The Couples E-Book

Janie Owens

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

A murder has taken place at Brian's Burgers. After a waitress is found stabbed in the back, the police discover a connection to a local B&B owner, who just happens to be Brian's girlfriend.

After a botched surveillance places Angie in danger, a most unlikely hero comes to her rescue. With three marriages - one in Las Vegas - and spirits visiting the B&B, the stage is set for a rollicking adventure full of unexpected twists and turns. You'll also discover how Rachel and Joe originally met, married and became parents - all amid the challenges of youth, doubts and hurricanes.

Love, murder, humor and mystery fuel The Couples, the third cozy mystery in the 50-Plus Condo series by Janie Owens.

Leseprobe

THE COUPLES

50-PLUS CONDO BOOK 3

JANIE OWENS

CONTENTS

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

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

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About the Author

Copyright (C) 2022 Janie Owens

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Donna Eastman

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.

This book is dedicated to all the couples in love. May you be blessed with peace and harmony in your lives.

ONE

1978

Rachel

Rachel brushed her long dark hair with a lack of attention. She was reading a text book at the same time, propped up against the wall mirror, in an attempt to spoon in enough information to skate through the next class. This was Rachel Brady’s last year in college. A mere two months remained before graduation. Then she was off to become a working adult, completely independent of her parents.

At least that was the current plan.

She paused to look at her reflection in the mirror, deciding it was good enough. Her hair fell over her back, flowing midway down. Thick bangs crossed her forehead, accentuating her blue eyes. People said she was cute; Rachel supposed that was accurate. Slipping on boots under her bellbottom jeans, she smoothed her white sweater over a flat tummy. She was ready for class.

As she walked the hallway to the stairs, she heard Captain and Tennile singing, their voices floating from a resident’s room. Love will keep us together was part of the lyric being sung. She had serious doubts any couple she knew would be together in ten years. That was so unlikely and unrealistic. Even at her young age, Rachel was practical in her thinking. Love? It sounded good when you read about it in a book, but in reality, how many relationships actually endured the tests in life? Her parents were divorced. Most of her college friends had divorced parents. Marriage didn’t last, in her estimation. Love? It wasn’t practical.

She swung out the front door of the dorm and was met by a chilly breeze. “Darn. When is it going to warm up?” Ohio always held onto the last smidgeon of cold before giving in to warmer weather. “I’ve got to get out of this state,” she said, stomping off to class.

Joe

Joe Barnes wiped his brow, looking over at the construction crew. Most of the guys were his age, but not nearly as mature. Although only in his mid-twenties, he had shouldered a lot of responsibility since leaving home. He had been eager to leave, he remembered, what with his alcoholic father throwing tantrums almost every night when he came home from work, snockered after a side trip to the bar. His mom had long since passed away, and that fact did nothing to elevate his father’s disposition. Joe wanted out, badly.

At the tender age of eighteen, Joe knew he could do better on his own. But to be independent, he had to have money, which meant he needed a job. He was fortunate that the first place he sought employment hired him. Joe became an apprentice to a man old enough to be his father, a man who in his kind heart had taken a liking to him and decided to take Joe under his wing. At age nineteen, Joe left home for good, signing a lease for a studio apartment. After saving his money for six months, he was able to afford a decent car, no longer having to depend on public transportation. Yes, he had been responsible, even at a young age. That was one reason he was now a supervisor, looking over at the crew hanging drywall.

The only thing he lacked in his life was a woman. He longed to have a relationship that was solid, filled with mutual respect and, most importantly, love. Most of the women he met were flighty and immature. Like the song said that he heard so frequently on the radio, maybe he was looking for love in all the wrong places? So, where was the right place, he wondered? He was in Florida, the sunshine capital of the world. Surely, there was a woman here in this state who would love him?

Joe often hung out at the beach during his time off -- looking for love. He didn’t think his body was in awful shape because he worked construction. He had muscles, and his brown hair had almost turned blonde from the sun. He didn’t consider himself handsome, but he wasn’t ugly, either. There had to be a young woman out there for him. Some fine lady had to be looking for love, too. And he was ready to meet her.

TWO

2010

“What in the name of sanity has Precious done now?” Rachel screamed at no one in particular. “She hates me! What did I ever do to that cat?”

“I think you’re exaggerating the situation, Mom” Angie said. “Precious doesn’t hate you. She’s just being a cat.”

Rachel Barnes turned away from the trash can with its contents spilled onto the floor, most landing on the carpet. She looked at her tall daughter, wondering where those genes came from. She was short, as was her husband, Joe.

“How many times a week does your Precious overturn my trash? Remember the broken vase? No, correction, two vases, both crystal I might add. And let’s not forget the atomizers. The first incident had the condo reeking of Channel No5 for weeks. The second was that sickly, sweet orange blossom stink lingering for days. I will never like that scent again. Oh, let’s not forget the clawing of the couch,” she said, pointing toward the living room. “Have you looked at that couch lately? Snags and more snags. All over. She hates me.” Rachel folded her arms across her chest. “I rest my case.”

Angie Barnes flung her blonde ponytail over her shoulder and grinned. “I think she does things because she knows it annoys you. She’s not a dumb cat.”

“Please clean it up,” Rachel said.

“Of course. I have time before I pop over to the B and B to welcome the new guests,” Angie said, bending to gather the paper and stuff it back into the trash can. She picked up any tiny fragments still clinging to the carpet with her fingers, then brushing her hands together over the can.

“How many are coming?” Rachel asked as she left the bedroom.

“Four, so all the rooms will be rented for the weekend.” Angie followed her mother to the living room.

“You’ve done such a good job marketing our B and B. We’re booked almost every weekend.”

“And sometimes during the week, too. I’m pleased with the results,” Angie said.

Joe and Rachel had purchased an old Victorian house on Beach Street that overlooked the Halifax River in Daytona Beach, Florida, the previous year. Joe renovated it and Angie used her marketing degree to promote it. The result had been satisfying for everyone. The plan now was for Angie to roll her experience into a good paying career with a marketing company. Finally, at the age of twenty-six, Angie knew what she wanted to do with her life.

“Okay, so I’m off,” Angie said, snatching her purse from the dining room table.

“I wish you wouldn’t leave your purse on the table,” Rachel said.

Angie chose not to respond. She knew some of her little habits were annoying her mother. Some of her mother’s habits were equally annoying to Angie. She was beginning to realize that it was time for her to move to her own space. She had arrived over a year ago with no inclination how long she would stay or what to do with her life. Now she had a goal. And it was becoming clear that it was time to leave.

Angie drove over the bridge to Beach Street, turning left at the light. She parked her car about three blocks down, in front of the sunny yellow Victorian house. She climbed the steps to the wrap around porch, then unlocked the front door. The interior was cheery, decorated in period- style pieces that could have passed for authentic. Two green settees flanked the fireplace with a coffee table in between. Angie walked up the staircase to the second floor. The bathroom her father had remodeled was a stunner. Complete with a clawfoot tub, it had a sink inserted into a dresser with a mirror attached. Lace curtains rested over a pulldown shade. The bathroom was quaint but classy in appearance.

She walked into every bedroom, getting a feel for which one felt like her. Joe and Rachel had discussed the option of Angie eventually moving into one of the bedrooms while renting out the other three. Of course, she would take Precious with her. That had been made clear from the beginning, even before all the destruction had been inflicted. But now the cat really needed to leave because Precious had definitely worn out her welcome at the condo. Besides, there were benefits to moving into this lovely Victorian home. She wouldn’t have to pay rent and she would have her own place, finally being independent. Her first adult living quarters, not counting her dorm rooms or any of the ashrams she had lived in over the last several years, all of which involved communal living. This would be private, except when guests came to stay. What was there to think about? It was a no brainer: she was moving into this lovely Victorian house after these people vacated!

Monday morning, bright and early, Angie and her boyfriend, Brian Forbes, began lugging numerous suitcases upstairs. Her mother had offered some personal items for Angie’s room, which she packed into several boxes. Since the house was fully stocked with everything a short-term renter would require, it wasn’t necessary to offer utensils and dishes. All the appropriate kitchen items were already on the shelves and in drawers, plus a few staples, such as coffee, tea and sweeteners. All Angie had to do was unpack her clothes and personal belongings, and go to the grocery.

“This place is very cool,” Brian said, appreciatively running his hand down the carved door jamb. “It’s very homey, yet it has class oozing from every corner.”

Angie smiled over his assessment as they climbed the staircase to the second floor, noticing how he ran his hand along the banister. “I’m glad you like it. We will be spending time here now, besides your place, of course.”

“Cool. I feel at home already. But I’m glad you didn’t select the bedroom with the creepy dolls on the shelves.” Brian did a mock shiver as he entered her bedroom.

Angie laughed. “No one likes those dolls, except my dad. I have no clue why he took a shine to them.” She unlatched one of the suitcases and began placing clothing items in the bureau.

“You also have your own private bath,” he said, sitting on the edge of the four-poster bed and gesturing toward the bathroom.

“It’s a little smaller than the main bath, but I don’t need a large one,” Angie said as she arranged a pile of clothes from the second suitcase onto individual hangers. “Dad was able to construct the bath in this room because it’s the largest. The other bedrooms can share the fancy bathroom with the beautiful clawfoot tub. I’m fine with a shower.”

“You don’t need a tub. This was the best choice,” he said.

“Also, my bath won’t be cluttered with strangers’ stuff,” she said. “Help me get these into the closet, please.”

Angie transported an arm load of hangered clothes to the closet, individually hanging each item. Brian brought over another arm load for her to hang as she chose. Placing each piece into a section for pants, shirts, skirts or dresses, Angie further divided items into appropriate color sections.

“You sure are organized,” Brian commented.

Angie looked at him and scowled. “Why wouldn’t I be? If I’m in the mood to wear pink slacks, I look in the slack section for the pink slacks, and then the top section for the white top. What’s wrong with that?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he said, obviously backing away from his comment.

“Life is too complicated to have a closet all discombobulated.”

“I agree. Got it.”

“I come in here and feel peaceful. Everything is laid out, orderly,” she said, spreading her arms out to her sides to include all items in the closet. “I can’t stand disorder.”

“Uh huh. I can see that.” Brian gave her a little smile.

“Okay, enough about my closet. I need groceries,” she said, heading for the door.

“Let’s go get you some groceries,” he said, rising from the bed.

“We also have to pick up Precious.”

“Oh, yeah, the cat.” Brian raised and lowered his brows. “I can’t wait.”

“Precious is being difficult,” Rachel said, her hands on her hips.

“I know. I guess it’s been so long since she’s been in her carrier, she doesn’t want to go in,” Angie said, following behind the escaping cat. “Brian, block her way.”

Brian did his best to stop the slippery feline from going into the living room, spreading his arms and grunting.

“You sound like a football player,” Angie said, gaining on the cat.

“I used to play football,” Brian said as Precious ran by him into the other bedroom.

“Oh, don’t let her get…” Angie started to say as the cat made a dive, “under the bed. Drat.”

“Now what?” Rachel asked.

“Well, one of us is going to have to get her out of there,” Angie said.

“I’ll do it,” Brian said, getting on his hands and knees and lifting the bed skirt. “Come here, you little darling.”

Angie got on the floor as well. “Precious, come here to mama,” she said, waving her hand to attract the cat’s attention. “Be the sweet girl you know you want to be. Come to mama.”

Situated in the center under the bed, completely out of reach, the cat wasn’t budging.

The front door slammed as Joe entered the condo.

“Where is everyone?” he called out.

“In here, Joe,” Rachel called. “We’re trying to get Precious out from under the bed so she can go to her new home.”

Joe walked into the bedroom, looking at Brian and Angie on the floor, his wife standing and observing. “Appears she doesn’t want to go.”

“Not yet,” Angie said.

“I know how to get her out,” Joe said, leaving the room.

He quickly retrieved Rufus the dog from where he was snoozing on the balcony. “What’s under the bed, Rufus? Huh? Go get it. Yeah, get the intruder.”

The large golden doodle plunged forward to the edge of the bed, letting out a bark that fit his size. He jumped up and down a few times, finally sticking his head under the bed with a noisy sniff. Then he let Precious have it, delivering another loud bark that must have blown her fur sideways. Precious ran from under the bed. As she streaked by, Brian and Angie grabbed at her fluffy white body.

“Let’s get her in the carrier right now,” Angie said, standing, as did Brian, each holding onto the wiggly feline.

The two quickly walked back to the carrier left in the hallway. Brian placed one hand on the back of the carrier to steady it while Angie pushed Precious through the opening, with the help of Brian, as Precious squirmed in her grasp. Angie then firmly closed the door, securing it with the zipper.

“Oh, man!” Angie said. “I was wondering if we’d ever get her in there.”

“Me, too,” Brian said.

“I guess she didn’t want to go,” Joe said. “Too bad, girlie, you’re going.”

THREE

Rachel arrived early to her office, so she fixed a pot of coffee. Hopefully, it would be an uneventful day, not like some that were filled with drama from the characters living in the over fifty condominium she managed. She thought when Joe and she retired here, life would be calm and pleasant living four flights up in a condo overlooking the ocean. But then she was asked to manage the building, and Joe decided to do the maintenance in order to keep busy. It was the perfect plan -- until the drama began, not to mention, the murder of her friend. No, life had been anything but peaceful since moving here. However, she loved living on the beach, and was quite fond of most of the residents, despite their idiosyncrasies.

Since her arrival, Rachel had married an elderly couple with her notary public license, solved two murders, welcomed the return of her daughter, established a new business, made some dear friends, and discovered she had an illness. Life certainly had not been dull at the Breezeway Condominiums, blissfully located on the shores of Daytona Beach, Florida.

Rachel sat behind her desk, flipping on the video security tape for review. She needed to know if any suspicious people had been lurking about or trying to gain entry. About midway into the tape, she spotted a short man with sparse dark hair combed back from his average looking face. Rachel did not recognize him, so she ran a copy of the man for future review, if necessary.

LuAnn Riley came breezing into the office, her yellow caftan sweeping behind her. “Hi, there!” LuAnn was a country singer who bore a strong resemblance to Dolly Parton, right down to the large bosom, blonde hair, and long red fingernails.

“Well, don’t you look all bright and cheery today,” Rachel said, smiling at her friend.

“I’m feeling pretty good. Why not? My new gig is going well and,” she said with a smile, “they have extended my contract for an additional three months.”

“That’s fantastic news, LuAnn.”

“Don’t you think I deserve it?” LuAnn fluffed her hair out with her hands in an exaggerated manner. “Sugar, business improves everywhere I entertain.”

“Of course, it does. And you deserve an extension. I am very happy for you.”

LuAnn walked over to the guest chair and sat. “There’s also been a man paying extra attention to me. He has come in almost every night now for two weeks. He watches me with googly eyes, claps with such enthusiasm, and always asks me to sit with him during my breaks.”

“That’s great. A budding romance,” Rachel said, giving her friend a wink.

“I don’t know about that, sugar. The attention is nice and all, but he’s not really my type.” LuAnn examined one hand, turning it over to check out her nails. Today they were bright red, tomorrow another color for sure.

“Could you, maybe, still be pining over Derks?” He had been her last boyfriend, and LuAnn had taken the breakup hard.

“No, I’m ready to get back in the game, honey. I just need the right fella, not a woman chasing snake,” she said, delivering her description of Derks.

“What’s he like?”

“My height, which makes him short when I wear my platform boots. His hair is dark and a little thin up top. I think he’s in banking or something financial like that.”

“Really? Does he look anything like this?” Rachel pulled out the picture she had just copied and slid it to the edge of her desk with one finger.

“Why, yes he does.” LuAnn stared at the photo with surprise, tapping one fingernail on the face. “Why would he be hanging out here? I don’t think he lives on the beachside.”

“This was taken last night.”

“Last night? I worked last night.”

“Well, he followed you home, is my guess.” Rachel took the picture back, placing it face down on her desk.

“I don’t quite know what to make of that, honey,” LuAnn said, looking at Rachel with a confused expression. “He doesn’t seem like a stalker. Timothy’s way too meek and quiet to be a violent man. I just don’t know what to say.”

“What’s his name? For my records.”

“Timothy Lowe. Sixty-two years old. A Libre.”

Rachel didn’t need his astrological sign, but she wrote it down on the back of the picture anyway, along with his name and age.

“I’ll ask him next time I see him why he came here,” LuAnn said, standing. “But I know he didn’t mean any harm.”

“They say it’s the quiet ones you gotta watch out for,” Rachel said with a smirk.

LuAnn glanced back at her from the door. “Do tell.”

Precious paraded around the house, taking in every square inch of her new Victorian home. This was the first time the cat had ever had so much space to run around in. Living in a dormitory and ashrams in the states had been small quarters for the white Persian.

“She’s loving the new house, Brian,” Angie said in amazement, her hands on her hips, a trait similar to her mother. “I’m so happy.”

“How are you going to keep her from escaping outside when you have renters?” Brian asked.

“She never goes outside. She doesn’t like it. Too scary or strange to her. I don’t think that will be a problem,” she said.

“What about the renters?”

“Oh, she’s not afraid of people. She likes them just fine. And if she doesn’t like a particular group, she can hide in the bedroom.” Angie shrugged. “It will all work out. You’ll see.”

“What I was asking, what if someone is allergic to cats?” Brian asked.

“My, aren’t you full of questions. On the website it clearly states, resident cat on premises. In italics and bold. They can’t miss it,” she said. “And if there’s a problem, I’ll keep her in my bedroom while they’re here.”

“Well, I guess you have everything covered.” Brian turned toward the kitchen. “Let’s eat some of that chicken you just bought.”

Precious followed Angie into the kitchen, taking a break from her prowling.

“Yes, I’ll feed you, too,” Angie said, shaking some crunchy food into the cat’s bowl. She returned the container to a low cabinet. “Now, for the chicken.” Angie brought the chicken to the dining room table, along with potato salad and a green salad. “Can you get the plates?”

Brian reached into a cabinet overhead and brought out two plates. Opening the drawer below, he pulled out two forks and knives, then reaching back in for a second time, a serving spoon. Brian set the table while Angie retrieved the dressing for the salad.

“I want to say grace on the first night in my house.” Angie was smiling as she seated herself.

“Do it.” Brian was the one who normally did the honors.

Angie said grace, and then dove into the fried chicken.

“I have feelers out for two more waitstaff,” Brian said before taking a sizable bite out of his chicken leg. He owned Brian’s Burgers on the beachside where Angie worked. It had been her first job ever at the age of twenty-five. Then they fell in love.

“Two?” Angie asked, helping herself to potato salad.

“Yeah, it takes two to replace you.”

Angie chuckled. “Seriously, two?”

“Yeah, I think everyone needs less pressure. I’ve been running a tight operation to save money, but I don’t think that’s necessary anymore.” Brian plopped a spoonful of potato salad on his plate. “Business is really good. Tourists have gotten the word: Eat at Brian’s Burgers.”

“You do realize I’m still going to work with you? I’m not ready to start soliciting interviews for a marketing position.” Angie reached for a chicken thigh.

“I know. I also don’t want you to feel stressed, like you have to wait tables for me.” Brian put the chicken back on his plate, giving Angie a sweet look. “You have two days to market this B and B now, but if you need more time, I want to be able to say, no problem. I have it covered.”

“That is so sweet of you,” she said, giving him a generous smile. “I got lucky when I stumbled into your burger joint, looking for a job. Who would have thought we’d be in a relationship?”

“Well, I knew,” he said, reaching for a chicken breast. “When you walked in the place, you took my breath. I knew instantly.”

“Really? You never told me that before.”

“It’s true. Why do you think I lost that weight?”

“I remember you said you had your eye on a girl.”

“Uh, huh. That was you.”

Brian had once been fifty pounds over the desirable weight for his tall, muscular body. By weight lifting and watching what he ate, such as no French fries, he had dropped a significant amount of weight, all to impress Angie.

“Um, back then I was seeing Josh, as I remember. What a mistake that was,” she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “But you came to my rescue. I think that’s when I became aware of you. Lucky me.”

“Ha! I’m the lucky one. Look at you: blonde and beautiful. Long legs, gorgeous body. When I looked up after reading your application, which I might add was pitiful, I just became oatmeal in your hands; mashed potatoes, whatever. I turned to mush.” As he smiled, a little juice crept out the corner of his mouth.

“Hey, don’t be so tough on me. I was a college grad; I had extra degrees, too. Wasn’t my fault I spent my time in school instead of working,” she said, grinning. “But it’s nice to know I have the ability to turn you into mush.”

“You sure do.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Me? I’m okay, I guess.” Brian shrugged like he might think otherwise.

“More than okay. You’re a handsome man. Don’t be so modest,” Angie insisted.

“See? This is another reason I’m lucky. You always make me feel good,” he said with a smile.

“Isn’t that what people are supposed to do for each other?” she asked.

“Sure. But they usually don’t.”

Angie nodded her head. “How about we agree we both got lucky?”

“Agreed.”

FOUR

“This is the first night in over a year that we have had the place to ourselves,” Joe said, sliding his chair under the dining room table.

“I know. It seems a bit weird,” Rachel said. “No daughter running around, making conversation.”

“And no Precious,” Joe said, placing a napkin in his lap.

“Well, that’s a good thing. I won’t miss her.”

“Me either.”

Rachel cut a slice of meatloaf from the serving plate, passing it to her husband. She slipped another piece onto her own plate. Joe loved meatloaf, so Rachel tried to make it often.

“These cauliflower faux mashed potatoes aren’t bad,” he said, taking another bite. “I’m surprised.”

“Eating healthy isn’t difficult, and doesn’t have to be bland. And it makes all the difference in my diabetes numbers,” Rachel said while cutting into her meatloaf.

It had been about eighteen months since Rachel had been diagnosed as a diabetic. After almost drowning in the bathtub, she didn’t want a return of her symptoms. That had been a painful time in her life and for their marriage.

“I remember when I was in college, how I could eat anything, pizza, hamburgers, it didn’t matter. I never gained any weight. And I didn’t have an insulin issue,” she said.

“Me either. All through my twenties, I was in top shape. All muscle,” Joe said, separating a piece of meatloaf from his slice and pushing it into his mouth.

“I remember,” Rachel said, sending her husband an especially loving look.

Also sending Joe loving looks was Rufus. He was seated on the floor as close to Joe as he could get, his eyes wide as he peered upward at every piece of meatloaf on Joe’s fork. Slobber began to form at the corners of the dog’s mouth.

“No, you’re not getting any of my meatloaf,” Joe said, glancing down at the dog.

Rufus whined his objection.

“No.”

Rufus complained again, prancing from one front paw to the other in his impatience to get a bite. He threw in another whine, then a soft woof followed. Joe looked out the corner of his eye at his wife, who was looking down at her plate. Joe quickly pinched off a small piece of meatloaf with his fingers and popped it into the dog’s mouth.

“What do you remember, dear?” he asked.