Care Homes Are Murder by Mike Befeler

Author:Mike Befeler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, mystery humor, mystery series, mystery novel, mystery book, mystery ebook, mystery cozy, mystery comedy, geezer lit, mystery funny
Publisher: Mike Befeler

Chapter 17

Later that afternoon as I sat out on our balcony admiring the ocean—it was out there and I was nowhere close to it—Jennifer came through the adjoining doors into our room. “Grandpa, there’s a big event going on in Waikiki. We have to go see it.”

“Geezer recognition day?”

Jennifer stomped her foot. “Even better. It’s the Spam Jam.”

“What the hell is that?” I asked in my most pleasant manner.

“It’s a chance to eat lots of Spam.”

I thought back to World War II and all the Spam I had consumed, which satisfied any further craving for many years afterward. “I can’t see making jelly out of Spam.”

Jennifer tsked. “Grandpa, this is completely different. It’s a big celebration with bands playing on two stages—one outside the Outrigger Waikiki Hotel and the other by the International Market Place—concession booths with all kinds of goodies and loads of people.”

“Sounds as exciting as a dentists’ convention.”

“Oh, Grandpa, we’re going. Go put your sandals on.”

I lifted myself out of the chair, knowing I couldn’t argue with the twelve-year-old tigress. We assembled and took the elevator down to street level.

“Are we driving?” Allison asked.

“No,” Denny replied. “Kalakaua Avenue is blocked off, and we couldn’t park closer anyway. It’s a little walk, but we’re in good shape.”

“I’m warmed up from our little stroll to the top of Diamond Head this morning,” I said. “As long as you promise no one will shoot at us.”

“The Spam Jam will be safe and fun, Grandpa.”

Upon that endorsement, we set off. Once we reached Kalakaua Avenue, the place was bedlam. People in crazy hats and wild outfits coursed through the packed street. Concession stands sold every imaginable food item made out of Spam. Choices included Spamburgers, Spamdogs, Spam salad, Spam sandwiches, Spam tacos, Spamakopita, Spam katsu, Spam lau lau, teriyaki Spam, sautéed Spam, Spam soup. The only thing I didn’t see—Spam cola.

Jennifer licked her lips. “Let’s eat.”

She ordered some Spam jambalaya, Denny and Allison went with Spam chow mein, Marion had a Spam tostada and I picked out Spam musubi—Spam around rice and tied together with seaweed. I figured this would be my revenge on the ocean—eliminating some seaweed.

We wandered around as the sun set, the crowd grew larger, and the bands played louder. I found a brochure and read how Spam was introduced by Hormel in 1937 and that Hawaii consumed more Spam per capita than any other state. I believed that statistic by the way people around us gobbled the wonder meat.

After a second course of filling our tummies with some Spam pizza, we walked around the booths selling Spam paraphernalia. Denny came up to me as the others strolled ahead. “I don’t know if you remember, but on the ti leaf sliding trip several days ago, I mentioned my interest in painting again.”

“I read that in my journal.”

“I followed your advice and spoke to Allison. She didn’t freak out. She suggested that we might combine her interest in photography with mine in art.”

“Good idea.”

“Yeah, I agreed with her. We both may take some classes back in Colorado.

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