Flo Charts Read online

  Flo Charts

  SILVER HILLS COZY MYSTERIES

  Sam Cheever

  Published by Electric Prose Publications, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  FLO CHARTS

  First edition. February 24, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Sam Cheever.

  ISBN: 978-1732050709

  Written by Sam Cheever.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Flo Charts (SILVER HILLS COZY MYSTERIES)

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  WHAT’S NEXT?

  About the Author

  ~SC~

  Come to Silver Hills. Where new friends are made and a grim reaper is born.

  Agnes Willard is moving into Silver Hills. She’s worried about the change and concerned about fitting in. Luckily for her, Florence Bee has decided to take Agnes under her wing.

  When Agnes’ cat Tolstoy escapes as they’re getting Agnes settled into her new apartment, they quickly find him across the hall, perched on a dying woman’s chest.

  The new friends soon learn three things from the experience:

  1. The cat definitely has an instinct for and proclivity toward people who are on death’s doorstep. 2. Finding and avoiding a killer is a really tough way to spend your first days in a new place.

  And 3. Agnes truly does have a unique talent for debauching a crime scene.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Florence Bee stood in the side yard of the Silver Hills Senior and Singles Residence and watched the small moving truck pull to a stop near the front door. She was always happy to see new people moving into the Residence. It hadn’t been that long ago when she was new herself.

  Her dog Rodney, a slightly overweight red-haired dachshund, leapt on a hapless grasshopper as it attempted to hop on by. He danced happily around to grin at her, skinny tail wagging wildly, with the poor bug hanging out of one side of his mouth.

  Flo grimaced and turned her attention back to the van.

  Nobody had climbed out yet. She wondered what the person inside the cab was doing.

  She’d moved to Silver Hills eight months earlier, when her husband Hank had succumbed to a gas bubble gone wrong. More properly called an air embolism. She’d been a bit out of her comfort zone for a few weeks after the move, not knowing anyone and having to learn to live in an apartment rather than a house with a sizeable yard and neighbors who kept to themselves.

  Nobody kept to themselves at Silver Hills. And those who tried were socially beaten about the head and shoulders until they capitulated.

  She’d learned to share her life with approximately 200 other people of all ages and temperaments. It had mostly turned out well. Though there were a few whose irritable presence Flo could do without. She generally liked only positive influences in her life, believing that Negativity was aging to the soul.

  The driver’s side door finally opened and a large woman with a graying brown pageboy and shoulders as wide as a linebacker’s lumbered out and closed the door. She stood in the drive and looked up at the building, her wide face filled with tension. Despite being close to six feet tall and probably weighing over two hundred pounds, the woman looked a little lost.

  Flo felt an instant affinity for the other woman. It hadn’t been all that long ago since she’d been in exactly the same position. She tugged Rodney’s leash. He’d been rolling around on his back, growling happily, but he leapt just as happily into movement as Flo headed toward the van.

  The other woman turned a worried face toward Flo as she approached. Flo gave her a welcoming smile. “Good morning.” She offered her hand. “I’m Florence Bee. My friends call me Flo.”

  The newcomer shook her hand, nearly crushing it in her big, meaty paw.

  Rodney growled long and low and the hairs on his back lifted warily.

  The woman gave Rodney a wary glance and then shifted her gaze to the cab of the truck. A wide, orange face popped up in response to Rodney’s growl and the fat, striped cat hissed in his direction.

  “I’m Agnes Willard. That’s Tolstoy.”

  Flo nodded. “He’s a handsome boy.”

  “Thanks.” Agnes Willard said, finally smiling.

  “You’re moving in today?”

  “I am.” She frowned as she responded.

  “When is your help arriving?” Flo hated to pry, but she had a funny feeling that Miss Agnes Willard was more alone than she’d originally thought.

  Agnes shrugged. “It’s just me.”

  “Oh, hun,” Flo said, shaking her head. “That won’t do at all.”

  Agnes blinked rapidly, clearly surprised by Flo’s attitude. “It’s okay. I’m strong.”

  “I’m sure you are. But I don’t care how strong you are, you can’t lift a couch or a dresser by yourself.”

  “I’ll be fine.” The other woman’s tone was dismissive. Clearly, she didn’t like Flo’s interference. But Florence Irene Bee was nothing if not determined and she had no intention of letting the poor woman try to move into Silver Hills all by herself. She reached out and patted Agnes’ hand. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being pushy. I don’t mean to be, really. It’s just that...well...here at Silver Hills we take care of each other. It’s like one great big family.”

  Agnes seemed to be thinking about that, her bushy eyebrows lowering over a gray gaze. Finally, she smiled. “I’m an only child. I think I’d like a couple hundred brothers and sisters.”

  Flo laughed, deciding she was going to like Agnes Willard. “You might hold that thought until you meet some of them. There are definitely a few crazy aunts and uncles in the mix.”

  Agnes’ grin widened.

  “Come on, Agnes. Let’s go find you some help.”

  ~SC~

  Flo was tearing down the final box hours later when Agnes stumbled heavily into the room, her round face filled with panic. She wiped her dusty hands on her pants as she stood. “Is something wrong?”

  “Tolstoy’s missing.”

  Flo tried to show a calm front but, judging by her new friend’s demeanor the news was not good. “Surely he wouldn’t go far.”

  Agnes frowned. “It’s a new place and he’s not familiar. He could easily get lost.”

  Flo patted Agnes on a widely made but surprisingly firm arm. “No worries. We’re self-contained here. He can’t get outside unless someone lets him out and the residents know not to do that. We don’t have a lot of pets here but we have enough that there are rules of behavior.”

  Agnes nodded her head but she didn’t look convinced.

  “Come on. I’ll help you find him.”

  Agnes gave her a tight smile. “Thank you.”

  “What are friends for?” Flo grinned back.

  They headed out of the apartment as two of the young people from the Singles side were walking away, chatting about going out that evening. Flo briefly envied them their youthful energy. After hours of unpacking Agnes’ stuff, she was ready for a quick shower and a night in bed reading her latest favorite mystery.

  “Thanks for your help,” Agnes called out.

  The two women turned. The shorter one, with a head full of bouncy blonde curls, gave Agnes a thumbs up. “Come on down later for happy hour. We’ll let you buy us a beer.”

  Agnes’ plain face lit up. “It’s a deal.”

  As the two women wandered off, Agnes and Flo looked up and down the h
allway. “Where should we start?” Agnes asked with a frown.

  “Off with you, beast!” a strident voice screeched.

  Flo grimaced, pointing to the open door down the hallway from which the irritated shout had emanated. “That would probably be a good place.”

  They headed toward the open doorway and knocked on the frame.

  An ancient voice, rich with cranky indignation called out. “Well come on in. You don’t expect me to get up and walk all the way out there do you?”

  Agnes lifted her dense brown eyebrows and Flo shook her head. “Mrs. Peoples. She’s old and hates everybody,” she whispered.

  Agnes nodded.

  They found the cranky octogenarian in the bedroom of the apartment, sitting in a recliner with the footrest lifted. She was scowling toward the bed, where a woman with straight, strawberry blonde hair lay pale and listless, her hazel gaze focused on the fat, orange cat stretched out on her belly.

  Despite Mrs. Peoples’ obvious disgust at having the cat in the room, the clearly ill woman in the bed seemed pleased. She was stroking his soft belly as he stretched and purred loudly enough to be heard by the door where Flo and Agnes stood.

  “There you are, you little devil,” Agnes said, moving quickly toward the bed. “I’m really sorry,” she told the bedridden woman. “We just moved in and he apparently decided to go exploring.”

  The woman smiled. “Don’t apologize. It was nice having him visit. What’s his name?”

  “Tolstoy.” Agnes scooped the big cat gently into her arms, giving him a kiss on his wide, striped head. He growled softly and nipped one of her fingers but he must not have bitten down hard because Agnes didn’t seem to notice. “If you’d like I can bring him back for a visit.”

  Flo got a warm bloom in the vicinity of her heart at Agnes’ offer. She smiled, knowing suddenly that her new friend would fit in just fine at Silver Hills.

  “I’d like that, thank you. I’m Betty Marlowe.” She reached her hand across the bed and Agnes took it, giving it a squeeze.

  “Agnes Willard. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Flo approached the bed. “You’re not feeling well, Betty?”

  The woman shook her head, licking dry lips. “Something apparently didn’t sit well from lunch.”

  “I’m so sorry. Can we bring you some crackers, maybe a lemon soda?”

  Betty nodded toward the nightstand and an open box of saltines. “Mrs. Peoples brought me crackers. But thank you.”

  A long, drawn out snore drew everyone’s attention to the birdlike eighty-eight year old in the recliner. She slept with her head back and her mouth wide open, sawing logs like a lumberjack.

  Betty chuckled. “She was going to give me a soda too but carbonation doesn’t sit well with me.”

  Flo nodded. “Is there anything else I can do for you? Shall we call Dr. Bambast?”

  Dr. Bambast was a Silver Hills resident who’d retired from his practice a couple of years earlier and liked to stay busy so he volunteered his time at the residence as sort of a first responder. He took care of simple ailments and injuries and sent the residents off for anything beyond that.

  Betty shook her head. “I’m sure that’s not necessary. I don’t want to bother him.”

  “Well, if you change your mind. Just give me a call okay?”

  “I will. Thank you, Flo.” She shook her head. “What a week. I guess it’s true that bad things do come in threes.”

  “Why? What else happened?” Agnes asked.

  “First my boss died yesterday and then a careless driver ran me off the road on my way home from work.”

  “Oh my,” Flo said, frowning. “Did you get hurt?”

  “No. I’m fine. But my car has a nice dent in it, courtesy of that big elm tree in the park.”

  Flo’s eyes went wide. “You’re lucky you weren’t seriously hurt.”

  “I know. I’m choosing to consider it a blessing.” She sighed.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your boss. How did he die?”

  Betty frowned. “I don’t know, specifically. They’re keeping it really quiet at work and the office manager encouraged me to stay home today. He even asked if I’d brought my current project home with me so I could get some work done while I was here. He’s thoughtful that way.” She pointed toward the nightstand and Flo saw the manila folder beneath the crackers. “Between you and me, I think there was something...off...about Mr. Carey’s death though."

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The police were here, asking me all about his friends and stuff.” She frowned. “They wanted to know my whereabouts for the previous night too.”

  “That isn’t good.”

  “I thought it was a bit strange.”

  “But you didn’t ask why?”

  She shrugged. “I figured if they wanted me to know they would have told me.”

  Flo frowned. It seemed hard to believe that Betty wouldn’t even ask about her boss’ death. But she had known people who just weren’t curious. She’d had an aunt who’d been like that. Aunt Virginia never seemed to care about anything outside her little sphere of knitting, daytime shows and baking.

  Flo had never understood that mindset.

  “And now I’m sick.” Betty shook her head, then succumbed to a bout of coughing that shook the bed with its violence.

  Flo handed Betty the glass of water on her nightstand. “Here, hun. Drink some of this.”

  The water helped ease the coughing and poor Betty fell back against her pillows after handing the glass back to Flo. She was so pale, with large purple circles under her glassy eyes. Flo patted her hand. “I’ll check in on you later, okay?”

  Betty nodded, her eyes closing. “I’m just going to rest...”

  Flo and Agnes left the room, closing the door behind them. A loud grumbling sound from the vicinity of Agnes’ round belly made Flo blink in surprise. Agnes looked embarrassed when Flo glanced her way. “I’m starving. For some reason I’m craving spaghetti with garlic toast.”

  Flo chuckled. “I know just the place. You get Tolstoy settled and I’ll go take my dog, Rodney out for a potty break. Then I’ll take you to my favorite Italian restaurant.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Gioppino’s Italian Restaurant was slammed, with people waiting just inside the front door for tables. Flo headed for the hostess and put her name in. She was told it would be a thirty-minute wait.

  Agnes frowned when given the information and suggested they try someplace else. But just as they were turning to leave, fellow Silver Hills resident, Celia Angonetti hailed Flo and waved her over to a table in the back. “Hey, Flo,” the woman said softly when they approached.

  Flo could barely hear her over the din. “Hi, Celia. Have you met Agnes Willard yet? She moved in today.”

  Celia stood up and offered Agnes her hand, flushing softly with shy embarrassment. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Agnes. Would you ladies like to join me?”

  Flo realized Celia was sitting alone. “We don’t want to impose...” Flo started to say.

  “Thanks! That would be great,” Agnes said, shoving past Flo and taking a seat at the table.

  Flo chuckled with embarrassment. “Um. Yes, I guess we’d love to.”

  Celia’s blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “You’re doing me a favor, actually. I hate to eat alone.” She tucked a silky strand of chin-length blonde hair behind her ear. As usual, Celia was perfectly pulled together, with freshly manicured nails painted a deep red and hair styled to frame her pretty face.

  Flo shoved fingers into her newly colored bouff and worried that she looked a little messy after a day helping Agnes. “I’m afraid we’re a bit careworn at the moment. We’ve been moving and putting things away all day.”

  “It was terribly nice of you to help,” Celia said, patting Flo’s hand. “I really love your hair that color.”

  “Thanks.” Flo patted her bouff again, feeling better. She was always searching for the perfect color for her naturally gra
y hair. Her current selection was a dark gold with some strategically placed lighter strands. “Dazzle’s an artist with color.”

  “She certainly is,” Celia agreed. She looked across the table at Agnes and smiled. The other woman had her nose buried in the menu. “If you’d like I can give recommendations. I come here a lot.”

  “Agnes was hungry for spaghetti, I believe,” Flo contributed when Agnes didn’t respond.

  Finally, Agnes looked up. “With meatballs, I think. And cheesy garlic bread.”

  Celia nodded. “Excellent choice. In fact, I’d love some of the bread myself. Shall we order it for an appetizer?”

  They agreed and Celia called the waitress over to give them their order. When the young woman had left, Celia focused her clear blue gaze on Agnes. “I hope you’re all settled in.”

  Agnes shrugged. “As much as I can be after a day.” She grinned. “And well enough to have already lost my cat once.”

  Celia leaned forward with interest. “You have a cat? How fun. I’ve been thinking about getting a cat myself. They’re so much company.”

  Flo didn’t comment. She was much more a dog person herself. She enjoyed the fact that her little dog loved her as much as she loved him. And needed her even more. Cats were just too independent for her taste. “He found his way across the hall to Betty Marlowe’s apartment. Have you met Betty?”

  Celia took a sip of her wine and settled the glass onto the table, nodding. “I have. She’s a very nice woman.”

  “I like her.” Flo frowned. “She’s not looking good at all. I tried to get her to let me call Dr. Bombast but she didn’t want to bother him.”

  “That sounds like her,” Celia said with a sigh. “I’ll stop in after dinner and see if she’s okay.”

  Flo nodded. “I was going to check back too. We can go together.”

  Celia’s smile turned her attractive face radiant. “That would be fun.” She turned her attention back to Agnes. “So, you live on the third floor?”

  “I think so. I’m not really sure even what day it is right now.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Moving stinks.”