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 Befeler Mike

Author:Befeler, Mike [Befeler, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2014-10-17T16:00:00+00:00

First Edition

First Printing: August 2011

Other Books by Mike Befeler

Paul Jacobson Geezer-lit Mystery Series

CARE HOMES ARE MURDER

NURSING HOMES ARE MURDER

Paranormal Mysteries

THE V V AGENCY

Paranormal Geezer-lit Mysteries

THE BACK WING

Dedication

To Kaden and Adam.

Acknowledgments

Many thanks for the assistance from Wendy and Laura Befeler and Virginia Brost and editorial support from Deb Brod, Tracey Matthews, and Roz Greenberg.

Chapter 1

I awoke with a start. The head of a woman I didn’t recognize rested on the pillow next to me.

Who was she, and why was she here? For that matter, why was I here, wherever here was?

Shafts of light filtered through the opening between two matching curtain halves, white cloth decorated with light-pink flowers and turquoise leaves. These curtains and the room didn’t look the least bit familiar to me. And I’d never been one to have flowered decorations.

I pinched my cheek. Yes, I definitely was awake, but I was in a strange bed.

I had no clue how I had ended up in this bedroom.

As I turned over, the woman continued to breathe in a gentle rhythm.

I stared at her, trying to figure out what was going on. Silver hair cascaded over the pillow. An attractive dame.

Pressing my palms against my temples to try to squeeze out some memory had no effect.

Think.

I took a deep breath to calm my rapid heartbeat. It wasn’t good for geezers like me to get overanxious.

Reviewing what I remembered, my life had been ordinary, just a regular guy growing up in San Mateo, attending UCLA, enlisting in the Navy during World War II, running an auto parts supply store in Los Angeles and living with a wife and one kid, Denny. I regarded the female head next to me. This wasn’t my wife Rhonda.

Then it came back to me. Rhonda had died of cancer after we retired to Hawaii. She was buried in the Nu’uanu Cemetery on Oahu.

But after that—one big blank.

So where was I, and who was this young chick, probably in her late seventies, next to me in bed?

I’d never been one to sleep around. One wife was all I could handle.

I regarded her again. She was attractive with her small nose, high cheekbones, silver hair halfway down her forehead, and blanket tucked under her chin. What did the rest of her look like?

I could peek, but didn’t know if that was kosher in this situation.

Damn. What had I got myself into?

I continued to listen to her soft breathing. Her lips moved like she was mouthing words in a dream. But she didn’t snore. Nothing worse than to be stuck with someone who snores. One time in the Navy I had a bunk mate above me who snored. That was hell.

I still had no clue who she was or where I was.

I thought of shaking my companion awake, but she looked too peaceful lying there. I turned back the blanket on my side of the bed, swung my legs into space and plopped down onto a hardwood floor. I wriggled my toes. Didn’t seem at all cold.

Time to reconnoiter.

I found a pair of brown Bermuda shorts and slipped them on.

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