The Mommy Mysteries Collection #3: Mac Jones: Short Story Collection, #3

By D.K. Greene

I always thought being a stay-at-home-mom would be idyllic. Apparently, real life has other plans.

I wish I could Live-Laugh-Love, but my home is more amateur detective agency than residential bliss. These grade-school kids are tied up in all sorts of things; grand theft auto, stashing hot product, and fraud, and it's up to me to untangle their mess and try to push to make better life choices.

My husband is frustrating in his own right. Sure, he tries to help, and he means well. But we all know who really pulls the strings around here. If only I weren't so overworked and underqualified, we might have a fighting chance to get ahead of these kiddy crimes.

The Mac Jones Story Collection #3 is a book of five short stories and novelettes in The Mommy Mysteries series. This hilarious series features a stay-at-home mom who runs her home like a detective agency. Spoiler: her kids are almost always the bad guys! These quick reads are perfect for binging in the school pick up line, during naptime, or whenever you just need a half hour to yourself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.K. Greene
• Release date: May 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224871988

D.K. Greene

D.K. Greene writes at a small folding table below a tiny window overlooking a narrow street. While her work area is small, she has an overwhelmingly large imagination. It all comes out in strings of stories about family, fraud, and fatal events. Readers can get an insider's look at her upcoming projects, promotions and free stories by going to https://www.subscribepage.com/dkgreene

Book preview

Other Mommy Mysteries Collections

Mac Jones Short Story Collection #1

Lost Keys

Drunk Octopus

Devious Device

Trail of Wrappers

Unexpected Jailer

Mac Jones Short Story Collection #2

Pipeline

Recess and Riots

To Catch a Tooth Fairy

The Pilfered Pie

Jungle Bungle

Dedication

To all the moms who hide snacks where no one will find them. I see you.

Hunt for the Holiday

‘T was the morn’ before Christmas, when throughout the home

No one was awake yet, Mac was all alone.

She lined the stockings up under the tree

With presents on display for everyone to see.

No children had snuck peeks at unopened gifts yet.

Being good for Santa was a priority, and still their best bet.

With Sam in pajamas, still tucked warm in bed,

Mac puttered in silence before the sun raised its head.

Down in the kitchen, the coffee maker spluttered and splattered.

Mac opened it up to see what was the matter.

Under the carafe, she found a small stash.

An envelope with her name on it. She hoped it was cash.

A note tucked inside with a scribbled hand said,

Forget the machine, hit the coffee shop instead.

Here is a gift card, go top yourself up!

Ask Ken for your next clue when you get your hot cup.

The glitter of the gift card emitted such a glow,

Promising caffeine! Adventure! A surprise Mac would know.

She loosened the knot on her worn purple robe

And put on mostly dry clothes from the dryer to go.

The streetlamps, they shone on the dull, gritty slush

And the crunch of freezing rain did make Mac rush.

When the car slid from the drive, wide-eyed was Mac now.

She turned the wheels, swerved past the mailbox somehow.

With a white knuckled grip, and tender foot on the gas,

She slid from ice to dry pavement with a relieved gasp.

More rapid she flew from neighborhood to main street,

The glow of the coffee shop sign a merry morning greet.

Inside the shop stood baristas with bright eyes.

Mac ordered café con leche, double espresso, triple size.

She waited in anticipation for her order to be rung,

And leapt to the counter when her name was sung.

Excuse me, she inquired as she reached the counter’s end.

My name is Mac Jones. May I please speak with Ken?

The pale, thin barista grinned with a twinkle in his eye.

I’m Ken. Here’s your coffee. I’m so pleased you stopped by.

He pulled from a shelf a crisp envelope, bright red.

Open it! Ken gasped. I’m dying to know what it said!

Mac ripped at the paper, slid a note from its folds,

More scribbles in handwriting she’d known from days old.

Now off you go to Huggermugger Floats.

(You put thirty minutes of silence on the gift list you wrote.)

With a wave of her hand, Mac dashed off with a smile,

Had Sam given her silence? The idea was quite wild.

So into the car with her coffee she flew.

Drove to the address and found a strip mall, quite new.

Off in the corner, with black windows that shined,

A sign boasted: Huggermugger Floats! Have an isolated time!

Carefully, cautiously, and curiously, too,

Mac approached the strange business, not sure what to do.

She opened the door and found a lobby serene

With calm music, low lights, and the sound of a stream.

Welcome, said a woman with dark eyes and bronze skin.

We have two pods open right now. Are you ready to step in?

Mac hesitated, confused, then pulled the card from her coat.

I don’t know what I’m getting into, she said, but I do have this note.

The woman took the letter, then smiled, and waved past the wall.

Thirty minutes, said the woman. Second door down the hall.

Mac followed her through the dim light to an odd room so rare.

A space-pod the size of a Volkswagen filled the space there.

What is this? asked Mac, pulling back, feeling wary.

A float pod, said the woman. It’s really not scary.

The instructions that followed were as bizarre as they were few.

Undress, and get in, Ma’am. Then float ‘til you’re through.

With uncertain movements, and a strange wary eye,

Mac uncovered her feet, her arms, and both thighs,

And stepped into the pod, sank down in the pool,

Floated with buoyant ease, having nothing to do.

The pod door was shut, the lights turned down low

And no sound could be heard from above or below.

In water and darkness, the pod was serene.

Not a sound could be heard, not a sight could be seen.

Whether time zoomed like a rocket or crawled like a turtle,

Mac couldn’t tell whether the silence was fallow or fertile.

But when the knock came that her half hour finished,

She found a renewal that couldn’t diminish.

After she’d dressed and returned to the lobby,

Checked out at the front desk, declared float a new hobby,

The clerk tapped a finger to the side of her nose

And from the reception chair she slid and she rose.

From a nearby cabinet she retrieved a red letter

To Mac with Sam’s handwriting. Could today get much better?

I hope that you’ve rested and enjoyed time alone.

You’ve a couple more places to go before home.

This is a gift card for more pleasure and rest.

Head to Curly’s Salon, and they’ll do their best.

The location was perfect, the shop not too far.

Only a few doors away, just beyond Mac’s parked car.

With leisurely steps from Huggermugger’s to Curly’s,

She was greeted by a man, so toned, and so burly.

With a bright pink moustache and a purple bouffant.

Happy holidays! I’m Curly. What do you want?

Mac ran fingers through hair, got them caught in frazzled ends.

I didn’t know I was coming, so I don’t know. Just a trim?

Curly guided her over to a luxurious chair.

A trim? We can do better. You deserve some new hair!

More rapid than clippers his scissors they came.

And he chatted so chipper ‘bout hair, fashion, and fame.

He snipped, and he cut. So swiftly! So merry!

With laughter like Santa, and a bowl of hair dye in cherry.

Mac sat in the chair, her head changing each minute

Until he spun her to the mirror, and she saw herself in it.

The style was cut masterfully, each curl framed her face

And dyed red like the Christmas lights hung all ‘round the place.

I love it! Mac shouted. She gasped, and she cheered.

I can’t wait to come back and bring my friends here.

Curly snapped his thick fingers and opened a drawer.

Sam said she wasn’t finished, and sure enough, here was one more.

She plucked the red letter from Curly’s light grip with ease.

Oh, my love, you must be famished. Head over to Bar-eeze.

Get yourself lunch, pick a canvas, start painting.

Then get yourself home. The boys and I will be waiting.

Then out to the car, and onto the road,

To the far side of town, she drove, and she strode.

As she entered Bar-eeze she noticed an elf

All striped stockings, green romper, a glow in herself.

Merry Christmas! she said, and Mac showed her Sam’s card.

Pick a chair, grab a brush! You want cider? Plain, or hard?

A hard cider, said Mac, With blackberry flavor.

She chose a chair by the window, a seat with no neighbor.

Moments later, the elf brought her canvas and paint.

A charcuterie board, two ciders. This elf was a saint!

On a tablet beside her were instructions so simple

To paint Tipsy Santa with a soft smile and a dimple.

The afternoon passed, the paint spread while Mac filled

Her stomach with booze, spiced sausage, and pickled dill.

Her paint dried, glasses drained, and the plate was quite empty.

The painting wasn’t perfect, but had creative license aplenty.

Outside, the world changed from grey, dismal slush

To a blank canvas itself, with snow falling in a rush.

So Mac picked up her painting, said goodbye to the elf,

And promised to display her art on a prominent shelf.

Then out through the white world filled with fresh fallen snow

Until she reached her car, buckled in, careful and slow.

For though her adventure had come to its end,

She felt like the day was a warm hug from a friend

And wasn’t quite ready to return to being The Mom.

So she drove to the park and turned on music so calm.

After meditation in the warm, quiet cocoon of her ride

To go home, see her family, prep for Christmas, she did decide.

So she drove to the house, pulled up to the drive,

Picked up her painting and headed inside.

Hello! said dear Robby. Nice hair! said sweet Ryan.

You’re looking hot, said Sam, You know I’m not lyin’.

Did you like it? asked one son. What’s your favorite? asked his brother.

It was all great, Mac said. No one surprise could be favored over another.

I thought you’d have fun, Sam said. You deserve it. Every part.

Because we love you, Ryan chirped. With all of our hearts.

All three of Mac’s boys gave a group hug so tight

It sent joy through her veins. It all felt so right.

Sam kissed her cheek. Robby squeezed ‘round her middle.

Ryan crushed his hard head against her rib with a giggle.

The moment was perfect, A Christmas Eve filled with wonder

Until Robby’s stomach gurgled with a roar of near thunder.

And Ryan asked with concern written over his face,

Do you know where my hat is? I can’t find it anyplace.

Even dear Sam, who’d made this miracle happen

Said, Aunt Edna’s coming. Got a spare gift and some wrappin’?

From then on, Christmas was chaos! The typical sort.

Filled with blustering in-laws, cold weather, gift forts.

And in each tiny moment between cooking and cleaning

Mac thought back on her adventure. A break with such meaning.

Happy Holidays, she’d say to each merrymaker sublime,

And may we all take a moment to have an isolated time!

Iced Heist

One

Mackenzie Jones startled awake when the house shuddered. She scrambled from underneath the sheets, knocking over an empty water glass and shoving the thick book from her bedside table to the floor while she hunted for the light. The room burst bright white before her finger found the switch, bathed in the day-bright pulse of lightning streaking outside her window. The blinding intensity lasted a single second, and then everything sank back into the pitch black of night.

What’s going on, Mac? Sam’s groan leaked into the night from the other side of the bed. When Mac finally found the lamp’s switch, Sam flung an arm across his eyes to block the brightness out.

Despite the web of sleep still wrapped around her head, Mac’s heart thudded against her ribcage in a sporadic rhythm. She got out of bed and moved to the bedroom window. Fat