Murder Most Senior

Chapter 1 Nobody wakes up thinking, Today I believe I’ll try to revive a murder victim. Beverly Clavel was no exception. That morning, the morning that would change her life, she was greeted by a pair of beautiful brown eyes. “Move over, you big bed hog,” she said, but the object of her affection didn’t budge, instead stretched out making himself even larger. She reached over and pounded the snooze button on her alarm clock. “Ten more minutes,” she mumbled. The brown eyes slowly closed, contented. I’ve got to stop letting that mangy dog on my bed, she thought, trying to roll over before realizing that she didn’t have any room left. “Might as well get up,” she sighed, looking at Scout, the sleepy black lab mix she’d rescued from the Humane Society two months ago. Scout’s arrival coincided nicely with her husband’s departure. With each passing day, Beverly realized that Scout was the better companion. “You won’t leave me for a younger model, will you boy?” she scratched under his chin as she extracted herself from the bed with a thump. Scout wasted no time scurrying over to her vacated spot. “Scout, you’re such an opportunist.” The phone jangled and Beverly picked it up. “You better have a good reason to wake me up at this ungodly hour,” she answered. “Mrs. Clavel?” a raspy voice asked. She straightened, not recognizing the voice. “This is she,” she said politely, as her mother taught her. “This is Jane, legal secretary from Bowker and Bowker. Your husband would like to meet with you for mediation tomorrow at 2 p.m. at our office. Is that acceptable?” “No, it’s not acceptable. I don’t want mediation. I want to divorce that SOB.” “Now, no need to get upset,” Jane said. Beverly imagined Jane as a prissy legal secretary, with a white lace blouse buttoned all the way to the top. “And I haven’t hired my lawyer yet, so if that jerk thinks he can get away with stealing what’s rightly mine in a mediated settlement, he’s got another thing coming,” she shouted, slamming the phone down. Scout looked up, alarmed. “That felt good, Scout.” Beverly stretched and began her morning routine. As she styled her hair she noticed that the gray roots were fighting with the brown hair, and the roots were winning. Frowning, she remembered that it was her mother’s birthday and she knew she had to pick up something for her since they were having lunch together. She pulled on her clothes and rushed to the kitchen. She looked at her espresso machine longingly. “Oh, I can be a little late,” she said to Scout, who had finally gotten out of bed to follow her downstairs to the front door waiting to be let out. Knowing that kibble was close at hand, he peed in two seconds flat and ran back inside, Scooby Doo nails clicking on the hardwood floors. She turned on the life-affirming espresso machine and wolfed down a granola bar. Remembering that Herb had hated the noisy machine, she ran it a little longer than usual in his honor. “Mmmm,” she said, pouring the luscious espresso into her port-a-cup and mixed up the mocha. After taking a quick sip she smiled, “It will be a good day today.” Little did she know that it wasn’t going to be a good day for the guy who would wind up with a knife in his back! After feeding the dog, she ran upstairs, brushed her teeth and reached into her closet to grab her shoes from the pile. She didn’t notice that she had picked one brown and one blue shoe of an identical style (like any sensible woman, when she found a good pair of comfortable shoes, she purchased a pair in every color). She slipped them on and hustled down the stairs and out the door to the garage. “Guard the house,” she said to Scout, patting his head and shutting the door behind her. The Portland sky was its usual gray and rain was misting down as she started her five mile trip to work. While driving out of her neighborhood she said, “It would be over my dead body that Herb gets this car, or the beautiful house.” Then she thought about her plans for the day. She was the director’s assistant, carrying out all of his whims. Although at times he was exasperating, she liked her boss Paul, and loved the seniors who frequented the center. She pulled into the grocery store parking lot and dialed her boss. “Ford Senior Center, Paul speaking,” he answered. “Hi Paul, it’s Beverly. Is it OK if I’m a few minutes late? I have to pick up something.” “That’s fine, but the copy machine vendor is coming at 9:00 and I’d like you be in the meeting. And get here quick because Lois is on the rampage. She’s trying to set me up with her granddaughter again. Save me!” “Maybe if you stop flirting with all the ladies there they’ll leave you alone. I’ll be there before 9:00; see you then.” Women at the center were forever trying to fix up Paul with their assorted relatives (“she’s gorgeous, and smart as a whip”). Unfortunately for them, Paul was gay and in a committed relationship. Beverly entered the grocery store and quickly chose a non-sentimental card and a nice looking plant. As an afterthought, she went to the produce section to grab an apple. She slipped and toppled over the apples, causing the produce guy to rush over. “I’m so sorry about that,” Beverly said, trying to regain her composure. “Hay lady, did you notice that you have one blue shoe and one black shoe?” he asked. She swore to herself and hurried to check out. She knew that her perfectionist boss would notice her unmatched shoes. Fortunately, she figured, the Senior Citizens at the center probably wouldn’t notice, and if they did, they were too polite to say anything. She entered the center and smelled the strong coffee with relief because she had finished her mocha. She momentarily forgot the usual taste of the coffee that the volunteers brewed. She saw many seniors sitting at their regular tables. As she walked toward her office, she answered a wave with, “Hi Tilly!” to the small, formidable woman holding court at the first table she went past. Tilly motioned Beverly to come over. When she did, she said in a stage whisper (as she was quite hard of hearing and often didn’t wear her hearing aids), “BEVERLY HONEY, DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU’RE WEARING TWO DIFFERENT SHOES?” With that, many sets of eyes looked to her feet and the mumblings started. She clenched her teeth and stuttered, “Yes, I noticed, but I didn’t have time to go back home to change.” Tilly looked at her watch, “WELL, YOU’RE LATE. SO I CAN’T SEE HOW IT WOULD MAKE A DIFFERENCE.” Beverly said rather loudly, “Thanks for letting me know, Tilly. I’ll talk with you later.” She could hear the musings the tables, “It’s such a shame that Beverly turned fifty and her husband left her, she’s such a dear girl,” and “she was always so together, I mean, she never would have worn two different shoes before,” and “I wonder if he found a younger woman. You know, they always do.” She slunk to her office. She actually wasn’t that upset that Herb had left her, they’d been growing apart for years. But she did worry that her job would barely cover her most basic expenses. The best she could hope for was a good divorce settlement. She’d barely sat down in her office when her boss Paul came running in, breathless, “The copy machine vendor is going to be fifteen minutes early. I have to step out, I just found out! Can you take the meeting?” “Of course; relax Paul, how hard can it be? It’s not negotiating world peace.” “Beverly, you don’t understand.” He put his hands on his hips belligerently and stared at her, “I’ve made some very bad copy machine choices in the past. You might not realize it, but copy machines are the lifeblood of the senior centers.” “I’ll handle it,” She sighed as Paul handed her a page long list of questions. “This is what I want you to ask. And write down her answers carefully.” She looked at him incredulously and took the paper.