The Macaroni King?

      Pasta was a side business. It was believed he used it to launder money. Lyre supposedly had proof. The Feds wanted to keep her in a safe house, but the word was she went paranoid, convinced she was being followed. Said something about she could trust no one. She arched her eyebrows and muttered. Looks like she was right. Anyhow, shortly after her disappearance and the cancellation of the trial, a body washed up on the Louisville side of the Ohio River. A mob hit—or it was assumed to be.

      While Jake never considered himself an expert on organized crime, he had watched a few movies about it. Bullet to the back of the head?

      No. Marcy stalled again, and then said, There was no head, no hands, and no feet. Really nothing to go on. It was a woman’s body who was over twenty-four due to the skeletal morphology. No sign of childbirth and some wear on the knees, which would indicate a job or hobby that put a lot of stress on the legs. We could only go on the skeleton since the body was bloated from its time in the water, making it unrecognizable. The medical examiner asked Lyre’s sister Lorelei to come in for the ID. It’s not clear if she did.

      Horrible thing, Lola concluded, pressing her hand over her heart. Who would name their kids such artsy-fartsy names? Perhaps feeling some embarrassment over her comment, she tacked on another. "I certainly wouldn’t want any of my siblings to identify my corpse."

      There was a murmur of agreement among the sleuths, even those who didn’t have siblings. So, Jake held up one finger. You’re saying Lyre might not be dead?

      Not exactly. Marcy spaced out the words. "She could be dead. Could be buried in a shallow grave or any other of the creative ways criminals dispose of bodies. What I am saying is no one knows whose body washed ashore. Lorelei wasn’t too helpful. She and her sister weren’t close, which meant she didn’t receive any important calls explaining she was in trouble or all-important letters starting with if you received this, then I am dead. She didn’t even know if Lyre had tattoos. The body had a single lily tattoo at the small of the back."

      Odd, Eunice was first to react. Most women would have picked a rose. Still, if she and her sister weren’t close… She left the statement half-finished and shrugged her shoulders. Nothing else from the sister?

      Most folks might find Eunice’s question a tad rude since it sounded like she was doubtful. Still others might get hot thinking she was calling them or whoever wrote the report a

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