Old Detectives Home (An Omnipodge Mystery Book 1) by Mike Befeler

Author:Mike Befeler [Befeler, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: detective mysteries cozy mystery series, humor humorous suspense fiction, traditional whodunit who done it, geezer-lit retirement home, senior, seniors, elder, murder mystery detective novel, traditional sleuth inspector private eye PI P.I., Hercule Poirot, Sherlock Holmes, Agatha Christie
Publisher: Encircle Publications
Published: 2022-04-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 31

At the Omnipodge Police Station, Detective Moriarty led Sherlock Holmes to a small room off a narrow hallway. They stepped inside. Moriarty turned on the light and shut the door. Two folding chairs rested on opposite sides of an end table. An ashtray lay in the middle of the table.

“This looks like a cleaning closet,” Sherlock said.

Moriarty shrugged. “It’s the only place I can smoke.” He lit a cigar. Sherlock took out his pipe and did likewise.

“Don’t drop any ashes on the cleaning rags,” Moriarty said. “I… uh… started a small fire a year ago. Snuffed it out in time, but the closet smelled awful for two months afterward. No one knew I caused it. They assumed it was spontaneous combustion from some cleaning solvents.”

They both leaned back on the folding chairs as smoke circled the room. Moriarty pointed to the ceiling. “I also had to deactivate the smoke detector. The price you pay for being a smoker these days.”

“I know,” Sherlock replied. “Non-smokers are so inconsiderate.” Sherlock took a deep puff and let out his breath.

“You can say that again.”

“Non-smokers are so incon—”

Moriarty slapped the table. “Don’t press your luck.”

“I only press shirts.”

Moriarty tapped his cigar into the ashtray. “How I miss the years past with the squad room full of smoke. Those were the good old days with all the hacking, coughing and spewing. So tell me, Mr. Holmes, where did you grow up?”

“In England.”

“Are you a registered alien?”

“No. I’ve never gone in for that Men in Black and UFO cult sort of thing.”

“I mean, do you have a green card?”

Sherlock reached in his pocket, pulled out a stack of business cards and sorted through them. “I believe this one is green.” He handed Moriarty a sedge green business card from the Omnipodge Mortuary. “These people have been hounding me to buy a plot.”

Moriarty tossed the card on the table. “Are you a citizen?”

“Of course. I’ve never been an official member of Scotland Yard or any other police agency. I only assist.”

“In that case, I’d like to ask your assistance regarding the death of Ed Wilson.”

Sherlock sucked on his pipe. “I’d be delighted to help.”

“Please recount where you were the evening of the murder.”

Sherlock stared into space, and then his gaze focused on Moriarty. “I ate dinner in the dining room with several of the residents.”

Moriarty took out his notepad. “Which people?”

“Let me see.” He regarded the deactivated smoke detector for a moment. “Yes. Auguste Dupin, Constance Dunlap and Violet Strange.”

“And after dinner?”

“I adjourned to my apartment to play my violin.”

“Can anyone verify that?”

Sherlock gave a disgusted grunt. “Of course. You can ask anyone in my hallway. They would have heard Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D Major. And quite well played if I do say so.”

Moriarty scratched a note. “Of course. And then?”

“After playing my music, I took a stroll. That’s when I encountered Tommy and Prudence Beresford.”

“Where?”

“The bluff.”

Moriarty stared at Sherlock. “Are you trying to fool me?”

“I don’t bluff. I bet my cards as I see them.

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