One Bad Egg: Short Stories

By Jacqueline Vick

When author Edward Harlow offers to host an Easter egg hunt for St. Michael's Group Home, his secretary and brother, Nicholas, bears the brunt of the workload, which includes placating an overbearing event organizer, wrangling orphans on a sugar high, and managing a gigantic Easter Bunny with a bad attitude. Then someone dumps a body in the laundry hamper, and both brothers scramble to discover the culprit before the killer can strike again.  A holiday novella.   

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jacqueline Vick
• Release date: Feb 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781945403224

Jacqueline Vick

Jacqueline Vick writes mysteries that include farcical situations and satirical humor. She writes about characters who are reluctant to accept their greatest (and often embarrassing) gifts. She is the author of THE FRANKIE CHANDLER PET PSYCHIC MYSTERIES about a woman who, after faking her psychic abilities for years, discovers animals can communicate with her. The series evolved out of her desperate attempts to train a rescued mutt with fear-based aggression. Two visits with animal communicators inspired the article Calling All Canine Clairvoyants for Fido Friendly Magazine, and, later, Frankie Chandler. Her second series, THE HARLOW BROTHER MYSTERIES, features brothers Edward and Nicholas Harlow. Edward, a former college linebacker, now ghost writes the Aunt Civility etiquette books. Nicholas is his secretary and general dogsbody. Her first mystery, Family Matters, was a semifinalist in the 2009 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Competition. Her short stories have appeared in numerous publications, including Future Mystery Anthology Magazine and The Best of Everyday Fiction Two Anthology. Her Harlow Brothers novella, Lovely As, was a finalist for the Black Orchid Novella Contest.

Book preview

One Bad Egg

A Harlow Brothers Mystery

––––––––

Jacqueline Vick

ISBN:  978-1-945403-22-4

© 2018, Jacqueline Vick

This is a work of fiction. Any places, names, events, organizations and so on are fictitious, and any relation to real companies, institutions, people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or used, including Internet usage, without written permission of the author, except in cases of brief quotes for critical articles or reviews.

One Bad Egg

A Harlow Brothers Mystery

I SURVEYED THE BACKYARD of Edward’s home in unincorporated San Diego and wondered how in the hell I was going to hide one hundred eighty Easter eggs before the orphans arrived.

Trim Bermuda grass covered every square inch of the half-acre between the cobblestone patio and the flagstone wall. It was a guy’s backyard, perfect for tossing around the football or practicing golf swings. Not so perfect for concealing sugar-filled plastic eggshells. And how, you might ask, did prepping the house for orphans become my problem?

My brother pens the Aunt Civility books on etiquette, manners, and all things civil, but at six-feet-two, built like a linebacker with a trim goatee and black hair that’s always trying to curl, he isn’t anyone’s idea of a favorite Auntie. His publisher, Classical Reads, decided it would be better if they spread the word that Auntie was a recluse, and Edward traveled to events as the author’s official representative. Events I set up.

As my brother’s secretary, I normally consider it a victory if I can get him to make a public appearance, since he thinks public is a dirty word. In the case of the benefit tea for the Heart and Soul Foundation, I wish we had taken a pass.

The foundation’s chairwoman, Valerie Plimpkin, was one of those middle-aged women with an excess of energy that makes me want to hide under my bed. She married Alfred Plimpkin, the owner of a chain of drugstores, and she wielded his wealth and influence like a semi with faulty brake lines. I will admit she got things done. At last count, the foundation assisted seven charities, including St. Michael’s Orphanage. Technically, it’s a group home, but everybody calls it the orphanage, probably because orphans live there.

Valerie’s problem was she charged through life under the delusion that everyone had the same time, money, and energy she had and wanted nothing more than to focus their resources on her favorite causes. Not satisfied that Edward had donated ten percent of his book sales from the tea, Valerie pressed him into offering his home for St. Michael’s annual Easter egg hunt. She caught him in a benevolent mood, and since he knew the brunt of the work would fall to me, he agreed.

The weather was perfect for an outdoor party. The wind coming off the ocean a few miles away had tapered into a gentle breeze, and after four cloudy days in a row, the sun had made an appearance. After hiding a third of the eggs in the few trees and shrubs that surrounded the patio on either side, I gave up and started dropping them on the grass. They weren’t really hidden, but on the upside, the hunt would go faster. The wee ones would still burn energy racing their fellow orphans to the prize, and they would still get candy, which as I recall from my childhood was the point of the exercise. 

When I went back inside, Edward stood in the middle of the living room dressed in a charcoal-gray suit.

Aren’t you being a tad eager? The event doesn’t begin for another two hours.

"The San Diego Courier wants to interview me. A reporter will be here an hour before the party and then stay to get pictures of the children enjoying themselves."

That’s still an hour away, which gives you time to reconsider your outfit.

He looked down and ran a hand over his buttoned blazer. What’s wrong with my suit?

The kiddies are going to think they’re reporting to the principal’s office. It’s an Easter event. Bright colors. Candy. Women in big hats.

He grunted. What do you suggest?

Edward’s idea of casual wear was a sweater vest over a shirt and tie.

Do you own a sport coat?

A brown tweed.

"It