The Mystery on Brighton Boulevard

By Greg Clemens

The Mystery on Brighton Boulevard is a return to the Nancy Drew-type stories of yesterday but placed in a modern-day setting. Come along with the college seniors Nicole and Jennifer as they do amateur sleuthing to try to figure out the mystery on Brighton Boulevard.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886544671

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The Mystery on Brighton Boulevard

Greg Clemens

Copyright © 2022 Greg Clemens

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 979-8-88654-466-4 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88654-467-1 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

About the Author

Nicole didn't have to look over at the clock on the wall. She knew what time it was without looking: exactly 2:00 pm. She knew because they were coming through the front door again—the creepy four. They always came into the restaurant at this time every weekday: at 2:00 pm on the dime. (And right on cue, the dormant butterflies inside her tummy began fluttering and bouncing again.) Darn it, she thought. Why do these four always make me so nervous? She hated that feeling.

She watched as they entered in the same way that they always did: the two women in front and the two men following behind. They went over and picked out the same booth that they sat in every day as well. There were some twenty-other booths and also a dozen other tables here at the Jaye-Tees Country Cooking restaurant on Maple Avenue in Zanesville, Ohio—plenty of seats available. But the creepy four used the same one every day. It was just one of the things about these people that branded them as strange, Nicole thought as she slowly shook her head.

They seated themselves at their booth. They always sat in exactly the same order as well. The two older people sat on one side of the table while the two younger ones sat on the other side. The two women always sat nearest to the ends of the seats so that they could both stand up more easily. The seating arrangement wouldn't have seemed odd to her if the two couples had been married. But Nicole had waited on these people enough times now to know one thing for certain. None of these people were married to each other.

Nicole decided to wait for a couple of moments while they went through the motions of looking at their menus. She didn't know why they bothered to do that. They always simply ordered the same food every day as well.

Nicole Winters was twenty-one years old. This fall, she would be a senior out at Ohio University's branch campus in Zanesville—OUZ for short. She had always loved to read. Up until she was sixteen, she had read mostly comic books, short stories, and lots and lots of magazine articles. But five years ago, she discovered both Carolyn Keene's Nancy Drew Mystery Stories and the even more complicated work of Agatha Christie's: Miss Marple Mystery stories. Nicole figured that she had happily read at least one hundred or more of those classic mysteries in the past five years. She had loved every single minute of it. She was going to get her degree in literature when she graduates from OUZ next spring. And she blissfully dreamed of writing her own sweet mystery novels someday.

Wouldn't it be so simply wonderful to get published? She smiled to herself as she daydreamed for a moment. And she thought that the creepy quartet was quite possibly the sort of weirdos who could supply her with ideas for a story or two. She had even given them nicknames since they had never offered up their real names even once over the last three months. The older lady seemed to be the leader of the group. She was the one who always paid the bill, and she was the only one of them who ever spoke a word anyway. She was short and acted grim and bossy. Nicole called her Shortstop.

The other woman was quite a bit younger, probably somewhere in her midthirties or so. She was tall, slender, and pretty but not beautiful. She had lots of freckles and very bright-red hair, which she wore styled up on top of her head. Nicole called her Big Red.

The third member of the group was the only one that Nicole thought that she might one day like to have the opportunity to try to get to know just a little bit better. He was tall, strong, and quite handsome. Also around his midthirties, Nicole thought. He reminded her so much of Clint Eastwood. She had had a crush on the real guy ever since seeing his old Rawhide reruns on TV when she was a little girl. And that was exactly what she had nicknamed this handsome man: Eastwood.

The final member of the group was easily the most sinister and the scariest of the four. He was also the oldest; snow-white hair topped a rough, hard, and heavily wrinkled face. He looked so scary. The only other man who had ever scared her simply by her looking at him had been Boris Karloff in those old horror movies of his. And that's the perfect nickname for him, Nicole thought, Karloff.

The four of them put their menus down. They were ready to order now. Nicole drew a deep breath and exhaled, then she took her order pad and pen and went over to their booth. She knew their order by heart. She tried to sound pleasant and professional.

Hello. Welcome to Jaye-Tees. Can I take down your order, please?

None of them looked at her. Shortstop glanced up at her. As always, she was the only one who spoke a word. The usual. Not The usual, Miss or The usual, please, just The usual.

Nicole quickly jotted down on the paper with her pen. Four bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches on hot wheat toast, extra mayo on all of them. And four large cups of coffee, very black.

Shortstop nodded without looking at her. That's it.

Nicole nodded. Fine. It'll be a few minutes. She turned and walked away from them briskly. Her butterflies did flip-flops again. Darn it, she thought as she rolled her eyes. Why do these four make me so nervous? She went to the large open window behind the counter and handed her order slip through the window into the kitchen. She handed it to Joe Wilson, the head cook. He read it and shook his head.

They're back again, I see.

Joe Wilson was sixty-two years old. He had become a mess hall chef while he was in the Navy during the Vietnam