Third Crime's the Charm: Trailer Park Tales, #3

By Maggie Pill

The sleuths at the Beautiful Bird Over-55 RV Park in Florida are back for a third unofficial investigation. Their friend Detective O'Connor seems to have gone off somewhere, but they suspect he could be in trouble. People find themselves on dating sites they never signed up for. And even though the two men hauling away the contents of a former resident's trailer are authorized to so do, they seem off somehow.
While three possible crimes create suspense, relationships among people add humor and warmth to the story. Husbands and wives, close friends and screwball neighbors: the characters are people we might meet anywhere. Some we love spending time with. Others we avoid when we can.
As our intrepid retirees investigate events in the park, they will uncover evil deeds and face mortal danger. But really, shouldn't they be getting used to that by now?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peg Herring
• Release date: Apr 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201149918

Book preview

Chapter One

Alice (Tommy & his new wife Alice)-Tuesday, 2/11, 7:45 a.m.

Hearing a cheerful , I’m home! I looked up to see my husband entering the trailer. The day was heating up fast, as they often do in Florida, and humidity preceded him like a warm ocean wave. When I saw a half dozen grocery bags hanging from his hands and arms, my first thought was I should have made him eat a bigger breakfast. I’d sent Tommy for toilet paper and laundry soap, but salty snacks peeped out the tops of the bags: potato chips, pretzels, and something called Merry Mix. The bottoms bulged with the shapes of two-liter soda bottles. Setting his trophies on the counter, he stood back, fists on his hips, like a caveman returning from a successful hunt.

I thought we were cutting back on calories.

His smile faded. We are, Alice, but we need to have stuff around for when friends stop in. Opening a bag, he took out two of the soda bottles. Ron likes Coke, but Julie drinks Mountain Dew.

And there’s no way we’ll be tempted to overeat by having all this food in the house, right? Hearing the sharp tone in my voice, I paused. Tommy and I are relative newlyweds, still adjusting to each other’s ways, and every morning when I wake up, I promise myself I’ll be more patient with him. My resolve never lasts long.

There was a Valentine’s Day Sale flyer by the door, he said defensively. They had some really good deals.

I tried for a less aggressive tone. I’m sure stores practically give stuff away the week before a holiday. As I continued unloading bags, my irritation returned. You bought jellybeans?

I know how much you like them. He looked like a little kid, hopeful he’d done something good.

They’re pure sugar, I fumed. I might as well stick them directly on my hips.

Tommy turned pedantic, as retired professors tend to do. According to research, we can eat small amounts of the foods we like each day and still remain healthy. It’s a matter of portion control.

He knows by now—at least he should—that with jellybeans, I have no control. I tell myself I’ll eat one of each color, but after I’ve tried them all, I start over. The only way I can avoid eating jellybeans is to avoid buying jellybeans. So why had Tommy brought home an extra-large bag of my greatest temptation? Because he loves you, I reminded myself. Stop finding fault with the man who brought joy back into your life.

I’ve been trying to tone down my assertiveness since the day I met Tommy Murgasson. Intelligent, kind, and patient, he was different from the other men at the golf club where I worked as a bartender. Though I’d vowed never to put myself under a man’s control again, Tommy’s courtly manners and deep intelligence convinced me to give marriage a second try. Still, it’s a daily struggle for me to recall that marriage doesn’t have to be a winner-take-all proposition. I have trouble trusting any man, even Tommy.

On the other side, Tommy is learning to live with a wife very different from his first, a woman I think of as Saint Ella. For fifty-two years, she defined herself as Professor Murgasson’s wife and the mother of his children. I’m very different from Ella, being the type who can’t smile and sip my tea if I feel that something needs to be said.

My friends would probably call me assertive, and they say things like, Alice tells it like it is. Tommy’s daughters take a harsher view. I’ve heard them mutter words like overbearing and nagging, which makes him, in their minds, hen-pecked and browbeaten. While I hate their assumption that they know anything about us as a couple, I’ve been trying to tone down my assertiveness. I don’t want to lose the best man I’ve ever known.

Setting the candy aside, I took a bottle of laundry soap out of a bag. This isn’t our brand.

They didn’t have ours, so I bought something different.

I took off the top and held it out for him to sniff. Lilac. You want your clothes to smell like flowers?

He shrugged. I had to get something.

Tommy goes out to buy the things we need nearly every day, mostly to have something to do. He loves making lists and then scratching items off with his stubby little golf pencil as he goes through the store. The problem is that he’s likely to buy anything a store has on its shelves, as long as he can delete an entry on his neatly torn quarter sheet of paper.

I could have pointed out at least a dozen stores within two miles of us that carry laundry detergent. Instead, I set the purple-and-white jug on the dinette table and said, Julie and I are going out this afternoon. I’ll return this and get the right kind. Emptying the last of the bags, I asked, Where’s the toilet paper?

Surveying the cans, boxes, and packets on the counter, Tommy’s face clouded. I guess I forgot to write it on my list.

Chapter Two

Ron (Ron & Julie on Egret Street)-Tuesday, 8:00 a.m.

Iwas repairing a section of the outside hose when Alice, our neighbor across Egret Street, called out, Morning, Ron, knocked once, and went into our trailer, where Julie was at work in the kitchen.

Most residents of the Beautiful Bird Over-55 RV Park are snowbirds, northerners who travel to Florida in winter. Between October and March each year, Tommy Murgasson and I leave our real homes (Montana for him and Wisconsin for me), to come to B-Bird, where we golf together several days a week. This year Tommy brought a new wife to Florida, and I was pleased to see that Julie took an immediate liking to the woman most residents spoke of as Tommy’s new wife. Lots of times at B-Bird, we think of each other in identifiers rather than names, like Bill and Linda Who Fish Every Day or Dave from Schenectady.

It’s odd how friendships form in the park. Some people you only say hello to, some you chat with for a while and then walk on, and some you seek out daily, sharing activities and tips on things like where to find someone to fix your A/C right away.

Other couples we see a lot are Al and Karen Dobson, who live four streets over on Osprey, and Earl and Wilma Schmidt, whose lot is on Hawk Street, at the lake end. Earl golfs with Tommy and me. Al used to, but in the last year or two, his body has turned against him, so he’s no longer able to do much at all. Julie and Wilma share a love of making things, though Wilma is what I’d call a crafting fanatic while Julie dabbles, taking one class after another. Wilma and Karen, Al’s wife, both sing in the park’s chapel choir. The eight of us had become even closer recently, since as a group we helped the police solve a murder, a cold case, and a string of burglaries.

When I went inside for a different size wrench a few minutes later, Julie and Alice were seated at the dinette table. The scent of baking filled the air, because Julie had been making goodies for the park’s bazaar since six. They sipped coffee while Alice told some story that had them both laughing. From the repeated use of he, I guessed Tommy was the butt of the joke. Finding what I’d come in for, I went back outside, glad that for once it wasn’t something I’d done they found hilarious.

Hi, Ron. I looked up to see Karen at our doorstep. Is Julie here?

She and Alice are gabbing. Go on in.

Calling a greeting, Karen went inside. I didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but my repair job put me outside an open window, so I heard everything.

Hey, Karen said after she’d refused Julie’s offer of coffee. I stopped at the office, and Marlene told me something I want to run by you.

In my head, I conjured up a slightly fuzzy picture of Marlene, the park’s secretary and everyday problem-solver. Too young by a couple of decades to live at B-Bird, Marlene is well-versed in the concerns of senior citizens. I can’t tell you her hair color or height, but I know I can call her for a quick answer to a dozen questions. And though she probably answers those questions every day, she is always nice about it.

The women know Marlene much better than I do, and Alice asked, Have she and that Detective What’s-his-name moved in together yet?

Ray O’Connor, and that’s the problem. According to Marlene, our favorite police detective is missing.

Missing? Julie and Alice spoke in stereo.

He came here yesterday afternoon to follow some tip he’d received about a fugitive. He stopped at the office, told Marlene he’d buy her dinner after he finished the interview, and then he never came back.

The guy has commitment issues. That was Alice, who knows more about the dating scene than the rest of us put together. We’re all near or over the fifty-years-married mark, but she was single for a long time before she met Tommy.

Maybe he stayed to watch for the fugitive he mentioned, Julie suggested.

It’s an over-55 trailer park, Alice countered. O’Connor sticks out like a toddler at a beer party.

Marlene thinks he’s in trouble. Karen sounded worried.

Nah. I couldn’t see Alice, but I imagined her wave of dismissal. I bet she got clingy, and he’s pulling away.

He wouldn’t do that. Julie knows O’Connor better than the rest of us do, and she likes him. I like him too, although the guy wouldn’t get a joke if you tossed it to him underhand.

Being good at his job doesn’t make O’Connor Marlene’s soulmate, Alice argued. This so-called disappearance is a great big hint that she shouldn’t count on him.

Ignoring Alice’s negativity, Julie asked Karen, You say he came to the park on police business. Who did he want to talk to?

He wasn’t specific. Marlene says he feels it’s unprofessional to talk about his cases.

See? He’s a good cop. I nodded agreement to my wife’s comment, though I wasn’t officially part of the conversation.

Are you saying he came to B-Bird and just disappeared? Alice sounded skeptical.

I’m pretty sure he left. I took a ride around the park on my golf cart, and I didn’t see his car anywhere.

Then why does Marlene think he’s missing?

He didn’t call to say why he couldn’t keep their dinner date, and he hasn’t answered several texts she sent since yesterday.

I’m telling you; he’s sending her a message.

But he said—

Alice made pfft! of disgust. Guys do weird things to get out of a relationship, Karen.

Julie interrupted the yes-he-is-no-he-isn’t exchange to ask, Did Marlene report this to anyone?

She called the department first thing this morning. They claim there’s no reason for concern, but since she isn’t a relative, they won’t say any more than that.

See? Alice said triumphantly. No reason for concern, unless, like Marlene, you actually believe that a guy who’s still single at thirty-five is ever going to settle down with one woman.

I heard a chair scrape, and Karen said, I’d better get back home. If I’m gone more than thirty minutes, Al decides he’s well enough to power wash the trailer or re-paint the carport.

I wish there were something we could do for Marlene. Julie’s voice had that tone it gets when she’s getting ready to stick her nose into someone else’s business, and I shuddered. No telling what she’d do, and I was liable to be dragged along as an unwilling sidekick.

All we can do for Marlene is make her see what that guy is up to. Alice’s tone was definite. The sooner she accepts the truth, the sooner she can start dealing with it.

But we don’t know he’s avoiding her. I wouldn’t have pegged Karen as a romantic, but she clearly didn’t want Marlene getting her heart broken.

Alice wasn’t having it. I know what my bet would be, if I had to make one.

Julie was the voice of reason, as usual. We shouldn’t make assumptions. O’Connor might have forgotten the date or— She stopped, unable to provide the guy with viable excuses. You know, Alice, we could drop in at the station this afternoon and ask to see him.

Would you do that? Karen sounded pleased.

Alice was less enthused. What are you going to use as an excuse for this unsolicited visit?

I imagined my wife looking around the room for inspiration. I could take him some pie, she said after a few seconds. I made three for the bazaar and one for us, but heaven knows Ron and I don’t need all of it. I almost interrupted to suggest that ‘need’ is relative, but I remembered I wasn’t supposed to be listening. I bake way too often, Julie confessed, but making a pie or a batch of cookies makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something. I heard a smile in her voice as she added, Ron never objects.

Why would I? Julie’s baked goods are the best.

That would answer the question, Alice admitted. If O’Connor is there, we’ll know he lied to Marlene.

I’m scheduled to work at the bazaar until noon, Julie said to Karen. Afterward, Alice and I are going for lunch and some shopping. Do you want to come along?

No, but thanks for asking. I know Marlene will be grateful if you find out, one way or the other. As I turned on the hose to check for leaks, I heard Karen ask, Are you shopping for anything in particular?

There’s a sale at Beall’s, Alice said. And somewhere along the line, I have to exchange the detergent Tommy bought and buy the toilet paper he forgot.

Chapter Three

Julie (Ron & Julie on Egret Street)-Tuesday, 8:40 a.m.

If I ever file for divorce—or if I’m arrested for murdering my spouse, the cause will be his shoes. Ron leaves a pair of shoes in every room in the house, usually in a spot where I have to walk around them to get where I need to be. In Wisconsin, in a ten-room house, it’s irritating. In Florida, in a one-bedroom trailer, it’s a hazard.

Why are your golf shoes in the doorway, Ron? I managed to keep my tone casual, but it took effort.

So I don’t forget them.

Why don’t you set them on top of your golf bag? As soon as I said it, I knew that idea would be rejected. His golf bag is a holy vessel, meant only for the purest of purposes, and shoe receptacle is not one of those. I moved the shoes back a foot, out of the main pathway of our trailer, which is similar to most in the park. You enter through the