Flo Charts Read online

  Flo had a lightbulb moment. “Felz.”

  Peters nodded. “He’s been marketed to the media as a collector because that helped Bickel’s operation. Technically, military arms and tactical equipment can’t be sold to private citizens but Bickel found a way around it. His cousin would request a piece of equipment, slated for a local department within the state, and then alter the serial number and log it in as something that could be resold. Then that item would be suspiciously left off the list when the deliveries were made and would later be picked up by one of Bickel’s drivers and delivered to Felz’s property.”

  “You mean Bickel’s delivery guys are in on this?”

  “Not necessarily. As far as they knew they were just doing a regular delivery to a collector. We’re looking into it but so far there’s no evidence at all that his drivers are involved.”

  TC shook her head. “I can’t believe the government would allow such dangerous equipment to be distributed willy-nilly around the country. Or even the world,” she said as her eyes grew round. “Bickel talked about selling to the Mexican cartels.”

  “They don’t of course. Eventually they would have discovered the serial number mix-ups and someone would have to pay the piper. I’m guessing Bickel had a plan to leave Felz holding the bag.”

  “Yeah, like slithering away to a Mexican beach,” Agnes said, frowning.

  Peters shrugged. “Documentation has been a weak spot in the program from the beginning. Anyone who understood that could pretty easily take advantage.”

  “I don’t understand,” Agnes said, frowning. “Was Carey in on it too?”

  “Not as far as we can tell. I’m guessing that once Bickel starts talking, he’ll admit he hid the money in his boss’ office to point the finger at him after he was murdered. He knew the murder would bring uncomfortable scrutiny to the business and he was hedging his bets.”

  Flo nodded. “He figured the cops would think Carey was killed by whoever he was selling the arms to.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Diabolical,” TC said on a frown.

  Peters skimmed her a long look and smiled. “It is that, Miss Colombo.”

  She returned his smile, flushing slightly.

  “Then why’d he kill him?” Agnes asked.

  Peters sat down on the front edge of his desk. “Carey discovered what he was up to and tried to stop him.”

  “And Betty?” Flo asked, though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

  Peters sighed. “Unfortunately, Betty was too good at her job. Rather than accept the inventory lists Bickel gave her, she was spending her nights and weekends taking her own inventory of the warehouse. Apparently, there had been some pretty large discrepancies of late and she was determined to get to the bottom of it. It was her question to Carey about the military equipment that forced him to confront Bickel.”

  “Poor Betty,” Flo said. “She never saw it coming.”

  Peters nodded, frowning. “And speaking of that, I checked her statement on her hit and run accident and she did report that it was a red truck. The same red truck Felz drove to Carey’s when he followed Bickel over.”

  Flo frowned. “Wait. It was Felz’s truck?”

  “No. Bickel drove it to Felz’s place and left it there. He brought Rufus over to Carey’s in Felz’s van.”

  “Ah,” Flo nodded.

  “Bickel’s truck had paint scrapes from both your car and Betty Marlowe’s car on it.” He gave them a hard look. “You ladies should have stayed away from this, you know. You were almost killed. More than once.”

  “But we solved two murders,” Agnes objected, puffing up with indignation.

  “And we took care of ourselves,” Flo added.

  “Actually, Sydney Felz and his pig took care of you.”

  “What’s up with Felz anyway,” TC asked.

  “He’s former military and he really does have a fondness for military equipment, especially the large vehicles. He apparently drove an armored Humvee in the first Gulf war.”

  “No kidding?” Agnes grinned. “Cool.”

  “Right. But while he seems simple and, from what I understand he does have some residual emotional episodes from his time in the service...”

  “PTSD?” TC asked.

  “Something like that. Although I don’t think it’s as bad as many soldiers come home with. Maybe because he was able to hide himself away on that huge property.” Peters shrugged. “Anyway. He’s different but he’s not stupid as Bickel assumed. He’d been disabling the equipment while it was on his property so whoever Bickel was selling it to wasn’t going to be real happy with him.”

  “Go Sydney!” Agnes said, chuckling.

  “Right.” Peters’ smile was fleeting. “Bickel was on borrowed time if he actually was selling these things to the cartel. They don’t take kindly to being cheated.”

  “Well, I’d say he’s better off in prison then,” Flo told them. “He should thank us for saving his life.” She smiled.

  “Actually, he should thank...”

  “Felz. Got it, Detective.” Flo stood up and slipped her bag over her shoulder. “It was a pleasure working with you, Detective Peters.”

  The cop shook her hand even as he grimaced. “Hopefully it won’t happen again, Mrs. Bee. Ever.”

  She gave him an enigmatic smile. “We’ll see.”

  Agnes slapped him on the back, nearly sending him to the floor. Peters’ hand shot to his empty holster before his brain realized he wasn’t under attack. “See ya around, Detective.”

  He shrugged the shoulder she’d slapped, no doubt wishing he could rub it. But Flo figured he wouldn’t do it in front of the pretty girl.

  TC offered him her hand and he seemed to forget about his sore shoulder. “Thank you for making sure we all survived, Detective.”

  He held her hand longer than necessary, his gaze locked on hers. Flo easily read the interest there and she was happy for it. TC deserved a man like the detective. Handsome, strong and good at what he did. Even if he was kind of a pain in the patooty at times.

  “It was my pleasure, Miss Colombo. I was wondering...”

  “Yes?” TC’s eyes widened slightly.

  “Would you be available...erm...if I have any further questions about what happened?”

  She flushed with pleasure. “Absolutely.”

  “Me too!” Agnes offered happily.

  Flo grabbed her friend’s arm and started towing her to the door. “Come on, hun. I don’t think you were part of the invitation.”

  “Are you sure? I’m more than happy to answer the detective’s questions.”

  Something in the way Agnes said it had Flo turning to her at the door. She stared into Agnes’s eyes for a moment and then grinned widely. “You’re quite the jokester, aren’t you, Miss Agnes?”

  Agnes let the smile in her eyes bend her lips upward in a wide grin. “I can be. Sometimes I like to let it sneak up on people though.”

  Flo laughed heartily, ushering Agnes through the door ahead of her. “Something tells me that you and I are going to become great friends.”

  “Something tells me the same thing, Flo.”

  THE END

  Did you enjoy Flo and Agnes’s story? If so, you might want to check out Book 1 of the Silver Hills Cozy Mysteries series.

  Please enjoy Chapter One of Dose Vidanya, my gift to you!

  SILVER HILLS SENIOR and Singles Residence isn’t exactly a boring place. Home to a death predicting cat named Tolstoy, a night manager who may or may not suck blood and float above the floor, a cook with mad voodoo and pie baking powers, and a trio of nosy sleuths who are determined to get to the bottom of the corpse in the library (maybe literally)...some might say things couldn’t get any weirder.

  Some would be wrong.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “You’re being ridiculous, Flo.”

  Florence Bee cast her friend Agnes Willard a withering look. “I’m not going anywhere near that cat. I know you love him but
he’s the Grim Reaper.”

  Agnes snorted. “That’s just superstition. Tolstoy cannot predict death.”

  The two women peered around the corner again. The huge orange striped cat sat licking his paws in a ray of sunlight that painted the mauve colored carpet. He stopped suddenly, as if sensing their presence and lifted his round green gaze in their direction.

  Florence jerked backward, dragging Agnes with her. “There are ten dead people who might argue with you about that.”

  Her friend removed Florence’s bony fingers from her shirt. “He’s my cat. I don’t need to hide from him.”

  “Yes, you do. If he sees you he’ll come over here.”

  “And?” Agnes lifted a heavy brown eyebrow and placed her hands on wide hips.

  “And I’m not going to find out what happens next. We don’t know if he kills with a look or if he has to sit on you.”

  Agnes frowned. “Flo, I live with Tolstoy. He looks at me all the time. He sits on my chest when I’m sleeping...”

  Flo gasped, grabbing Agnes’s wrist and looking at her watch.

  “What are you doing, fool?”

  “I’m checking your pulse.”

  Agnes yanked her arm away as a door down the hall opened and a familiar voice spoke to Tolstoy.

  “Good afternoon, boy.”

  Tolstoy yowled a greeting and dove through the stairwell door before it closed.

  Florence expelled a breath. “Good. We can go now.”

  Shaking her head, Agnes stepped around the corner. She hotfooted it toward Richard Attles, a flirtatious smile on her wide face. “Richard! Hello.”

  Flo rolled her eyes and followed, hoping to avert disaster.

  Agnes had been nursing a serious crush on the man since the first day she’d arrived at the residence and had made a fool of herself more times than Flo could count over it.

  The day manager of Silver Hills looked up as Agnes plowed toward him, her broad flank swinging energetically as she cut the distance between them.

  Judging by the widening of the man’s eyes and the way his head swung from side to side looking for an escape route, Richard Attles was about to do something desperate. When his gaze swung toward the second-floor window at the end of the hall Flo decided aggressive maneuvers were called for. She pitched sideways with a cry and folded carefully to the ground. As Agnes turned around, Flo grabbed her ankle.

  Agnes rushed in her direction and Richard Attles saluted Flo as he dove back into the stairwell.

  “Are you all right?” Agnes put her big hands under Flo’s arms and hefted her off the ground. Flo gave a startled chirp as her feet left the carpet. Agnes rarely knew her own strength.

  “I’m fine I think. I just twisted my ankle.” She took a step, feigning a limp, and then straightened. “There, good as new. Let’s go or we’ll be late to the reading.”

  Agnes narrowed her gaze at Flo and held her ground. “Just like that, your ankle’s better?”

  Flo took off toward the elevator. “I’m a quick healer.” She pressed the Up button and the doors slid open with a whir. The two women climbed on board and Agnes stabbed a thick digit at the number three button.

  “Hold the elevator!”

  Agnes pressed Hold and peered around the open door to the young woman running lightly down the hall toward them, pressing a paperback to her stomach as she ran. The newcomer tugged a strand of mahogany hair off her face and smiled as she slipped into the elevator. “Thanks, ladies. Are you coming to the reading?”

  Flo nodded. “We are. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I think I’ve figured out who killed Professor Pelt in the sun room.”

  The doors slid shut and Agnes leaned against the wall at her back, eyeing the green-eyed beauty across from her. “I’m waiting for the sex scene. When are we getting to that, TC?”

  Trisha Colombo shook her head. “There’s no sex, Agnes. But there is a sweet romance.”

  Agnes grimaced. “You need to write something steamier, TC. I’m getting diabetes from all that sweetness.”

  The younger woman’s eyes widened as the doors slid open. “Shhhh! I don’t want Richard to know about the writing. It’s against my contract to have a second job.”

  Agnes frowned. “It’s not like writing a book is a job, TC.”

  TC lifted carefully shaped brows. “Have you ever tried it?”

  “Agnes can’t even write a grocery list without breaking every grammar rule in the book,” Flo offered. She peered at her friend. “Besides, if you’re getting diabetes it’s from all those glazed donuts you eat.” Flo punched Agnes on a beefy arm. It was like a tick hitting a rhinoceros, barely even registering.

  Agnes glanced at Flo when she rubbed her fist.

  “I hope you hurt yourself.” She gave Flo a mean smile. “Good thing you’re a fast healer.”

  “You two are incorrigible,” TC told them. “I hope I’m not going to have to separate you again.”

  “If you do,” Flo said while glaring at her friend, “don’t put her near the coffee and cookies. The last time she ate everything but the ones with raisins.” Flo bunched her face with distaste. “I hate raisins.”

  “Raisins are Satan’s boogers,” Agnes agreed.

  TC grimaced. “Good Lord.”

  “Don’t bring him into this,” Flo said with a grin.

  Agnes laughed with her. “Yeah, he had nothing to do with raisins. He’s chocolate all the way.”

  The elevator door opened and they stepped out, heading for the Silver Hills library. It was an open, inviting spot settled into a corner of the third floor. Two of the room’s walls consisted of floor to ceiling shelves made from dark wood, and every inch of the shelving was filled with books. The outside perimeter was open to the hallways and overlooked the large entrance and dining room two floors below.

  Flo loved the library. It was her favorite spot at Silver Hills and she spent as much time there as possible. In fact, it had been her idea for TC, who was the resident activities director, to do the weekly readings. She hadn’t even known at the time that TC actually authored the cozy mysteries she read to about a dozen of the residents at Silver Hills. She’d just known they shared a love of reading.

  They were a few minutes early to the reading and only one of the comfortable upholstered chairs was occupied when they approached. “Somebody beat us,” Flo observed as she eyed the stooped form with his back to them. She didn’t recognize the man from previous readings. “Who is that?”

  TC shrugged. “Maybe it’s somebody new.”

  Agnes picked up the pace. “He’s sitting next to the cookies. He’d better not have eaten all the chocolate chip ones.”

  Flo rolled her eyes at TC and the younger woman smiled. “If he did I’ll call Cook and order us some more.”

  Agnes slowed down from a near sprint and nodded. “Good. I need my daily sugar or I’ll drop into a diabetic coma.”

  “You’re no more diabetic than I am,” Flo argued.

  “Says you.”

  They entered the cool, quiet space and a sense of peace slipped over Flo. She headed for her favorite chair just down from the newcomer, stepping over his very large shoes. “Excuse me.” The man in the chair didn’t look up from his magazine. Flo eyed the shaggy fringe of dark hair falling over his brow and frowned. Something about the man was familiar. And he appeared to be asleep.

  Voices down the hall spurred Flo into action. She quickly forgot the magazine reading newcomer and hurried to her chair before old Mrs. Peoples stole it out from under her. Their feud over the slightly lumpy armchair had started months earlier, when Flo got up to go to the bathroom and came back to find the nasty old woman sitting like a queen in her chair. Mrs. Peoples had refused to leave, declaring the worn and lumpy chair the finest in the room and since she was the oldest, she proclaimed it should be hers.

  Florence hadn’t taken it well and had set out, from that day on, to get to the readings before everyone else and claim the chair. She’d managed to snag the seat a
way from the crotchety old ninety-year-old woman several times in a row, only missing it the day the woman brought her lunch of prunes and sunflower seeds to the library and stayed until the reading just to rain on Flo’s parade. The cantankerous old woman had to have a bladder the size of her head.

  ~SC~

  An hour later, Flo was holding court near the white chocolate macadamia nut cookies and accepting congratulations for having guessed the killer. “I have plans for that twenty bucks too,” she told an adoring crowd.

  TC, being wise beyond her thirty some years, had assessed her Bingo-addicted audience on the first day and sweetened the reading pot with a gift certificate for the first one to guess the killer before he or she was revealed. The moment they guessed the killer, the audience had been instructed to write the name, date and time of the guess on one of the small slips of paper which TC left on the table in front of her. TC kept the paper locked in a metal box until she finished the book.

  Flo had won enough gift certificates to buy her two grandsons Christmas presents, with enough left over to get her dog, Rodney a bone or two.

  “You’re really good at this, Flo,” old Mrs. Peoples chimed in. “Are you sure you’re not cheating?”

  Flo pasted her best innocent expression on her face, enhancing it with a tinge of irritation. “I would never do that, Mrs. Peoples. I’m as honest as the day is long.”

  Behind Flo’s admirers, Agnes stood with a handful of chocolate chip cookies in one hand and a sneer on her wide face. She blew a messy raspberry and then jerked as cookie crumbs shot out of her face and landed on the back of Mrs. People’s iron-gray beehive.

  Flo widened her eyes and Agnes started to giggle.

  “I’ll email your gift card to you when I get home, Flo.”

  She looked up at TC. “No hurry, dear. You have a nice night, okay?”

  TC squeezed her arm, said her goodbyes to the room at large, and strode out of the library toward the stairs.

  Roger Attles, resident senior hottie and father of the day manager at Silver Hills, walked over and stood next to Flo, fixing her with a serious blue gaze. “Would you like some company heading back to your place, doll?”