Touch Me Tender

By Ted Atoka

This novella is book 1 of the Bean Town Investigations series. It’s your first opportunity to learn about the hilarious antics of a couple of private investigators from Boston. Shortly after one of them suffers an embarrassing accident, they find themselves involved in a vicious murder case. It doesn’t take long for them to realize that they’re no longer the hunters but have become a killer’s prey.

Tag along with Frenchy Thibedeaux and Ray Marino on their anything but ordinary business-as-usual days. You’ll marvel at their staff of “associates,” including Frenchy's granddad, Whitey. He's a retired detective who's still got some tricks up his sleeve, and Beantown Investigations wouldn't be the same without him.

Baseballs, tattoos, and boats all contribute to solving this murder mystery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Huntington House Press
• Release date: Mar 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507083215

Ted Atoka

Ted Atoka lived the first half of his life in Boston, MA. He made a Christmas visit to friends in Oklahoma in 1981, and fell in love with country life. Five weeks after returning home—to a raging snow storm, he packed up and moved to OK. He and his wife live on a piece of land on the side of a dirt road. They share the fresh air with a peacock named Penelope, two dogs, a small herd of deer, and a feral cat.

Book preview

Acknowledgments

I never would have written this story if I hadn’t spent a portion of my life in Bean Town. My warmest thoughts go out to all those who live and work in such a wonderful city. I love Boston, and my memories of my time there shall never fade.

I thank Katie Ritcheske. She is my editor and carries a textual magic wand that makes the scenes in Touch Me Tender sparkle and dance.

And finally, I must acknowledge my readers. Without you, there’d be no reason for me to write. Please leave a book review after you’ve finished reading this book. 

Note: Touch Me Tender is published under the auspices of the brand Fresh Affordable eBooks.

Thank you all,

Ted.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 1

Frenchy’s cat, Whatnot, lay stretched out on the edge of a bedroom dresser; he liked to admire himself in the mirror. The activity in the bedroom during the past 45 minutes didn’t interest the Siamese in any way. He preferred to gaze at his reflection. 

Theresa Thibedeaux, Frenchy to her friends, pulled on a white T-shirt with blue trim that matched her sweat pants. Ray Marino, her long-time boyfriend, was trying to sing in the shower. It was late in the afternoon of a day they both had off, and they’d left her king-sized bed 15 minutes ago.

Frenchy pushed her hair away from her face and began to strip the bed. Raucous singing in the bathroom stopped, the shower quit running, and she heard the shower curtain rings slide across the curtain rod.  Ray’s feet thumped on the bath mat. And her lover began to dry off.

Ray, it’s hot in here. Raise the window and listen for the air conditioner, please?

Sure. Yeah, I thought it was just me that was hot.

He left the bath towel over his wet shoulders and plodded from the en suite to the nearest bedroom window.

Yeah, that’s the one; it’s the closest window to the AC unit. This has been a wonderful day, Ray, and a long time since we both had a day off together. I’m going to do laundry; if you have anything you need washed, toss it on the pile.

That was a good shower, honey...and a great workout beforehand; you up for going another round?

Hah—as if you could! No, I’m stripping the four-poster and doing laundry. Grab the clothes hamper from the bathroom, would you, big boy? Then you can help me make the bed.

Frenchy wiped the back of her hand across her brow and it came away wet. She cocked her head and listened for the sound of air conditioning.

She moved toward a window and listened more intently. The AC’s not humming. S’pose it conked out again?

Beats me, Ray replied with a wicker hamper dangling from his hand.

Ray. Do me a favor? Go ahead and open the window, would you? Let’s get some fresh air in here. This place smells like a barn. And let me know if you hear the air conditioner.

Frenchy slid Whatnot toward the back of the dresser with a forearm and selected a pair of tennis socks from a top drawer. 

Ray lifted the window and stood still.

Don’t hear anything, Frenchy.  And the latches on this window screen won’t budge.

Sometimes they stick. Wiggle them a little and lift at the same time. You’ll need to raise the screen and stick out your head to hear the AC.

Ray knelt in front of the open window; a light breeze felt good on his bare skin, and a tangerine glow from the setting sun reflected from the windows of neighboring homes. He thought, Wow, good view. Jamaica Plain is a nice place to call home.

He wiggled each latch with his fingers.  Nothing happened. Whatnot walked over and stopped at Ray’s knee, more interested in the view outside than the faulty latch. 

Frenchy called from a linen closet, Can you hear it? Is it making a noise again? Look about two feet to the right of the flower bed; it’s on a slab, a little more than six feet under you and to your right.

I dunno. Hang on; if I can pop the screen I’ll check it out.

He tugged at the screen latches. It’s stuck. Gimme a sec.

He straightened his back, spread his knees even wider on the wall-to-wall carpet, and grabbed a latch in each hand. He tugged and lifted simultaneously. The screen didn’t move an inch.

Try wiggling the latches up and down, and then to the left and right, honey. They’re buggers to open.

Ray repositioned his knees and wiped more perspiration from his forehead.

He draped the window-blind cord over an elbow, and it swung like a loose pendulum. The plastic tip on the thin cord became an immediate cat magnet. Whatnot, super curious and always ready to play, hunched his back and sprung toward the moving target with front legs outstretched.

The screen flew up like a shot. Whatnot ricocheted off Ray’s back, and the private investigator tumbled out the window.

Frenchy’s flower bed was soft enough to cushion his fall. However, the uncontrolled landing resulted in excruciating pain. His left leg looked like a pretzel under his right butt cheek, and Ray bellowed like a basset hound passing peach pits. When he stopped to inhale, he saw his bath towel draped on top of the AC unit.

Pain struck, and he howled again. Before he passed out, a dog barked somewhere in the distance.

Daphne Dugdale, the neighborhood busybody, was watering a philodendron at just the right time. She saw a body fall from Frenchy’s window. Wow, a burglary in progress, she thought as she tapped 9-1-1 on her house phone.

Chapter 2

The hospital’s admitting area was a giant waiting room with cubicles built along one wall. Frenchy sat in one of the small spaces and faced a stern-faced gal whose fingernails were layered in a high-gloss black. The clerk acted like she was too good to be working in a triage center.

You said the patient is employed as a private investigator?

Yes. Bean Town Investigations.

The clerk’s fingers tapped her keypad. Do you have insurance verification for him?

Yes. Frenchy held up Ray’s wallet, withdrew three cards, and handed them to the clerk. 

More tapping, and the clerk looked up. Okay, take a seat out front. As soon as we know something, we’ll page you. Or if you’d like to leave, we’ll call your cellphone.

I may be in the coffee shop, so I guess you’d better give me a call...you already have my number. Frenchy returned Ray’s wallet to her purse, stood, and turned toward the spacious waiting area. Behind her, the clerk called out, Fatima Hanks, you’re next.

A familiar voice made her look up. Yo, Frenchy. How’s lover boy doing?

Lavinia Saltonstall, the office manager for Bean Town Investigations and known as Salty to her friends, sat down next to Frenchy.  Any word yet?

Nothing yet, Salty. They said they’d give me a call. Can I get you a coffee? I’m on my way to the cafeteria.

Sure, let’s go. I’m a little hungry too, and I heard that they have an in-house pizza shop that’s open 24/7. C’mon, Frenchy, my treat.

Twenty minutes later they sat at a two-topper in a small dining area adjacent to the cafeteria. They had consumed all but two wedges from a medium pizza and worked on giant containers of diet soda.

Frenchy leaned back in her chair. I can’t believe that my nosey neighbor called it in. She didn’t realize it was Ray who fell outta my window? Oh crap, wait’ll this gets around. Ray’ll never live it down.

Yep. That’s what Cleo at dispatch said. She said the neighbor thought you might’ve shot someone and he fell through the window.

Crap. No wonder the squad car got to my place so fast. Jeez, I hadn’t even found my purse when I saw the flashing blue lights through my window.

Oh boy.

Yeah, and when the first cop on the scene saw what happened, and found Ray had planted himself ballicky bareass in your flower bed, he laughed so hard the ambulance dispatcher had trouble understanding what he was trying to say.

Yeah, well, I’m here to tell you that Ray is one pissed-off mutha right now. And my best guess is that we should all proceed with extreme caution as far as his injury’s concerned. It’s not only his leg that’s hurt; his pride is too. I’m afraid he’s liable to lose his temper at the slightest provocation.

Frenchy caught Salty looking at her and noticed a flash of brightness in her eyes. Her grin expanded just before they both exploded with laughter.

An incoming call on Frenchy’s phone calmed her down. This is Thibedeaux.

You can see Mr. Marino now.

They found Ray snarling at nobody in particular. He sat in a wheelchair parked beside the emergency room doors. His right foot was packaged in a thick, wide cast.

Look at that. They said it’s only a bad sprain. And the doc still wrapped my ankle and foot in 30 pounds of inflexible vinyl. Then the orderly left me here. He said there was an emergency somewhere. C’mon, roll me outta here. Everyone stares at this bright pink bathrobe. Jeez. Of all the clothes in the world you give me to wear to the emergency room...a bright pink bathrobe? Jeez. All I got on is a hospital johnnie and your bright pink terrycloth bathrobe. I’m hurting all over from cuts and scrapes from your bushes. I feel like I got attacked by a mountain lion. Take me home; I need some real clothes and something to eat.

Frenchy tried to hide a smile, and Salty said, Poor baby. You mean you left so fast you forgot to put on a pair of tighty whities? Tch, tch. But that’s okay, big fella, your robe is kinda sexy.

It’s not sexy. It’s pink.  And while I think of it, Frenchy, why did you just stand in the flower bed and laugh so hard you got the hiccups? Hell, you were in such hysterics you couldn’t even talk to the ambulance guy. I coulda broke my leg in six places for all you cared.

Salty glanced at her watch. I’m outta here, guys. I parked a good hike away, and I need to get back to the office. Call me if you need me. Glad you’re okay, Ray. I’ll buy you a box of chocolates to make you feel better, boo-boo! And, turning away, she waved goodbye.

Up yours, Salty.