Selfman - Murder She Typed Anthology

Murder She Typed

An Izzy Green

Senior Snoops Mystery

by Sylvia Selfman

Copyright 2014 by Sylvia Selfman

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher or writer, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Murder She Typed

What does it feel like to die?

I guess Ill soon find out.

I can hear the footsteps coming closer.

Thats what I get for being so nosy. I should have left well enough alone.

I can see the glint of a gun.

Its strange what goes through your head as death approaches. Where are all the deep thoughts? Like I should have been a better, kinder, more giving person.

Instead Im thinking why didnt I finish off the chocolate cake at breakfast like I wanted?

Im cornered like a scared rabbit. And all I can think of is a line from Little Caesar. Is this the end of Rico?

Is this the end of Izzy?

Chapter 1

I dragged myself into the kitchen and before I was able to figur e out how to work my new coffeemaker, the phone rang.

My friend , Flo, has this uncanny seventh sense to know when I awakenno small feat considering one of the few advantages of getting older was waking up whenever I felt like it. Or whenever my bladder dictated.

Izzy, were walking this morning, Flo announced in her drill sergeant voice.

I was balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I struggled with my new coffeemaker. It was a battle of woman versus machine that I was determined to win.

Outside? I asked.

No, on the moon.

Forget it then.

Yesterday I spotted at least three new wrinkles and another age spot. It took a candy bar plus the frozen remains of a Sara Lee pound cake to lift me out of my depression.

Damn! I punched the buttons on the machine. How does this thing work?

My twelve year relationship with my coffeemaker came to an abrupt end the other day, so I took it back to Bed Bath and Beyond. The clerk looked at it, raised his eyebrow and sniffed, In what era did you say you bought this?

I was about to offer a nasty retort when I spotted itone of those shiny new pod coffeemakers just begging to be taken home. I toyed with the idea of obtaining its larger, more expensive sibling but quickly came to my senses. Who was I kidding? I opted for the small versionthe one for a single user. It was a sign of the timesof my times anyway.

Flo interrupted my musings. Youre mumbling to yourself again. Okay, dont go walking. Keep runni ng in place on your treadmill.

Running in placean apt description for what Id been doing for the past three years, since Sam, my husband of thirty-five years, died.

I was hoping youd join me on a heart-healthy, twenty minute walk to Starbucks. I guess Ill have to enjoy my latte with extra whipped cream and ultra rich, double chocolate muffin by myself.

Meet you in ten, I said, slamming down the phone.

Ten minutes later, I was struggling to keep up with Flo. Hey, slow down. Im about to have a heart attack.

No time to waste, she yelled back. Theyre going to run out of double chocolate muffins any minute now.

Heart attack forgotten, I doubled my speed.

Flo and I carried our lattes and well-earned muffins outside. A modern day Lewis and Clark, we scanned the area for an empty table.

Over there, I pointed.

As we made our way over, I spotted a woman who obviously had the same idea. We locked eyes. Then, as though a whistle simultaneously went off in our heads, the race was on.

By some miracle Flo and I managed to avoid smashing into an elderly woman with a walker an d a gentleman walking two pugs.

Out of breath, we collapsed into the seats and avoided even a glance in the direction of our adversary. Ive never been one to gloat over my victoriesfew as they are.

When our breathing returned to normal, Flo and I plunged into our double chocolate muffins with a religious fervor that a rabbi or minister could only wish for. After a few minutes I came up for air.

By the way, I said, I went to that new doctor who just joined Dr. Harrisons practice. The one that everyone says looks like a cross between Liam Neeson and Steve McQueen.

Lucky you. Di d you get to undress for him?

I didnt have to. I went there to pick up a prescription. However, I did come away with a diet thats guaranteed to work.

You went for a prescription and he gave you a diet? Then he did see you naked!

I ignored Flos comment and pulled a magazine page from my fanny pack and handed it to her.

Check it out. I found it in a Good Housekeeping while I was waiting.

Okay, I admit it. Im one of those people who surreptitiously rip s out pages from magazines in doctors and dentists offices. So go ahead and shoot me. Of course Id never do that at my hairdressersmuch too risky.

But I harbor no guiltsince I cant tell you how many times Ive flipped to articles about the ugly toes or cellulite-ridden thighs of glamorous movie stars, only to find them missing.

As Flo and I pored over the article, 10 Ways to Kick Start Your Weight Loss , we decided to split another muffin. No sense depriving ourselves before the start of a new diet.

Chapter

Flo and I headed back to our condos. Before we parted, we vowed that we would stick to this diet, come hell, high water or three tier chocolate fudge cake.

I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, willing myself not to dawdle, no matter how good the warm water felt against my skin. For me, a luxurious shower is second only to an afternoon nap in terms of pure pleasuresex being relegated to third place due to its infrequency. Unfortunately.

But there was no time now for either a luxurious shower or a nap and as for sex, that wasnt even on the proverbial tableor on the bed for that matter.

I dried off and ran my fingers through my damp hair, then pulled on a pair of jeans which seemed tighter than usual. Bloating, I decided as I rum maged through the drawer searching for a white tee that didnt display evidence of all the foods Id ever eaten. I finally settled on blackblack being not only the new black but also the new stain concealer.

I took one last glance in the mirror, then I grabbed my bag, locked the door behind me and raced to my car. Then I raced back to the house, unlocked the door, grabbed my papers from the kitchen counter and raced outside again.

I was determined not to be late to my writing group.

Chapter 3

Youre late, Danny Markowitz whispered as I sank, exhausted, into the seat next to him. Again. He punctuated his comment with a sadistic smile.

I searched my brain for a withering resp onse but I couldnt think of one, so I pretended not to have heard him.

Frank Fields was in the middle of reading his story to the group. He stopped, handed me a copy and waited while I removed my papers from my bag and put on my reading glasses . Sorry, I mouthed as he resumed reading from his novel, Lost in Outer Space . Perfectly titled, since the story had lost me after the second chapter.

Scientific stuff never was my strong point.

When he finished reading, Dr. Linda, our group leader, asked for comments.

A few love scenes would probably perk it up, I said. Maybe a sex scene or two. Or three. Except for Yettah Finerman who rolled her eyes, no one els e responded to my suggestion. Well, it wouldnt hurt, I added.

Every story doesnt need to have sex, Yettah said.

Sex, shmex , Yettahs spouse, Nate Finerman, scoffed. Writers throw that stuff in to cover up bad writing. He looked at me meaningfully. I glared back.

Le ts move on, Dr. Linda said, clearly wanting to avert a verbal brawl. Nate, you read next.