Six Pack of Sleuths: Comedy Mysteries Read online

Spa music gently played in the background as another tech led me to a eucalyptus-scented room where my face was treated to their sensitive skin facial complete with heavenly herbs that carried me to la la land. Then we went on to the ultimate facial where loving fingers massaged the holey memories from my pores. I drifted in a picturesque dream; Roger and I ambled through a green meadow, a kindly sun kissing my cheeks. And then limp as a rag… without holes… I finished with the oxygen infusion facial. I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Wendy Darlin was back.

  I left the spa and stopped at Kit’s beachfront house located on the rooftop of his nightclub, the Queen’s Croquet. I found him chilling on the patio, his long body sprawled on a striped lounge, an exotic paper-umbrella drink in his hand. His toes shone from ointment and oil. They’d taken a shaving on the tarmac and his neck was still swollen with yellow and blue bruises from Saucy’s whip.

  I changed his ice pack, re-oiled his tootsies, and settled down next to him on the lounge. “I’m so proud of you. Your nifty reverse stunt driving saved our lives. The three of us would make a good circus act if the bottom fell out of tomb rescuing.”

  He shot me a droopy look.

  “Need anything else before I head home?”

  “Comfy stiletto heels for tonight’s show.”

  “No such animal,” I laughed, kissed the top of his head, said my goodbyes, and let myself out of his condo.

  By two-thirty I was back at my place. Roger and I spent an hour in bed, but neither of us felt like sexing again. He replayed the events of the last few days for the thousandth time restaging his actions for my critique. I reassured him until I ran out of patience.

  I finally gave up on calming him down and wandered into the guest bedroom desperate for sleep. Saucy may have escaped with the mummies but we were left with the nightmares. I snuggled under the duvet trying to imagine myself a fairy princess with no problems. But the twists and turns of the last few days spun through my mind with all the finesse of a buzz saw.

  Who knew Gary Grant was as much a victim of Saucy as he was of his own greed. He rushed his father to the mummy site with a scheme to close down the dig and force the trade of the valuable Miami Riverfront land for swampland.

  When Tippy found herself in a squeeze play between the Semaphores and the state, Gary had the balls to step up to the plate and offer her a deal she couldn’t refuse. He’d protect her investment from state takeover for fifty-percent of the profits and rights-of-survivorship. I was surprised Tippy fell for his scheme. The word survivorship should have been a red flag. No telling what a broad under stress will swallow.

  Bottom line… all three mummies were gone, along with the mysterious Kyzer Saucy. Her gender and our description to a police artist were the only clues to her identity. Marnie’s International Funerals. You clip ‘em. We ship ‘em was a sham, a rented facility with no paper trail.

  Since I couldn’t nap I went back to Roger… “Want to reconstruct the last few days for the thousandth time or try another round of survivors-sex?”

  He laughed, swung his leg over me and came in for a kiss. “You and Saucy tumbling on the tarmac looked like a scene out of Wrestling Women vs. the Aztec Mummy.”

  “I’d have nailed her if she hadn’t gotten the gun back.”

  He sighed and plopped back on the pillow. “The greatest trick that devil ever pulled was convincing people she was a guy.”

  “Why did she stick the Incan mummies on Tippy’s land?”

  “That’s the part that bugs me the most. It was obvious and I missed it. She salted the site so construction would stop allowing her time to get the Miami mummy.”

  “But how did she know it was there?”

  “That’s the difference between a good international mummy thief and a great one.”

  In an effort to get his mind off the failed caper, I flopped on top of him and leaned so he was forced to tumble over me. We did some roll-playing, rolling over in the sack until we were exhausted. Speaking of role-playing I had yet to tell him about the cat suit. I had yet to tell him about Nashville.

  Alex and I had an appointment tomorrow at Thirty-Ninth Federal Bank thanks to Mrs. MacGuffin. It was time to hand the new Hic his transmigrated identity and turn the will over to the lawyers. Yesterday’s headlines took note of the discovery of Hic’s body in the Thornhill Hotel, dead from natural causes.

  I lay on my side staring at Roger and fiddling with the key around my neck.

  “Rog, I’ve got do a quickie in Nashville.”

  “Okay…” he said hesitantly. “How do we do that? It’s kinky, I hope.”

  I sat up, tucked the sheets under my arms covering my breasts.

  “Oh, oh… no joke,” he said.

  “Remember the dead friend I was sitting up?”

  “With. You mean sitting up with.”

  This was going to be a little tricky. I patted his hand and started my story. Winding up with the need for my mission to the safe deposit box in Nashville.

  I trotted into the bathroom while Roger lay in bed staring at the ceiling with a confused expression on his face. Nothing new there. The less he knew about Hic’s heir, the better.

  Roger was still staring at the ceiling the following morning bearing the classic signs of depression. He’d be back to normal, soon. Dangle an obscure antiquity under his nose; he’d jump on it like a bloodhound.

  I wriggled into my undies and donned my gray business suit, my red-rubbed knee shone from just below the hem of the pencil skirt. I touched the key that dangled safely around my neck, kissed Roger on the forehead avoiding his gaping mouth.

  “I’ll be back by seven,” I said. Not sure if it registered in his fog.

  I settled into Goldie’s soft leather seat, and her engine purred to life. I looked to my right and was surprised to see Mrs. MacGuffin sitting in her prim Mary Poppins pose, a rather large handbag in her lap, and a satisfied smile on her face. “This will be my last case for awhile. I need a holiday. Might take me to Disney World. Some fantasy would be a pleasant change.”

  Nodding, I put Goldie in reverse and we eased out of the garage. I’m sure even transition coaches need a break now and then.

  “Oh dearie, just to put your mind at ease. Mrs. Lipschitz? That was I looking out for your safety.”

  She unfastened a big brass buckle on her purse and ferretted out her goodies. “This is for your baby.” She handed me a pair of tiny crocheted booties, blue and white with pompoms on the toes.

  “Mrs. MacG… there is no baby.”

  “There is now.”

  She snapped her purse shut.

  I held the booties in my hand. They felt right… as if they belonged. I laid them in my purse and turned to look at her. She’d vanished.

  “Thank you, Mrs. MacG,” I whispered wondering if Roger and I had made a baby yesterday. I rubbed my tummy and felt a little gurgle. “Anybody in there?” It was too soon for an answer.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I arrived at the Thirty-Ninth Federal Bank at two on the nose. I clutched the key around my neck. It made me mega-nervous to think I was releasing a fortune to a stranger based on one word. Was I committing a crime by handing this person an identity kit? He could be a terrorist, a spy, or a Justin Bieber fan.

  The lobby was empty except for the tellers and two banker types in an office to the right. I glanced to the left and saw my reflection in the tinted picture window. A slender man in khakis and a blue shirt was facing the glass watching the street. He locked eyes with my reflection.

  “Hackensack,” he said and then slowly turned around.

  I gazed into the twinkly gray eyes of my savior from the river.

  Hic was back. I stepped forward, and hugged him.

  The inheritance process would require a few return trips to Nashville to clear up the details, but as I sat on the plane caressing the little blue booties from Mrs. MacGuffin, all I could think of was Roger’s smiling face.

  ~~~

  About the Author

/>   Barbara Silkstone is the best-selling author of the Wendy Darlin Tomb Raider series that includes: Wendy and the Lost Boys, London Broil, Cairo Caper, Miami Mummies, Vulgarian Vamp, Wendy Darlin Tomb Raider Boxed Set. Her Romantic Suspense Fairy Tales series includes: The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters; Wendy and the Lost Boys; Zo White and the Seven Morphs. For a squirt of paranormal comedy try: Cold Case Morphs. True fiction fan? Try: The Adventures of a Love Investigator.

  Blog:

  http://barbswire-ebooksandmore.blogspot.com

  Website:

  http://secondactcafe.com

  Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Barbara-Silkstone-Author/156097004489447

  Twitter:

  http://www.twitter.com/barbsilkstone

  My Perfect Wedding

  Sibel Hodge

  My Perfect Wedding

  Sibel Hodge

  First Edition

  Copyright © Sibel Hodge 2011

  Formatting by Polgarus Studio

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  “Love one another and you will be happy. It's as simple and as difficult as that”

  MICHAEL LEUNIG

  Chapter 1

  The customs officer flipped open Kalem’s passport and scrutinized the photo.

  I tapped my foot. Come on, come on, don’t you know we’ve got a wedding to get to? My perfect wedding, nonetheless. And on top of that, the duty-free shops were seriously calling my name. We’d already been shuffling along in the security queue for forty-five minutes like a couple of tortoises, and I could almost smell the teasing waft of bargain perfumes, designer lipsticks that stay on for three days, and bumper packs of chocolate sending out silent buy me signals in the shopping area beyond.

  Luckily, we’d got to the Airport in plenty of time. Kalem wanted to check in early to try and get a seat with extra leg-room. Not that it bothered me, really. At five foot nothing, I never had a problem with being crammed in like a stuffed sausage, but Kalem’s legs were long and toned and…well, pretty damn sexy.

  Kalem ran a hand through his cropped dark hair and nodded towards the passport. ‘I probably had more hair then,’ he said to the customs officer.

  I giggled, remembering the frizzy out-of-control footballer’s perm he’d had when the photo was taken, which resembled my unruly curls on a good hair day.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ the customs officer muttered, narrowing his eyes at Kalem.

  I stepped out from behind Kalem and leaned on the counter. A wave of loud tutting broke out from the queue behind me.

  ‘It’s a serious offence to tamper with a passport, sir,’ the customs officer said in a deadly tone, glaring at Kalem.

  ‘Pardon?’ Kalem’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘I can assure you that my passport hasn’t been out of my sight. And it definitely hasn’t been tampered with. If you’ll just let me show you –’ Kalem reached out his hand.

  The customs officer shot his hand in the air, passport held up high, so Kalem couldn’t get anywhere near it.

  ‘Sorry…’ my eyes shot to his name badge, ‘Officer Head. What seems to be the problem?’ I asked, thinking he was obviously some sort of jobsworth with nothing better to do than annoy innocent travellers.

  Officer Head tried the same suspicious glare on me and shot his other hand up for silence. Then he picked up a phone on the counter and whispered something into it. I heard the words ‘possible’ and ‘terrorist’ but the rest of it was inaudible.

  I gulped. What was going on? This was ridiculous.

  ‘Right. You two will have to come with me.’ Officer Head climbed out from behind the passport control booth and marched off along the airport floor.

  Another loud tutting session erupted from the group of people behind us.

  I glanced at Kalem with a questioning look. ‘What’s happening?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s probably just some kind of simple misunderstanding. The quicker we get this over with, the quicker we can get on with our pre-honeymoon.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘And don’t say anything.’

  ‘What do you mean, don’t say anything? If he asks me a question, I’ll have to say something, won’t I?’

  ‘You know what I mean – don’t say anything ridiculous.’

  Me? Ridiculous? As if.

  We fell into step behind the crazy customs guy. ‘I know.’ I smirked at Kalem. ‘This is the surprise you said you’d organized, isn’t it? I bet we’re really going to be escorted to a VIP lounge, where we can drink champagne and eat those little canapé things. Ooh, great. I love those. I wonder if they’ve got those little smoked salmon rolls with the cream cheese fillings. Yum.’

  ‘This isn’t the surprise.’ Kalem’s forehead scrunched up into frown lines.

  ‘Oh, yeah, good one. I bet you’re just saying that so I’ll be even more surprised when we get there.’ I paused. ‘Well done. Good surprise.’ I giggled. Wow, this was going to be such a great start to our brand new, exciting life together.

  ‘It’s not,’ he hissed at me.

  My jaw dropped open. ‘What do you mean, it’s not? What is it then?’ A sudden blanket of fear swept over me.

  Kalem was saved from answering as we reached a door marked Customs – Private.

  Officer Head punched in a security code on the keypad lock and led us into a massive rectangular interrogation room with a desk at the far end, separated by two chairs on one side and two on the other. The desk seemed miles away from the entrance, like I’d suddenly been transported into a freaky Alice in Wonderland world, where everything was out of proportion. I felt like Kalem and I had turned into tiny little munchkin-type people, but everyone and everything else was ginormous.

  ‘Sit,’ Officer Head barked so loud that my ear almost imploded.

  We dropped down onto the hard plastic chairs. This was not good. Not good at all.

  ‘Another officer will be joining us shortly,’ Officer Head began, ‘but until then, I’m going to ask you some questions.’ He opened Kalem’s passport again. ‘Right. Let’s start with you.’ He looked at Kalem. ‘What is your name?’

  I gazed at Officer Head, who actually looked like Mr. Potato Head – only his nose was a little less red – and panicked. My brain flickered away like a dodgy light bulb. There had to be some completely rational and normal explanation for this mix-up. I mean, yes, normal and rational weren’t words that I could usually associate with my life. I would probably describe myself more as accidentally challenged. But still, this was just a simple mix-up, surely.

  ‘Kalem Mustafa,’ Kalem replied.

  ‘Ha-ha.’ I let out a nervous laugh.

  Officer Head gave me a narrow-eyed stare, then turned back to Kalem. ‘Is that your real name?’

  ‘Er…excuse me. Is that a trick question? It’s obvious what his name is. It’s in his passport,’ I said, not wanting to state the obvious, but someone had to do it.

  Oh, I get it now. It must be a dream. Yes, that was it. Recently, I'd been having a few of those pre-wedding jittery dreams – well, more like nightmares, actually – where I turned up at the venue in front of all our guests, and my wedding dress had suddenly turned see-through. And, even worse, I'd somehow decided to have my bikini area waxed into the shape of a dartboard, complete with bullseye. This was just one of those nightmares, that was all.

  I leaped off the chair. ‘Come on Kalem, let’s go.’

  ‘You can’t go until I say you can go,’ Officer Head insisted.

  ‘I can do whatever I want. It’s my dream,�
�� I said to him with a haughty gleam in my eye.

  ‘SIT DOWN,’ he shouted back at me.

  I heard a loud ringing in my ear. Surely you didn’t hear ear-ringing in a dream? I pinched myself. Ow! Shit. I was still awake. I slumped back in the chair. Uh-oh. This was for real.

  The door swung open and another customs official with a toilet brush crew cut walked in.

  ‘Richard,’ the second officer acknowledged his colleague with a tilt of his head and then turned to us. ‘I’m officer Goodbody.’ He sat down, and I heard a noise like a whoopee cushion exploding. I couldn’t tell if it was him or the chair, though.

  ‘Let’s start again, shall we?’ Officer Head leaned forward. ‘Is that your real name?’

  Kalem swallowed. ‘Of course it’s my real name.’

  I looked between the customs men with suspicion. Richard Head? Was this for real? The light bulb was back on full power now. ‘Ha! I know what’s going on.’

  They both raised an intrigued eyebrow and waited for me to enlighten them.

  ‘No one could be called Dick Head and Officer Goodbody. It sounds like something out of a bad Seventies porn movie. This is one of those TV shows, isn’t it?’ My eyes darted around the room like a maniac, looking for any signs of hidden cameras and cabling. ‘It’s like Candid Camera, or You’ve Been Punk’d, or something. Or…I know.’ I squinted at them. ‘Are you Ant and Dec in disguise? Are we going to be on their Saturday Night Takeaway show where they’re always playing practical jokes on people?’ I leaped up and leaned over the desk, so I was inches away from their faces, examining them for signs of false noses and excessive, disguising make-up.