Papa's Promise

By Don Mosher

Nathan promisies romayne, on her death bed, he'll take care of their grand kids. Greg is murdered. Can Nathan and Colleen track down the killer before she becomes his next victim?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781626759824

Book preview

Brett-

CHAPTER ONE

Nathan O’Shaughnessy had a bone to pick with the Grim Reaper. He should have gone first. Without Romayne to keep him in tow he’d have to apply logic and reason to solve his problems, instead of knee-jerk reactions. Without her to rein in his emotions, his quick temper could erupt, like Kilauea Volcano has been known to do, violently and unexpectedly.

Romayne had always been the rudder of his life, had kept him on a straight and prudent course. In his mind’s eye, he visualized several incidents where he would have wound up in deep do-do had she not been there to guide him down life’s straight and narrow path. A sudden chill crept up his spine, a few inches at a time culminating at his brain stem. As he sat shivering in the sunlight, he had a premonition that today was just the start of his woes.

He sat stoically, ramrod stiff, in the front pew that was provided for the immediate family at the memorial service, as his wife of forty-five years was laid to rest.

The woman he cherished and had spent his entire married life idolizing, had been torn from his life. He felt as if a giant hand had reached into his chest cavity and ripped his heart out. He recalled a country song he used to laugh at: You done ripped out my heart and mashed that sucker flat.

He wasn’t laughing now.

He couldn’t conger up a single reason for ever laughing again. Romayne was gone. For the first time in his life, he looked forward to a visit from the man with the sickle. He hoped and prayed that, if he could get his sorry self together and emulate Romayne’s life style, God would allow him to join her in heavenly bliss.

His daughter, Jill, who sat to his left with her fly-by-night husband, Quentin, was impatient. She sighed, fiddled with her hair, as if she couldn’t wait to leave. Nathan knew she was a narcissist, and lived in her own selfish world. Being she was an only child, he and Romayne had spoiled her rotten, especially during the six years he’d been on active duty in the Marine Corps. But, my God, couldn’t she show a smidgen of respect at her mother’s funeral? Every time she sighed or glanced at her watch, he wanted to turn her over his knee and paddle her backside, until she’d have to spend the rest of her life with a pillow permanently attached.

Her husband, a schmuck of the first magnitude, was cut from the same mold. He fiddled, also, gazed off into space and completely ignored the service. Obviously, his son-in-laws mind was where it frequently was, up in the clouds working on his latest get-rich-quick scheme. Nathan prayed that one of his schemes would, somehow, come to fruition, as he was sick and tired of lending him money he’d never see again. Now that Romayne was gone, he had only one thing to say about another loan.

Lotsa luck.

The only thing that made the day bearable was his two grandkids, who sat on his right. How they turned out to be so magnificent, especially living with the two malcontents they inherited as parents was beyond his comprehension.

God worked in mysterious ways.

Greg sat with his head bowed, listening intently to the reverend’s words of praise for Romayne. He raised his head, periodically, hoping to catch his grandfather’s eye, so Papa would know he missed Gram, too.

Colleen sat as close as she could to her grandfather. She fought to control her emotions as she held his hand tightly, in both of hers. She was not about to let go. She dabbed at her eyes, with the back of her hand.

The church was filled to the rafters: Relatives, church friends, co-workers, and ex-students who had attended to show their respect, and say goodbye to the best high school English teacher in town.

Nathan’s mind wandered as Reverend Craig droned on and on. He caught bits and pieces of the eulogy: Sunday school teacher, numerous charities, loving wife and mother. He felt his muscles tighten, the veins in his neck bulge, and his anger rise. He wanted to rail at the world, including God, at the injustice of it all.

Reverend Craig’s words of praise were lost in time and space as Nathan recalled the last words Romayne uttered to him as he sat by her bed and held her hand for the last time, at Mission Hospital.

Promise me you’ll help Jill care for Colleen and Greg, she implored, as she labored for breath. Her last thoughts were of family. You know how troubled she’s been lately. Nathan tried to keep the moment light. You got it.

He fought back tears as the lump in his throat increased in size and intensity.

Say it, she said.

I promise. He placed his lips to her ear and whispered softly. I promise you..

He squeezed her hand, gently.

She tried to squeeze back, but couldn’t make it. Then she died.

And, for all intent and purposes, so did Nathan.

Nathan stepped out of the rear of Quentin’s Beemer, glad the ordeal was over. He could barely stomach the gravesite service, but was relieved it had been for the immediate family only and was kept short and sweet. The entire family agreed on a closed casket. They wished to remember Romayne as they last saw her--alive, not lying supine in a silk lined box, no matter how ornate it was.

Nathan never forgot the asinine comment his father-in-law had uttered to Romayne as they peered into her mother’s coffin.

She looks nice, don’t you think?

He cringed. How ridiculous a question had that been? She looked dead. End of conversation. And besides, who needed all that lipstick and rouge?

Nathan followed the rest of the family into the house. His daughter Jill, who he suspected was born without a bladder, headed straight for the bathroom. He figured she’d be relieved, in more ways than one.

Colleen and Greg headed for the kitchen. He contemplated offering profound words of wisdom, but realized that food, on certain occasions, could help solve the pangs of sorrow as well, or better, than any of his lame advice. He yielded to his own council and decided it would be best to let them work it out in their own way.

His son-in-law, Quinton, as usual, wandered around aimlessly with his head firmly entrenched in his rectum, most likely conjuring up another of his idiotic money-making schemes..

Seeking solitude, Nathan went directly into his haven of refuge, a small bedroom, which he’d converted into an office, years ago. He hung his jacket on the stand, just inside the door, with its assortment of coats and hats appropriate for any occasion. He sighed with relief as he lowered himself slowly onto his beige, breathable naugahyde recliner, his refuge from an uncaring world.

As he kicked back, his muscles relaxed and his breathing slowed. He felt a sense of calm wash over him as he dropped his head back, closed his eyes and fought to eradicate life’s problems. All he wanted for the time being was peace and quiet.

So, are you gonna sell the house and move into a small apartment, Dad?

Nathan opened his eyes and rolled them toward Jill as she stormed into the room, reddish blond hair wiggling.

So much for peace and quiet. No.

Dad, I thought we had this all settled.

You had it settled. Not me.

Jill stiffened. Her green eyes flared. Her five foot, eight inch, lanky, frame bent akimbo. You don’t need a three bedroom house.

Nathan closed his eyes and tried to ignore her, but she refused to cooperate.

You know I’m right.

Nathan sighed, and lifted his shoulders in an almost shrug. The snide innuendo rolled off his tongue effortlessly. Aren’t you always?

Jill grimaced. That was uncalled for...Dad.

She turned and shouted down the hallway. Quinton, get in here. We need your opinion.

Nathan leaned forward and sprung the recliner into an upright position. Just the thought of conversing with his son-in-law raised his blood pressure into the stratosphere. Ah, jeez, he moaned, Can’t we leave him out of this?

Jill stiffened. You never liked him...did you?

Nathan almost smiled at that one. At least there’s one thing we agree on.

Da...aaad!.

Before anything else was said, Quentin ambled into the room. He carried his two hundred and twenty-five pounds quite well on a six foot, four inch frame. He had a face like a lion and a matching salt and pepper mane, parted in the middle. Nathan could tell, from the tilt of his son-in-laws head and his down cast eyes, Quentin wasn’t any happier to take part in a family tête-à-tête than he was.

Jill immediately went for the jugular. I told Dad we think he should sell his house.

Quentin nodded in agreement. Probably for the best.

And to think these are the people who will pick out my old age home.

Nathan stood, ready to bolt the room if necessary. Do I get a say in the matter?

Jill and I have talked it over, Quentin said, as he finally worked up the courage to look his father-in-law straight in the eyes. His smug, grating voice rolled out over lopsided lips that were always formed into a smirk. And we have come to the obvious conclusion that the best thing for you to do, is to move—into a smaller place--as soon as possible.

Nathan’s temper flared. Romayne hadn’t even settled into her grave and they were taking over his life. Let me tell you two something, he said, as his senses increased--like a lion stalking his prey. I’ll move when, and if, I see fit. And not before!.

Quentin contemplated his father-in-law’s pronouncement. He scuffed the toe of his right foot on the carpet. He acted as if he were master of the domain. Now see here, he said, as if he was the adult and Nathan was an uninformed adolescent, we’re only trying to do what’s best for you—Dad.

His pathetic personality, and lack of tact, was only overshadowed by a complete deficiency of common sense.

That’s for me to decide. And don’t call me Dad.

Nathan didn’t slam the door as he bolted the room, but he considered it.

Greg and Colleen were sprawled on the couch sipping Pepsi from a can and munching Fritos from a bag, and talking in reverent tones, when Nathan entered the family room.

You kids hungry?

Colleen sprung to her feet, ran to Papa, threw her arms around his neck and hugged him with all her might. A little.

Always, Greg said, as he jumped to his feet and made it a group hug.

Nathan fought to escape from the bone crushing embrace. How ‘bout Mickey D’s? All he wanted was to escape his daughter and her obnoxious husband and vacate the premises.

Sure, they responded in unison.

Nathan headed for his van. Let’s go.

Mom and Dad going with us? Colleen asked, as she lagged behind.

Nathan threw his arms in the air and increased his stride, They’re too busy planning my life.

Colleen was taking her sweet time eating her quarter- pounder with cheese and sipping on a small Coke. On occasion, she’d sneak a couple of Greg’s fries.

Greg was devouring his, super sized, double quarter-pounder with cheese, gobbling down French fries, smothered in catsup, with reckless abandon, and gulping down a large coke.

Nathan picked at his Chicken McNuggets and took an occasional sip of coffee. How’s school going? he asked Colleen.

Great, I’m still working on my scholarship to UCLA. Keep your fingers crossed.

Nathan crossed the fingers of both hands and held them up high. He dropped his hands and nibbled on a nugget. You gonna play Volleyball or Softball when you go?

I hope to play both, if they’ll let me.

Nathan knew she was good. He never missed a game either of his grandkids participated in. At five foot ten inches, one hundred and forty pounds, Colleen reminded him of that gal who used to play Wonder Woman on TV.

He liked the way she tied her auburn hair in a ponytail, and the way it jiggled when she moved, just like her grandmother’s used to do, oh so many years ago. She was extremely competitive, like her brother, and hated like the devil to lose--at anything--even checkers.

Got the grades to get in?

Colleen glowed. Her radiant smile melted Nathan’s broken, old heart.

Straight A’s."

Smarty.

The kids laughed nervously.

Nathan forced a faint smile.

How ‘bout you...sport? he asked Greg.

Greg swallowed a mouthful of fries, Didn’t make it at UCLA, but I got a scholarship at Fullerton to play baseball.

Gonna try out for football?

At six, six, two hundred sixty pounds, Greg was a first string linebacker on the Mission Viejo High School football team and a starting pitcher on their baseball team.

Nah. One sport’s enough for me. Gonna concentrate on baseball and hope to play for the Angels some day.

Except for the size, Nathan saw a striking resemblance between his grandson and Nolan Ryan.

How’s your fastball?

It’s okay. Coach wants me to work on my change up.

Then work on it.

You got it—Papa.

How ‘bout your grades?

Mostly A’s, couple a B’s, and a C."

What was the C in?

Greg grimaced, Statistics.

Nathan had to chuckle at that answer. He remembered his distant school days, or ‘daze’ as he liked to call them. There are lies, damned lies, and statistics.

I’ll remember that Papa.

Listen up. Nathan leaned forward and tented his hands on the table, I know your folks don’t have a whole hell of a lot of money saved up.

And their days of mooching off Romayne are over.

He started to speak, but choked up momentarily. Your grandmother and I put a few bucks in the sock over the years for your college fund. Just before you start, let me know, and we’ll set something up—okay?

Colleen scooted closer to Nathan, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

We appreciate that, Papa, Greg said, but we’ve both got scholarships.

Colleen grinned, Hopefully.

You’re gonna need walkin’ around money, not to mention cloths and a little mad money.

She kissed him again.

I love you Papa.

Nathan mashed his lips together, and lowered his eyes. He waited for the lump in his throat to dissipate.

That goes for me, too, Papa, Greg said.

After regaining his composure, Nathan raised his arms and put them around his grandchildren’s shoulders and squeezed tightly. They had another group hug, and then he was kissed on both cheeks.

I love you kids, too, he said. Now eat up, I gotta go kick your folks outta my house.

Nathan removed everything except his t-shirt and shorts. He placed his shoes on the floor beside the bed, and dropped his clothes on the small chair at the end of the dresser. He gazed at a framed picture of Romayne. A lifetime of memories came flooding back. He knew his life would never be the same. He picked up the picture and talked to his wife. I miss you more than life itself, sweetheart. Without you I’m nothing, just another disgruntled old codger floundering in the dark, trying to get his act together.

He kissed Romayne’s picture and gently placed it back on the dresser. I love you, sweetheart...yesterday...today... and tomorrow. I won’t rush right up there--that is if I make it through the pearly gates. You deserve a little time by yourself. So enjoy it, ‘till I get there. And put in a good word for me. God knows I need all the help I can get.

He turned off the light, lifted the top sheet and the blanket and slipped in between the sheets. He fluffed the pillow, straightened up the blanket, and snuggled in. What was that country song? Sleeping single in a double bed. He knew he’d never get used to it.

Gonna be a short one tonight, Lord. As you are well aware, I’m not too happy at this particular time in my life. I always hoped I’d be the one to go first. Didn’t work out the way I’d planned. Don’t dwell on me. I’m well aware of what road I have to travel these days. But, please, take good care of Romayne and I’ll do my best to live up to your expectations so I can join her later. Just don’t take too long. As you know, I’m not a patient man.

He rolled on his side and closed his eyes. Perchance to dream. But something bothered him. He had an inclination his life would never be the same. He tossed and turned wondering what tomorrow would bring.

CHAPTER TWO

The CD player of the ’96 Olds Cutlass blared out Sincerely by the McGuire Sisters, as Greg and Colleen cruised down La Paz Road, heading for home.

Colleen still couldn’t get over the fact that Papa had given her Gram’s car. Old girl’s still in pretty good shape, Nathan had said as he handed over the keys, Got a hundred thousand miles on her, but we kept her up real good. She’s probably got another fifty thousand left in her, if you treat her nice and gentle. She should get you through high school--and maybe a couple years of college.

Colleen couldn’t have cared less how many miles the old girl had on her. She shivered with joy at the idea of having her own ride, just like her big brother. She had been so elated that she had squeezed the life out of Papa, before he flashed his crooked grin and sent her packing.

They absolutely adored the CD they found in the storage area between the seats. They had lapped up Good Night Sweetheart, Picnic, Muskrat Ramble, and Sugartime. As they crossed Paseo de Valencia, Something’s gotta give revved them up anew and the kids were rocking’ and Rollin’ to the McGuire Sisters Greatest Hits.

The kids had cruised down to Laguna Beach, on a lark, and were on their way home. Colleen was adamant that absolutely nothing could ruin her day.

Whoa! Greg yelled. Hang a right.

Colleen hit the brakes, almost causing the pick-up truck behind her to plow into her bumper. She swerved into the parking lot of Matt’s Mini-mart and headed toward the nearest parking space.

She grimaced. Sorry, she yelled, as she lowered her window and waved at the driver, who shook his head in disbelief as he sped up and put some distance between himself and the novice teen-age driver.

She admonished Greg. Next time, give me a little warning—will ya? I’m way too young to die.

Greg grinned, sheepishly, as they rolled to a stop. He opened the door and stepped out.

Come on in, the Pepsi’s are on me.

Colleen stepped out on the asphalt, and shut the driver’s side door, gently. She didn’t need any rattles. She blew a kiss at the old girl and followed Greg into the convenience store.

As they giggled and butt bumped each other, and headed toward the rear of the store, where the freezer area was located, a buzzer sounded announcing the arrival of someone else entering the store.

Jimmy Woo didn’t like the look of the two gang-bangers who had just entered. They reminded him of a bizarre version of the Bobbsey Twins. Each wore Black, Nike, Kobe Bryant tennis shoes, jeans pulled down so far half their butts were hanging out, exposing their boxer shorts. And, of course, Black, zippered, hooded sweat shirts with dark wrap-a-round sunglasses were mandatory attire. Obligatory Black baseball caps, with the silver and black Raider’s logo turned backwards completed their ensemble.

Jimmy Woo didn’t like what he saw. He didn’t care for the way they turned their heads and pulled up their hoods. No Siree Bob. He didn’t like it one little bit.

Greg grabbed two sixteen-ounce twist top Pepsi’s off the shelf. What kinda chips ya want?

What kind ya got?

He nudged his sister aside and sashayed down the isle.Well, let’s see,.

Colleen giggled and jogged after him, her ponytail beating a rhythm on her back.

He slid to a quick stop as he reached the bags of chips. We got Fritos, Cheetos, Pringles, Laura Scudder’s, and a very large assortment of various crackers, with or without cheese, pretzels, with or without salt, or peanut butter filled. He waved an arm in their general direction.

What’s your pleasure princess?

Colleen giggled, as she nudged him aside, shook her auburn hair, tilted her head to the left, and tapped her lower lip with the index finger of her right hand. Hummmm, this may take a while.

Greg fought to keep his emotions in check, but failed. He burst out laughing. A mind’s a terrible thing to have to make up. She reminded him of a kid on her first trip to a candy store, trying to figure out which of the scrumptious, tantalizing morsels she should plop in her mouth first. Take your time. I got no place to go. Colleen ignored her brother and contemplated her various choices.

Jimmy Woo was positive that the Bobbsey Twins were up to no good. He could picture them now, shoving a .45 Magnum, 9mm handgun or an Uzi in his face and demanding all the money in the cash register. He’d never been robbed, but he’d played out the scenario in his mind hundreds of times. Some nights as he lay in bed, listening to his young wife snore, softly, he would conjure up a plan of action for every scenario he could possibly imagine. Most nights he overcame the hooligans, with superior intellect, other times it was a stand off. Every once in a while he was stymied. On rare occasion it turned out to be a disaster.

Whatever happened, he knew without a reasonable doubt that he would have to solve the problem himself. There was no way the local gendarme’s would ride in on white chargers and bail him out, not with most of them hiding around random corners, calibrating their radar guns, seeking out a traffic violator to be written up, so the local municipalities could enhance their depleted, mismanaged coffers.

Jimmy watched as the twins reconnoitered the store. The first twin was cool. He strutted over to the magazine rack, with just the right, nonchalant, bob of his head, and started thumbing through the various periodicals. He seemed to have his act together. Jimmy was sure he wouldn’t instigate any trouble.

It was the second twin he was worried about. His eyes darted all over the place, like a mouse who sensed a cat was in the immediate vicinity but couldn’t figure out where. He’d look down one aisle and then move quickly to the next. It seemed as if he was searching for someone, but, for the life of him, couldn’t find him. He was nervous and jumpy, not halfway as composed as his cohort. Jimmy wasn’t sure if he should go for the ball bat or the pistol he’d traded a wino for and always had available under the counter.

You want buy somet’ing? he asked the twin by the magazine rack.

Just lookin’ he said.

What you look for?

I’m not sure, yet. If I find it, you’ll be the first one to know.

You no buy somet’ing, you leave.

Hey, chink, The other twin said, It a free country. We go when we’s ready to go. His breath was emitted in, short, labored pants. Drops of sweat were popping out on his forehead. He started walking toward the counter, with a glazed look in his eyes. Jimmy was ready for him. He moved his hand around the shelf, under the counter, feeling for an equalizer. The second twin saw him go for something under the counter and fumbled for the .45 Magnum in the right hand pocket of his sweat shirt. Just then, Colleen careened around the corner, laughing, seeking some juicy tidbit she just couldn’t live without. She plowed into him with a vengeance, just as he was fumbling with his gun.

The noise was deafening, the projectile whizzed past Colleen’s head and took out a row of canned goods before burying itself in a can of creamed corn. Jimmy lost no time extracting his ten round, clip fed semi-automatic, .25 caliber, Saturday Night Special, that he had traded for two bottles of two buck Chuck, from under the counter. With trembling hands, and half shut eyes, he fired in the general