Humorous Chick Lit with a Dash of Murder/Mystery
Date Published: March 1, 2015
My name is Izzy. I drink too much, am clumsier than a newborn foal, and my brain-to-mouth filter often malfunctions. My daredevil husband killed himself in a parachuting accident five years ago and my best friend Jack has decided it’s time I jump back in the dating pool. He’s perfectly happy to throw me in if I don’t listen. Just when things in the dating world start to heat up, my grandma dies. Only her knitting group of Jessica Fletcher wannabes is sure it’s murder. I’m not convinced but I’m always up for a bit of excitement as long as it doesn’t lead to a night in jail. Well, more than one night anyway. Will I miss my chance at love because I’m chasing imaginary killers? Did someone really kill grandma or am I and my merry band of geriatric thieves imagining things?
“Excuse me,” I say as I try to catch the bartender’s attention. The bartender, however, is more interested in the young girls prancing around than in me. I sigh and lean onto the bar ensuring that the girls are visible. “Excuse me,” I say again, but this time I use a sultry voice – or at least that’s what I’m going for. The bartender finally looks my way and I smile when I see his eyes immediately lured to my cleavage. Gotcha! “Tequila shot with a beer chaser, please.” He jumps to fulfill my order, but nearly trips as he attempts to maintain eye contact with my bosom and reach for the tequila bottle at the same time.
I hear someone chuckle beside me and turn to see a hotter than hot piece of male specimen staring at me. I immediately feel my face burn. The bartender saves me by slamming my drinks down in front of me. I grab the tequila shot and quickly down it before latching onto the beer to soothe my burning esophagus. Good thing I have lots of practice or I would probably spit the beer out like a college freshman during rush week, although I may have coughed just a teensy bit.
Sufficiently fortified, I turn to the man again and notice him watching me. He raises an eyebrow. “I tried that trick earlier,” he says, tilting his head towards the bar, “but the bartender didn’t seem impressed with my assets.” I look him up and down. “You look pretty hot to me,” I say and then slap my hand over my mouth when I realize my comment probably sounded like some lame pick-up line. “Sorry.” Is it possible for my face to spontaneously burst into flames? “Sometimes my mouth opens before my brain can stop it.”
The man laughs and shakes his head. He reaches out to shake my hand just as a loud, obnoxious bell rings. “That’s my cue,” I say as I jump off the barstool. I wobble a bit, and hottie reaches out to steady me with his hand on my elbow. I gasp as a current of pure electricity moves through my arm. I startle and nearly trip in my heels.
I manage to steady myself and smile at Mr. Dreamboat before going off to search for Jack. Before I can find him, I catch sight of another cocktail waitress. I grab a glass of red before locating Jack, who is surrounded by women who are obviously on the prowl. To the casual observer, he seems to be reveling in the attention, but I see his eyes frantically search the room before landing on me. I immediately stalk forward, grab his hand, and pull him away.
I use my key to enter the front door. After I shut the door behind me, I take a moment to catch my breath. I don’t think I’ve ever been in the house without Grandma being around before. The emptiness catches me by surprise. There’s no smell of baking in the oven, no laughter from the knitting group on the porch, and worst of all, no sweet old lady shouting hello as I walk in.
I force myself to get moving after a few moments of silence. I have no idea what I’m looking for. Grandma always kept her house clean and tidy. I notice a bunch of mail lying unopened on her kitchen table. I grab it and stuff it in my bag for perusal later at home. I’m trying to think of places Grandma might have kept to herself. Places that could hide secrets that would lead to murder. I nearly chuckle at this assumption. Grandma, secrets? Yeah, right. That woman was an open book.
The stairs creak as I tip-toe upstairs to have a peek in her bedroom. It seems as good a place as any to keep secret stuff hidden. I’m opening her jewelry case when I hear it – sirens. My heart stops. Are the police coming for me? I shake my head and nearly laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Of course the police aren’t coming for me.
Just to make sure, I pull back the curtain in the bedroom while standing hidden to the side. Shit! There’s a police car in the driveway! Uh oh! Without thinking, I spin around and run down the stairs and out the back door. I head for the copse of woods at the rear of the land.
“Police! Stop!” I hear someone yell, but there’s no way I’m stopping now.
“Police! Stop!” The second time the words are shouted, I turn around to see how far the voice is behind me. A large, burly cop is chasing me, and it looks like he’s catching up as well. Oh bugger! I sprint for the woods, but I hit a patch of mud and start sliding. Oh no, I’m going down. I land on my butt in the mud – hard. I scramble to get up as quickly as possible, covering myself head to toe in mud, but the burly cop is upon me.
“Just stay down,” he yells at me and turns me so I’m face down in the mud. Apparently, I was in need of a mud facial. He slaps cuffs on me faster than you can say howdy-doody and roughly hauls me to my feet. “Come on, missy, it’s off to the station with you.” He grabs my bag from where it’s fallen next to me and drags me to his squad car.
The officer looks my mud-covered body up and down before pushing me up against the car and ordering me to stay. He pulls a towel from the trunk and places it on the back seat before forcing me into the car. The towel smells like dog piss. How lovely.
I was born and raised in Wisconsin, but think I’m a European. After spending my senior year of high school in Germany, I developed a bad case of wanderlust that is yet to be cured. My flying Dutch husband and I have lived in Ohio, Virginia, the Netherlands, Germany and now Istanbul. We still haven’t decided if we want to settle down somewhere – let alone where. Although I’ve been a military policewoman, a commercial lawyer, and a B&B owner, I think with writing I may have finally figured out what I want to be when I grow up. That’s assuming I ever grow up, of course. Between tennis, running, traveling, singing off tune, drinking entirely too many adult beverages, and reading books like they are going out of style, I write articles for a local expat magazine and various websites, review other indie authors’ books, write a blog about whatever comes to mind and am working on my fifth book.
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