Death By Didgeridoo E-Book

Barbara Venkataraman

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Attorney Jamie Quinn is on a six-month hiatus from practicing law to deal with her beloved mother's death. Rarely leaving the house, she shares most of her days with her late mother's cranky cat.

But soon, Jamie is forced into action by a frantic call from her Aunt Peg, whose autistic son Adam is in police custody and suspected of murdering his music teacher, a once-famous rock star named Spike.

It's up to Jamie to find the real killer. The problem is, Spike seems to have had more enemies than he had friends, and Adam had confessed to the murder already. Can Jamie piece together the evidence and bring the murderer to justice before it's too late?

A delightful, light mystery set in the small town of Hollywood, South Florida, Death By Didgeridoo is the first book in Barbara Venkataraman's Jamie Quinn Cozy Mysteries series.

Leseprobe

DEATH BY DIDGERIDOO

JAMIE QUINN COZY MYSTERIES BOOK 1

BARBARA VENKATARAMAN

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Next in the Series

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2021 Barbara Venkataraman

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter

Published 2021 by Next Chapter

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

For all of their support, advice and enthusiasm, I want to thank all of my "reader girls:" Janet, Jodi, Joette, Kahlia, Linda, Mai, Michele, Myra and Nanette.

CHAPTER1

I don't know why I feel guilty, it's not like I killed the guy. I didn't even know him, but I heard he was a real bastard. Let me put it this way, when word got out that Spike was dead, that he'd been murdered with one of his own musical instruments, celebrations broke out all over town. Some people toasted his demise with expensive champagne, while others clinked bottles of cold beer; it just depended on the neighborhood. And while many stories were told that night--none of them complimentary, I assure you--there was a common theme: Spike was a liar and a cheat, a poor excuse for a man who'd steal from his own mother, if he knew where she was, or sleep with a friend's wife, if he had a friend--which he did not. Spike's only companion was his dog, Beast, a German shepherd that went everywhere he did, and wasn't very friendly either.

You're probably wondering how Spike had such a successful music store when he was such a major jerk. The answer is simple--he was a rock star. Literally. His drum solos were legendary. After The Screaming Zombies' first album, Deathlock, went platinum in 1999 and Spike won drummer of the year, there seemed to be no stopping this garage band of high school dropouts. But Spike found a way. With his huge ego and flair for paranoia, he managed to piss off everyone in no time, including the band's manager, agent, publicist, producer, all the way up to the head of the record label. The roadies especially despised him. They would set his drums up the wrong way or turn his speakers off whenever they could get away with it. And let's not forget the rest of The Screaming Zombies, Snake, Slasher and Slime, a/k/a Daryl, Marcus and Ricardo; they had a million reasons to hate Spike--most of them crisp and green, with pictures of dead presidents on them. They blamed him for the band's implosion and spectacular crash to the bottom that left them as broke as when they started. People say it takes only ten minutes to get used to a luxury, but a lifetime to get over losing it. Lucky for the Zombies they were always stoned, so their memories of the good life were too hazy to be painful.

Fast-forward three weeks to the present where Spike, still dead of course, has somehow taken over my life, causing me to put my house on the line, my reputation at risk and my sanity over the edge. Well, let's face it, I wasn't all that stable to begin with, but still…

It's hard to know where to start, but here goes. My name is Jamie Quinn. Jamie isn't short for anything; my mom just thought it was a good name, one that offered more opportunities than say Courtney or Brittany. She didn't want to burden me with society's stereotypes by choosing a name that was too girly, or sounded like a playboy bunny. She was always thinking ahead like that, which also made her a great nurse. Because she could connect the dots faster than anyone, she always knew when a patient was about to take a turn for the worse. Her co-workers at Hollywood Memorial Hospital (one of the top hospitals in Florida) were so impressed that they started calling her "Psychic Sue." Although she brushed it off whenever they did that, I think she was proud of her nickname. It was her super power, she would say. Superman may have had x-ray vision, but he could never match her diagnostic skills.

Unfortunately, like any super power, my mom's could be used for good or evil. And there were secrets behind those green eyes. When her cancer came back, she was the first to know, but she kept it to herself until it was too late for treatment. I'm sure she had her reasons, but I can't think of a single one that makes any sense. As usual, she had planned ahead. Her life insurance paid off the small house I grew up in on Polk Street and left me with enough cash to take some time off and gather my thoughts. The thought-gathering was her idea. Now, six months later, I am still trying to gather them, but it's no use. They are shadow puppets, gray wisps flitting through my brain, and they refuse to be caught. Somehow my mother knew that after she was gone I, too, would take a turn for the worse. Psychic Sue strikes again.

There is another thing you need to know about me--I'm a terrible sleeper. Let me put it this way, if I were taking a class in sleeping, I would get an 'F' (with an 'A' for effort, which doesn't count). But don’t think I'm throwing a pity party for myself--I'm not. This is all relevant to the story. Because I don't sleep much, I wander the house at night like the ghost of Hamlet's father (also named Hamlet, of course), but I am much quieter about it. I rattle no chains and make no demands of anyone. I do, however, need to sleep later in the day than most people, just to catch up, which I am able to do now that I'm not working. I'm only telling you this so you'll understand how I slept through my Aunt Peg's call and her hysterical message on my answering machine.

It was Monday, July 1st, the day that Spike (newly dead) took over my life. I had staggered out of bed around eleven (a.m.) after a particularly rough night (although it's getting harder to rank them at this point), so it wasn't until my second cup of coffee that I noticed the blinking light on the phone. Hardly anyone calls me on my landline anymore, so I figured it was just a telemarketer or someone conducting a survey. When I finally gave in and pushed the button, the ragged sound of my Aunt Peg crying made me spill my coffee all over my lap. What she said sent my adrenaline level spiking to new levels.

"Oh my God, Jamie, where are you? I can't find your cell number…I don't know what to do. I need your help…Adam's in trouble (she's sobbing at this point and I can't understand what she's saying) he's….he's… been arrested! I'm so scared. Please call me the minute you hear this…"

Now I was officially freaked out. First, because my aunt sounds so much like my mother on the phone. Second, because my cousin Adam is not someone who should be in jail, ever. And third, because how could anyone expect me to help with a crisis of this magnitude? I could barely take care of myself!

There's one more thing I should tell you about myself, but I don't like to bring it up. Since I have no choice, I'll just throw it out there and hope you don't think less of me, or make assumptions about my honesty or integrity. The truth is…I'm a lawyer. There, I said it. I hope that hasn't changed your opinion of me. I practice family law exclusively, which means that my limited area of expertise includes divorce, adoption, paternity, custody and child support. I use the word 'limited' because it's the only area I know, and it's hard enough to keep up with that. The problem is that friends, family, acquaintances, and even strangers tend to ask my advice in areas that I know nothing about. I'm truly sorry, but I can't help you with a real estate closing, or tell you what your back injury is worth; I can't help you file your Social Security claim, or advise you whether to file for bankruptcy. And I sure as hell can't represent you in a criminal case.

For Adam's sake, I hoped that wasn't what my aunt had in mind.

By the time I called her back, Aunt Peg had gone from hysterical to eerily calm and I don't know which one worried me more. She said that they were at the Hollywood police station where Adam was being held. She needed to stay with him, so she couldn't talk, but she'd fill me in when I came down.