Lost Pleasures: A Senior Moment Mystery

By Carla Kulka

Cassandra Cooper (Cassie) finds more than the morning newspaper while she waits for her morning cup of coffee, a scarf by the neighbors car and her body. Who murdered this talented feature writer of the Martinsville Post? Sergeant John Monroe and Cassie search to find out who and why she was murdered as they tie the clues together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524623555

Carla Kulka

Carla Kulka, author of A Senior Moment Mystery series, has come out with another series called A Senior Moment Soap Opera. Her first series was a healing process after the loss of her husband, Gary. She thought of all the good memories she had and made them into a tender senior love story. Now, she is bringing a series to those that love to read and love soap operas. In this series you may even find a little laughter along the way.

Book preview

Prologue

As I gasp for breath, I try to stop him from tightening the cord he has around my throat. My fingers try to break his grip. I pull with all my strength, but it isn’t enough.

I’d just pulled into my drive at home. I never expected anyone to be hiding in my car, wanting to kill me. Writing is what I love to do. Telling the truth is what I do as a columnist for The Martinsville Post. What did I ever do or say to have someone want to kill me?

As I take my last breaths, the reporter in me wonders why he feels the need to kill me. I want to know who he is and why he has chosen me as his victim. Then I think, Maybe I’m not even the person he wants to murder. That’s it—stop!

Please, I am not the person you want. Unfortunately, the more I struggle, the less air I have, and he does what he has come to do, regardless of whether I am the right person. I can visualize The Martinsville Post headline for tomorrow.

_______________________________________

Martinsville Post Columnist

Elizabeth Sanders Murdered

_______________________________________

I have made people angry in the past for telling the truth in my columns, but I have always wanted the public to be aware of what is truly happening in their city. Could this person who is attempting to end my life be one of these people?

I don’t know why he wants to kill me or even if I am the right person, but in less than one minute my body lies lifeless in the front seat of my car. He’s done what he came to do. It really doesn’t make a difference now, but hopefully to someone else it will. I am Elizabeth Sanders, feature writer for The Martinsville Post, and I am dead before my twenty-ninth birthday.

Chapter 1

As I lay nestled in John’s arm, I know any minute the alarm clock set for 6:30 a.m. will be going off. John, who is sergeant of our Martinsville Police Department, will have to get ready for work.

I’m Cassandra Jo Cooper, though most people call me Cassie. I’ve been a widow for close to fourteen years. My husband was my high school sweetheart, and we’d been married for almost thirty-three years when he passed away. As a healing process, I thought of all the good memories we shared in our marriage with each other, our friends, and our family, memories that give life meaning. Even growing up, I had many good memories. Thinking of all these good memories has allowed me to heal—that and, of course, God.

I met John when he came to investigate my 911 call after I found the body of Marcus Anderson, owner of an antique shop named Past Pleasures. I’d gone to see the shop its opening week. After many years of being a widow, fate worked its magic, and we fell in love.

The first time I looked at Sergeant Monroe, I found him extremely attractive. Maybe it was his salt-and-pepper hair or those blue eyes and his soft-spoken kindness that made me feel drawn to him. Of course, later he told me he was attracted to me from the beginning, too. It wasn’t because of my salt-and-pepper hair, though, because my hair is … well, let’s say highlighted. As time went on, our feelings grew stronger for each other. I guess you could say the rest is a beautiful love story.

Marcus Anderson is not the only person I have found murdered. Months later, I found the body of a sixteen-year-old female, Jennifer Thatcher. She was attacked, murdered, and thrown down our town well in Martinsville.

The alarm clock sounds, and John reaches for the snooze button. Not yet, alarm clock! I need a few more minutes of cuddling.

Sounds good to me, but I thought you had a staff meeting this morning. You don’t want to have to explain to the staff why you’re late for your own meeting, do you?

All they have to do is look at the expression on my face, and they know why. I guess you’re trying to tell me I should get up before the temptation of playing hooky is too hard to resist?

Now what kind of temptation could keep you from getting up? Maybe a little rubbing here or here, or kisses here … I give him a naughty smile as I demonstrate.

You keep doing that, and it could be very, very dangerous. It could be a good reason for me to be late for my meeting.

John leans over me, and I put my arms around his neck, drawing him close to me and grinning at him with my devilish, I can’t help myself grin. He places his lips gently against mine, giving me delicious kisses.

Are you really in a hurry to get to work, Mr. Tasty, and leave me laying here all by my lonesome?

Not really. I think I’m giving way to your magical powers. Suddenly, I feel not so well. Do you suppose you could call the precinct for me and tell them I’ve caught some sort of bug?

You want me to tell them that you’ve caught a bug? Oh no—they’ll see right through that excuse.

Well, I guess I better just go take a cold shower and get to work then. I suppose that might save us both from an embarrassing situation. Maybe we can take over where we left off later?

We might be able to work something out.

I quickly dress and go downstairs to put on a pot of coffee while John takes his shower. As the coffee brews and the aroma fills the room, I go outside to grab The Martinsville Post out of the newspaper box by the street.

It is such a beautiful and peaceful morning—so quiet all you can hear are the birds chirping their lovely songs that fill the air.

Other than the birds, I see no sign of any activity outside, but soon the street will be buzzing with people on their way to work. As I take the newspaper from the box, I glance over at our neighbor’s house and see what looks to be a silk scarf lying by the back tire of her car.

Elizabeth must have gotten home really late and not realized she dropped her scarf. Most evenings she works late at her job as a columnist for The Martinsville Post.

She’s always dressed so beautifully, just like an executive or model. I’d hate to see her lose one of her beautiful scarves. I should grab it before it blows away.

I walk over to to retrieve her scarf and notice the back door on the driver’s side is open.

As I reach over to close the door, I see Elizabeth leaning forward on the steering wheel. I tap on the car window to try to wake her up, but she doesn’t respond. Her color isn’t right. Elizabeth almost looks to be … dead!

I glance over at our house. John is standing on the front porch, apparently looking for me.

John! I’m over here. It’s Elizabeth. She’s in the front seat, and her head is on the steering wheel. I think she’s dead!

Every moment you spend with someone you love is something you will