Your Jig is Up

By Kat Jorgensen

She's earned a reputation with the police as River City's own murder magnet.  But it's a bum rap in her opinion.  It's not her fault that people do end up dead when she's around. Good thing she's smart and inquisitive and willing to risk her life to find the killers in the various mysteries she comes across and bring them to justice. 

Join Becca Reynolds in Your Jig is Up as she starts her life over after a nasty divorce and inadvertently launches her career as an amateur detective in this prequel to the River City Mystery series.

A new life.  A first job.  And an unexpected death at that job.  Is it an accident or is it murder?  When things don't add up and a seemingly innocent person is charged with the death, Becca appoints herself the unofficial investigator.  Can she unmask a killer before he or she strikes again?

Find out in the novella that started the series. Join Becca, Granddad and Higgins in a new humorous cozy mystery.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kat Jorgensen
• Release date: Jul 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393219415

Book preview

Chapter 1

Rebecca Davis was dead. She died a slow and painful death today in Judge Mercer’s courtroom in downtown Richmond, Virginia. Her death came at the hands of her scum-sucking attorney husband who represented himself in their divorce proceedings and screwed her over royally, leaving her homeless, broke, and emotionally devastated. 

But Becca Reynolds was born of those ashes, and she is determined to rebuild her life and make something of herself.

 This dialogue played in my head as I walked west on Main Street after leaving Judge M.’s courtroom. I may have nothing left, but it was worth it to get Jack Davis out of my life. I was free. Finally. Well, technically I had to wait a year for the divorce decree to be final. But that was just a formality. As far as I was concerned, I was free. Starting today.

Jack and I hadn’t been married long. But those two-and-a-half years had felt like dog years to me. Maybe even kangaroo years.  

Even though I’d lost just about everything in the separation/divorce, it was worth it to me to get Jack out of my life once and for all.  

We’d married almost as soon as I’d graduated college. Within months of the wedding, Jack let me know I wasn’t what he was looking for in a wife. Wasn’t the proper partner for a rising star in the legal field. His wording, not mine. Talk about the honeymoon being over. 

And Jack, well, he’d just failed me all around. My blinders were off finally and I could see Jack for exactly who he was, and more importantly, who he wasn’t. I considered myself lucky to be getting out of the marriage period. 

But now I had to tell my family that I had failed at life once again. They should be used to it. It seems I had spent a lifetime of not measuring up to their standards. This was going to be especially bad because my parents thought Jack was a such catch. That was my mother’s term, anyway.  

He personified the type of man my parents admired and wanted for me. Rich. Successful. An up-and-coming professional. Well-connected. A socially prominent family. Golden. 

Yes, golden was the term I’d apply to both Jack and my two siblings—Trey and Thad. People who seemed to go through life with a golden horseshoe over their heads. Good things happened to them always. Things they truly didn’t deserve. Luck was always on their side.  

And because they were golden, they seemed immune to failure and all of the bad things that the rest of us faced on a daily basis. They floated above the fray. I did not.  

Everything came hard to me. I tried. Gosh knows, I tried. But things never seemed to work out for me. Marriage was just one more of those things in a very long line of unsuccessful events.

The only thing I really had succeeded in doing was getting a college degree. But it had been in Art History. My father had lectured me several times about how that would not put food on my table. My mother took a somewhat different attitude. She thought it was a genteel degree for a proper southern young woman to have.  

Translation, she also thought it was a worthless degree, but it would help me to land an acceptable husband.  

I sighed out loud and drew the stares of several passersby as I crossed Main Street and headed south on 9th Street toward the James River where I’d left my car in a day lot. 

As I walked down 9th Street, the skies opened up and a cold rain poured down, drenching me in what seemed like seconds.

Shivering, I ducked into a doorway to a fancy parking deck to wait out the squall. Only the best cars were parked in this deck from what I could see. Lexus. Cadillac. Lincoln. BMW. An executive lot. A far cry from the day lot where I’d left my pretty little silver Acura, a present from Jack on my last birthday.  

Knowing I wouldn’t be going back to the place I’d lived for the past few years, I’d left my luggage in the trunk of my car. My worldly possessions all in one spot. Surely I had something in there I could put on the leather seat to protect it from my wet clothes.  

The cloudburst stopped just as quickly as it had started. I decided not to wait to see if another line of showers would move in and hurried down the hill to my car. I wanted nothing more than to get in my cute little Acura and leave the downtown and this whole sorry day behind me.

As I crossed Cary Street toward the parking lot, I noticed a commotion going on near where I’d parked my car. I hope someone hadn’t dinged my door or bumped into the rear of the Acura as they were pulling out. I so didn’t feel up to dealing with insurance companies and body shops. Not today.

A flatbed tow truck had pulled into the lot and had positioned itself near my car. Automatically, the bed lowered. Wonder what was going on? Maybe someone had a dead battery or an engine malfunction. Poor soul.

As I continued to watch from a distance, I realized in horror that my silver ride was the unlucky car being loaded onto the tow truck. What the heck?  

I ran across Cary Street, not noticing that the light had already changed to red. Horns blared and brakes squealed. Since I was already in the middle of the intersection, I ran for it.

Wait, wait, what the heck are you doing? I approached the tow truck driver out of breath and more than a little out of sorts. 

The parking lot attendant stood silently with a sheaf of legal looking papers in his hand. The driver pointed to the attendant. That there will explain everything. He puffed on a dark, smelly cigar clenched between his stained teeth and blew smoke in my direction.  

I grabbed the proffered papers from the lot attendant and skimmed them quickly. Seems my cute little Acura was in Jack’s name only, although he’d told me it was all mine.  

Scum-sucker.

How am I supposed to get home?

Not my problem, lady. I just tow the cars. And with that, he climbed into the cab of the truck and pulled out of the lot with my car and all of my worldly goods.

The lot attendant distanced himself from me and went back into his little booth. I guess he knew he wouldn’t be getting the rest of the parking fee out of me since I wasn’t getting my car.

I reached into my purse and pulled out my cell phone, ready to blast Jack with my ire only to see that I had a black screen. It was a relatively new phone, so I didn’t think it was the battery or a mechanical malfunction.

And then it hit me. Jack had terminated my cell phone account. And probably every other account I’d had as Mrs. Jackson Davis.  

Low-life, scum-sucking jerk.

Putting the useless phone back in my purse, I checked my wallet. $28.54. I could take a cab, but that might leave me truly destitute.  

Say, do you know where I can get a bus headed to the west end. 

The lot attendant hid behind the sports section of the daily newspaper and couldn’t, or wouldn’t, make eye contact with me.

I reached over and gently lowered his paper, forcing him to meet my gaze.

A bus. To the west end, I repeated.

Back up on Main street. Northeast corner of Seventh and Main. He raised the paper again, annoyed to have been interrupted.  

I checked the darkening skies and hurried back up the hill to Main Street. Finding the small group of people on the corner of Seventh and Main, I made a few discreet inquires as to how much a bus trip cost these days. People then kind of moved a bit away from me. I found a friendly face and asked the tired woman standing beside me if she knew what bus would take me to the West End.

Well, there are several. She launched into a very detailed description of bus routes and numbers and it all sort of blended together. Crap.

I was just about to ask a few follow-up questions when she waved hastily and got on a bus headed for who knows where.  

I sidled up to a few more folks and finally figured out I wanted the West End Express. I liked the sound of that. The sooner I got out of here, the better.  

The drizzling rain came before the Express did. A mass of potential passengers crowded in the doorway to the bank on the corner, effectively blocking any traffic in or out of the building. Finally, the Express showed up, and over half the people waiting at the bus stop queued up for it, me included.

Just as a fresh wave of showers hit, I boarded the westbound bus. Finding a window seat, I sat and reflected on my sucky day. One thing for sure, there was no golden horseshoe hanging over my head or anywhere near me.  

The trip west was uneventful. Unfortunately for me, the bus dead-headed at a Park and Ride lot on Parham Road, a good mile and a half from Granddad’s house. This just wasn’t my day. And not a great start to my new life as Rebecca Reynolds, soon to be a single woman with her whole life ahead of her.

My feet hurt. I was still damp from the previous showers. And I was more than a little bit cranky.  

Nothing left to do but to hike to Granddad’s. In three-inch heels. As I left the asphalt lot, my heels sunk down in the soft earth of the narrow dirt pathway that existed along Parham for foot traffic. It would be slow going. I could already feel the first signs of an A-one blister forming on the heel of my left foot.  

What seemed like hours later found me turning onto the familiar street where Granddad lived with Higgins, his cranky tuxedo cat. I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. So close. I was so close to finding refuge from this awful day.

A clap of thunder roared over my head, and a flash of lightning streaked across the sky. CRAP! I didn’t like thunderstorms in the best of times. And today did not qualify as the best of times. Not by far.

After removing my stupid heels, I ran barefoot across the backyards of Granddad’s neighbors. The wet grass was cold on my feet and slippery, but somehow I remained upright. 

Making my way to his yard, I was rewarded by finding not only Gram’s old rusty Honda parked in the driveway but also Granddad’s big old gas guzzler. He loved that car and swore as long as he had breath in him, he would not trade it in on something more economical.  

Just as I climbed on to his back porch, the skies once again opened and a storm with new found fury rained down on the earth. I banged on the back door.

Granddad, open up, it’s me, Becca. More banging. Please, Granddad, let me in. I knew he liked to watch the early news and although he wouldn’t admit it, I thought he also caught a few soap operas from time to time. Granddad! I increased my banging and my voice.  

Hold your horses. I’m coming. I heard several locks release and then Granddad peered through the curtain to check out who was trying to invade his sanctuary. Rebecca Lou? Is that you? Higgins, it’s our Becca come for a visit. I heard the last of the locks let go and the door was thrown open.

I’m sure I looked a sight. Wet hair plastered to my scalp. Clothes soaked. Barefoot and muddy. Nobody’s prize. That was me in a nutshell.

Hi, Granddad. Seeing his kind face, I collapsed in his arms and cried. Gulping in breaths as I could between sobs. I’m so glad to see you. I had no idea if it sounded like that or not, but it was what I said.

As for Granddad, he held me and patted my back absently. He had never been good with my tears and today was no exception.

"Come on in, honey. Let me get you a towel to dry off. Stay right there. Just drip on the linoleum. I can clean that right up with a wet