The Rose Bandit: Dan Landis Mystery Series, #1

By Jay Mims

A series of burglaries have struck the sleepy town of West Falls. Seven homes have been burglarized, with only a single red rose left at each crime scene. The townspeople have dubbed this cat burglar the Rose Bandit. And Dan Landis, private investigator, has been hired to catch the thief.

Haunted by the ghost of his dead partner and an empty bank account, Dan jumps at the opportunity. But, when a body turns up at the Rose Bandit’s latest crime scene, Dan suspects there is more going on. He faces a dilemma: Catch the thief and make a quick buck, or prove that the Rose Bandit isn’t a killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay Mims
• Release date: Feb 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9780997212570

Jay Mims

Jay Mims, better known as Mimsey, lives two miles past nowhere with The Mimsus. He also accidentally adopted his neighbor’s cat, Eartha Kitty, has a lizard named Bob hiding in his house, and tolerates a passive-aggressive Dalek roommate named Steve. When not writing cozy mysteries, Jay teaches and is learning knitting. Jay is currently working on knitting a cape. Capes are cool. 

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was while staring into the tear filled eyes of the woman he loved, in the glowing light of a burning house, Dan Landis wondered if he had made a mistake. That was Tuesday. It had been fourteen days since he’d arrived in this one horse town. Two weeks since he had met the woman who would change his world. A lot could happen in a fortnight; robbery, love, murder, and a new appreciation for sweet tea.

It had been a long two weeks.

It was a Tuesday when Dan landed in Atlanta. It wasn’t his first time in Hotlanta, but it was definitely the first time he’d arrived intentionally. He’d been to ATL sixteen times flying in the warm embrace of Delta. And every single time he’d ended up going through Atlanta. He’d once gone from Norfolk to Ontario and still went down south. At least the subway tram was fun. Dan had always thought you should judge an airport by how air-conditioned its subways were. And how convenient the Cinnabon was.

His car smelled of cinnamon goodness. And burning oil. It was a worrying smell. He suspected this car had seen better days.

You and me both, pal, he said to no one in particular.

Keep talking to yourself and people will start thinking you’re crazy, a voice answered.   He glanced at the blue teddy bear in his rearview mirror. The bear said nothing.

When the bear starts talking, you should really be worried.

Dan glanced at the redhead riding shotgun beside him. She was watching the telephone poles zip by. Duly noted, he fired back.

The redhead in question, Maggie O’Bryon, turned to him. Were you always this maudlin? Because I remember you used to be a bit more chipper. You also ate more bran. I might have found your problem, you need to be more regular.

It was two hundred miles and change from Atlanta, Georgia to West Falls, South Carolina, population 3,428. The GPS told him it would take three hours. Dan was fighting to beat that time. His rental car had other ideas. Best laid plans. 

Are we there yet? She still hadn’t turned to him. The bear stared silently at him from the back. It was a bit unnerving.

No, he replied.

Cow! She sat up straight. The woman was more than a bit ADD. I love cows! Always wanted to own a little farm, raise a couple of cows. Maybe a goat. You never take me to see farmland. Just imagine the rich and wonderful experiences we’ve never had because you won’t leave your five block radius.

I’ll have you know, he said with raised hackles, I’ve left my radius plenty of times.

"Oh sure. Work. Shopping. But never for fun. When’s the last time you went out? Gone to see a midnight showing of Rocky Horror? Flown a kite on Mount Trashmore?"

Who are you, Mary Poppins?

Maggie sang a few bars of Chim Chim Cher-ee.

I don’t like kites.

What, they owe you money?

I just don’t like kites.

Say that again...

Why?

Because you sound like Batman. Like, the dorkiest Batman I’ve ever seen. Maggie finally turned to him. Her eyes were Tiffany blue and sparkled when she was up to something. She pulled her business jacket like a cape across her face, eyes twinkling. Kites are a superstitious and cowardly lot. I am vengeance. I am the night. I. Am. Dorkman.

Dan watched the road. He ignored the chattering redhead and the rattling engine. And the streams of smoke. He paid no attention to the creeping gauges.

Yes. I’ve always thought ignoring a problem will make it go away. Maggie had a terrible habit of reading his mind.

Just trying to make the city limits.

Uh huh.

Having goals is important.

Couldn’t agree more.

There! He pointed to the green sign. West Falls 10 miles. The sign also advertised Williston and Irmo.

Williston. Wonder if there’s a Wilma in Williston. Or an Irma in Irmo. Maggie glanced his way. Didn’t you date a Wilma?

I wouldn’t say date, no. Strictly speaking we were just casual acquaintances.

Ah. Allow me to rephrase the question. Didn’t you hook up with a Wilma, borrow $20 and never call her again? She twisted a flaming lock of auburn hair around her finger.

You’re thinking of Betty. Wilma had the cat. Actually Betty had a cat too. Wilma was the ventriloquist getting her degree in radio. She runs the concession stand at the Naro.

"That the reason you don’t partake in Rocky Horror?"

Yep.

Maggie turned to Dan. So tell me my young protégé, is there any place you haven’t broken hearts?

My five block radius.

Maggie threw back her head laughing. She had a great laugh. The car chose that moment to throw a rod. Momentum ceased. Dan eased the car to the side of the road. It slowed to a crawl before giving up the ghost completely. He put it in park and checked his phone. A Blackberry Pearl, the most piratically named phone ever. Maggie called it his Crackberry. Its complete lack of signal was both sad and unsurprising.

The phrase ‘I told you so’ comes to mind. Maggie folded her arms, raising one eyebrow. But why would you listen to little old me? I’m just the one whose car has never broken down. And speaking of, why couldn’t we just take my car?

Sold it, he said, turning the now defunct car off. Stupid car.

When were you going to tell me you sold the Caddie? That car was a classic!

Needed the money. Expenses happen. He looked into the eyes of his best friend in the entire world. Sorry.

Maggie turned away. Not like you have a high-priced lawyer for a sister. You don’t see me going around hocking your possessions all willy-nilly.

He grimaced. His sister was one of the most successful defense attorney’s in the tri-state area, whose chief client was a major drug kingpin. She’d sold her soul for a mansion in a gated community. I don’t want blood money.

She drummed her fingers against the glass. I hope you got a pretty penny out of the whole thing.

Yeah, he laughed. It’s a classic.

She didn’t reply.

He was tired of sitting in the car. Dan unbuckled and got out of the car. It had been a while since he’d walked farther than his mailbox. Hopefully walking long distance was like riding a bicycle.

Maggie leaned against the smoking hood. What you really need is a Vespa. Like the one your doctor friend rides.

He slapped his forehead. Ack! He ran back to the car, opened the door to the backseat, and unbuckled Roger the Bear. The bear said nothing. Almost forgot him.

You’re weird.

He’s important. He carried Roger under his arm.

Maggie gave him an appraising look. Doesn’t make you less of a weirdo.

Let me know if you spot a car. He started walking. I’ll show some leg.

You hardly have the gams. She strolled behind him. Maybe try flashing that smile of yours. That should give you passage on a turkey truck.

Dan turned around. Would you settle for pigs?

Maggie looked over one shoulder noting the oversized eighteen-wheeler barreling towards them. The bed was filled with jam packed live bacon. The smell said the bacon didn’t appreciate being packed in so tightly. Or that they were very regular. The hog truck didn’t slow. Dan waved both hands. The horn blew. The pigs grunted and squealed as they went past.

I should have shown more leg, he admitted. The bear said nothing. He clutched the stuffed animal and stomped back toward the now useless car. He popped the trunk and yanked out his purple duffel bag. The two of them had seen a lot of bad times. Throwing it over his shoulder, he held Roger in one hand and duffel bag in the other. He set off, following the long departed hog truck. His redheaded partner walked beside him.

I hate insurance cases, he huffed.

Because they leave you stranded on the side of the road?

I’ve never been on an insurance case yet that restored my faith in humanity. Dan kicked a rock. It bounced into a ditch. It’s always some yahoo faking workman’s comp. Or someone faked their death. Or, and this one’s my personal favorite: A half-baked robbery scheme where the real thief is a schmo working two jobs to support his wife and kids. And they just can’t even make it work for them. And I’m the one who has to unravel all the mad schemes and stupid plans. It’s why I love a good infidelity case. At least then there’s a clear bad guy.

He kept walking. The bear said nothing. And this is a one horse town. There’s what...a general store, veterinarian, and a blacksmith? Bet there’s one pawn shop for the whole town. I need a drink.

Maybe the pawn shop serves beer.

Don’t give me hope. An insurance case in a town like this, five to one it’s a local crank addict nabbing copper from the church’s a/c I hate when life gets complicated.

I thought you liked life complicated?

I like complicated women. And puzzles. And puzzling women.

No wonder you love me, she beamed.

I like my cases simple. No shades of gray. Is your husband cheating? Yes. Here’s the bill. Is this guy scamming an injury? Yes. Show me the money.

Whatever you say, Danny Boy. Maggie scratched her cheek and blew a curl from in front of her eyes. So, which part of this case in particular is bothering you? The ludicrous money you’re making? The big fat expense account you’re living on? Good thing too because you can’t afford to replace that car you just buggered. At least there’s insurance.

Maybe. He kicked another rock.

Lackey! Always get the rental insurance. Maggie smacked Dan in the back of the head. It hurt. Not as much as being called lackey. She always called him that when he did something spectacularly stupid. Otherwise, it was Danny Boy. He’d been trying for years to get people to start calling him Clutch. It hadn’t worked so far.

You’re right, he sighed.

And don’t sigh.

Yes, dear.

And stand up straight.

Thanks, Mom.

A noise made him turn his head. This was no pig truck. It was a full-sized white van, no windows on the back or side panels. He wondered if there was free candy.

This time smile. She smacked him again for good measure.

He put on his most winning smile, the one usually reserved for especially difficult cases. Or women. Or both. He said a prayer to anyone who would listen. The van slowed down as it approached. The passenger window rolled down. He coughed in the dust it kicked up. His eyes stung, a sneeze floating up his nose. He was starting to suspect he was allergic to the South.

As the dust cleared, Dan looked with watery eyes into the face of the scariest woman he’d ever seen.

Chapter 2

It was really the eyes that you noticed first. Dan had baby blue eyes. They were perfect for a good smolder and had opened more than a few doors. Charmed more than a few ladies. And a couple of men too. Bedroom eyes were a great tool for a private investigator. Didn’t hurt the dating pool either. The van’s driver had the most piercing violet eyes he’d ever seen. Eyes that peered into your skull, past your brain and into your very soul. He’d seen many different eyes; some good, some bad, happy, and sad. These peepers were what Dan imagined a shark would have. Or a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

She wore her raven hair in a tight ponytail, her facial features hinting at Native American ancestry. Dan too, he wondered if they were related. The driver wore a man’s work shirt, denim coveralls, and a tight frown. She had cheeks you could slice bread on. Her earrings were deceptively friendly, like jingling bells on a wendigo. They were silver jangles with turquoise decorations. A smoking cigarette pointed at him from between pursed lips. Smoke framed her face like a caution light.

Help you? The voice had no time for pleasantries. Or tom foolery.

Dan Landis’ finely honed private investigative skills kept his voice pleasant but neutral. And his bladder from misfiring. Hello. My name’s Dan Landis. My car broke down and I was supposed to meet someone in town. My phone seems to have no signal. May I use yours to call for a tow truck?

Where you headed?

The last time someone had interrogated him this intently he’d been handcuffed with fresh gunshot residue on his hands and a murder rap in front of him. Fortunately, his sister had ridden to his rescue. And ended up marrying the detective doing the interrogation.

West Falls, Dan said. That caused two thick raven haired eyebrows to raise in question.

The driver took out her cigarette, stabbing it in the ashtray. Care to narrow it down?

I’ve heard such good things about the town, I thought it’d be nice to see everything.

You could say that. Smoke haloed around the driver. There was not a single merry twinkle