Nuts and Dolts: A Silicon Valley Mystery, #0

By Marc Jedel

Will a mixture of pranks, revenge, and a global pandemic explode in danger or ignite hilarious, unexpected results? 

 

Marty Golden wishes this prequel novella was his superhero origin story but alas, he's merely a mild-mannered Silicon Valley geek whose skills of daydreaming and attention to detail are put to the ultimate challenge—entertaining his nieces. 

 

See Marty before he becomes the super-sleuthing, crime-busting hero of the Silicon Valley Mystery series. In this short read, you'll meet the lovable hero, an amateur sleuth who constantly frustrates and astounds everyone around him.

 

Can Marty complete the retelling of a story without bumbling into yet another mystery? 

 

Nuts and Dolts is the humorous prequel novella in a refreshingly modern cozy mystery series set in Silicon Valley. If you like quirky sleuths, wacky side characters, and laugh-out-loud moments, you'll love this offbeat whodunit.

 

Try Nuts and Dolts to log in to a great mystery series today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BGM Press
• Release date: Jun 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393431275

Book preview

Chapter 1

M arty! My sister’s exclamation broke through the chaos. If you’re going to rile up the girls, take them outside so I can unpack in peace.

Laney had just moved back to Silicon Valley with her two girls for a fresh start after her husband’s death from cancer a few years ago.

We had grown up here, and as an engineer, I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. I’d flitted from startup to startup, searching for my own get-rich-fast scheme, almost as fast as reality TV stars changed their hairstyles. Perhaps not as fast as I had expected, though, since I’d just crossed to the dark side of forty without hitting the jackpot. But I had stuck it out at my latest company for over two years now, so maybe my recent job stability demonstrated increased maturity. Nah, unlikely.

It’s inconceivable how useless you can be, Laney muttered as I herded my nieces out of the master bedroom, where our random sock tossing had escalated into a pillow fight.

What should we do? Megan, my younger niece, asked as she walked in small circles in their overgrown backyard. She kicked dandelions and watched the exploding puffs of white seedpods while scanning the area. Like those buds, she was ready to burst into action. Megan was a high-energy eight-year-old, or nine, or possibly even a mature seven. Laney and the girls seemed insulted that I didn’t remember Megan’s age, and now they all refused to tell me.

I don’t know. I hadn’t been around young kids in years. What did they do? We could play catch. Got a ball?

They’re still packed somewhere, Skye said as she slumped onto a picnic bench. She was twelve—I remembered that much at least—and firmly in that serious, studious pre-teen stage.

Well . . . My voice trailed off as I racked my brain for anything. I came up blank.

Between Skye’s slumped posture and her quiet voice, I guessed she was feeling down. Understandable with everything that had happened, but hard for me to turn her mood around. It’s not like I’ve had any training in this sort of thing. I was barely there when my own kids were young, and my ex-wife would certainly never have described me as being sensitive.

As Skye laid her head down on her arms, I looked around the yard for something to distract her. Uncles were supposed to be awesome, and now that I was going to be playing the uncle role more regularly, it was time for me to bring the fun.

Laney’s yard didn’t have much to work with. It was tiny, like all yards in Silicon Valley, with only a meager attempt at landscaping. What little grass there was consisted mostly of weeds separated by patches of hard-packed clay. A few scraggly bushes and a lemon tree hugged the fence only thirty feet from their back door. Laney had used the life insurance settlement to pay for the house, but money didn’t go far in the Valley.

Tell us a story, Megan commanded as she started karate-chopping some of the taller weeds near the fence.

It wasn’t a half-bad idea, even though she didn’t seem ready to pay attention.

The neighbor’s tree looming over her head sparked a memory from my own past. Without another thought, I took a deep breath and launched in.

There we were, late one night, skulking through the dark, when the explosion knocked us flat. We barely scrambled out from under the tree as one of the branches plummeted to the ground, narrowly missing us before bursting into pieces—

Wait, wait, back up! Megan interrupted as she spun around, her eyes bright and alert.

Skye jerked her head off the table and demanded, Who’s we? Did Mom blow up something? Did you blow up Mom?

I laughed. No, I didn’t hurt your mother, and she wasn’t involved in this story. It’s about me and a friend.

But, but . . . Skye sputtered as she tried to articulate her objection. You can’t just start the story off with an explosion.

Sure you can. Don’t you ever watch TV or movies? I’m just cutting to the chase so you’ll hear all the good stuff before you get bored and wander off. Or more likely before I got bored and gave up.

Start over! This time from the beginning. Megan stomped her foot, but started drifting closer to the table where I stood by Skye.

If this was going to take a while, I didn’t want to stand the whole time. Stepping over the bench, I sat next to Skye at the old picnic table that the previous residents must have left in the backyard. I almost rested my arms on the table but then noticed its condition. Shifting back and forth, trying to avoid the spots with bird droppings and unexplained stains, I finally gave up and put my hands back in my lap.

During this delay, Skye visibly deflated as her brief excitement over my story’s opening lines seeped away. Did you ever have to go to a new school?

I still didn’t know how to help her feel better, but at least now I understood what was depressing her. When we moved up to Spokane, your mother started at a new school. I had already graduated from high school. Actually . . .

Cocking my head, I thought back to my glory days of high school. Actually, I hadn’t yet graduated, but we didn’t have a real graduation that year.

That’s weird. Why not? Did the school burn down? Or did all the students get abducted by aliens into outer space? Megan scrambled onto the tabletop in front of me and squatted there like a frog.

Skye seemed to perk up a bit as we laughed at her sister’s goofiness. I tried to remember what had happened way back when. If only I were a superhero or secret agent, then I’d have more recent and more awesome stories to tell. Even cops got involved in all sorts of wild stories—all the cop shows on TV were clear proof of that. Often I daydreamed about any of these possible career paths rather than my boring, mundane life as a software engineer whose parents had raised him to be polite and who had never gotten in trouble. Except that one time . . .

Uncle Maaarty, chanted both girls in sing-song unison.

Startled, I glanced up to see them staring at me