Zukie's Detective: Zukie Merlino Mysteries, #4

ZUKIE’S

DETECTIVE

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Cynthia E. Hurst

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Zukie Merlino Mystery 4

Copyright © 2015  Cynthia E. Hurst

All Rights Reserved

Plane View Books

Cover photo by Przemo from Pixabay

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The characters and situations in this work are wholly fictional and do not portray any actual persons, businesses or organizations.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 1

It was the magazine headline that first caught Zukie’s eye. In large bold-faced type it asked: "Could you use $10,000?"  

Well, that’s a stupid question, she said. Of course I could. Anyone could.

She looked across the table at her neighbor, Shelly, who was pouring them each a glass of cold lemonade.

Anyone could what? Shelly asked.

Zukie nodded toward the magazine. Use ten thousand dollars. Some sort of competition prize.

Oh, yes. I know I could, anyway.

Shelly sat down on the deck chair, tucking her long tanned legs under her. Zukie, twenty years older and several inches shorter, felt it would be undignified to try and follow suit, so she just sipped the cold drink and helped herself to a peanut butter cookie.

So what would you do with an extra ten thousand dollars? Shelly asked.

I’m not sure. Zukie thought for a moment. Put it toward a new car, maybe. My Chevy’s getting kind of old and clunky. Or take a really good vacation, somewhere exotic, ’cause I’ve spent my whole life here in Seattle. Eddie and me never went any further than Portland, and that was just to go to his niece’s wedding. We didn’t see anything except the church, the restaurant where they had the reception and the basement of his brother’s house.

Why were you banished to the basement?

That’s where the guest bedroom was.

Didn’t you and Eddie even have a honeymoon when you got married?

Not really. See, we kind of sneaked off and got married without telling anyone, so it would have been hard to explain being gone on a honeymoon. And of course when we were kids, there was no way all of us plus suitcases would have fit in the car, so we mostly stayed home.

Shelly smiled. So if you won the prize money, where would you go on this exotic vacation?

Italy, Zukie said promptly. She put her glass down, needing both hands for expressive conversation. I’d look up the town my grandparents came from, some little place up in the mountains. See Rome and Pompeii and all that historic stuff. I’ve read about it, but it would be great to see it for myself. And I suppose Lou would want to go to the Vatican and see the Pope if he could.

Oh, would you take him along with you?

Course I would. Not that I can’t look after myself, she added, after a moment’s reflection, but I reckon sometimes it’s handy to have a man around.

I thought maybe you’d be looking for some handsome Italian man to flirt with.

Zukie shook her head vigorously, which made her normally wild salt-and-pepper hair fly even more.

Nope. Been there, done that. Lightning doesn’t strike twice. She glanced briefly at the simple gold wedding ring on her left hand. She knew she probably should have stopped wearing it after Eddie died, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that, even after eighteen months. The wedding might have been clandestine, but the marriage had been long and happy, and she missed him.

I’m talking about flirting with the guy, not marrying him.   

For Pete’s sake, Shelly, look at me. Am I the kind of woman a guy flirts with?

Shelly debated the question. An honest answer might have been negative, but although Zukie would never see fifty again and her once slender frame had acquired a few extra pounds over the years, she had a certain lively magnetism. Shelly could just imagine a distinguished silver-haired gentleman paying her flowery compliments, and Zukie lapping it up while pretending not to be flattered.

I don’t know why not.

Zukie squinted at her reflection, mirrored in the glass of the table top. Nah, can’t see it.

The two women sat in silence for a while. Relative silence, that is. It was a hot day in late June and since school was out, Shelly’s two children could be heard shouting inside the house. Jake seemed to be threatening Megan with some unspecified violence, but neither Zukie nor Shelly paid any attention, having learned long ago that the threats were never followed through.

Zukie finished her lemonade and got to her feet. Lou will be back from bowling soon, so I better go get dinner started. When you’re done with that magazine, could I borrow it?

Are you going to enter the competition? Shelly asked with a grin.

I just might do that. Like I said, ten thousand bucks would come in real handy.

Shelly reached over and picked it up. Here, take it now. If you win, you can give me a cut of the prize money.

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ZUKIE returned to her own house with the magazine rolled up under one arm. Inside, she spread it out on the kitchen table, studying the page with the ridiculous question. It was a competition to devise a new slogan for a range of ready-made meals which promised a tasty, nutritious dish with minimal effort.  It wasn’t clear to Zukie why the FastMeals company was willing to pay a member of the public that kind of money to come up with a few catchy words, but she was willing to take a shot at it. If there were two things she could claim to be an expert at, they were food and talking.

She was still studying the page when the front door opened and Lou came in, carrying his bowling bag. He set it down with a thump and Zukie looked up.

How’d it go today?

Not too bad. One ninety, and Dave bowled two forty, so we finished on top.

That’s great. Zukie wasn’t very interested in the neighborhood bowling league and its standings, but she had grasped that Lou and his friends took it very seriously, so she always inquired. There’s iced coffee in the fridge; you want some?

Yeah. Sounds good. That’s the trouble with air-conditioned places; it always seems hotter when you go outside again.

Lou loosened his shirt collar and ran a hand over his curly gray hair. He settled himself at the table while Zukie put a handful of ice cubes into a mug and poured the chilled coffee over them. She handed it to Lou along with a couple of chocolate chip cookies.

What’s this? He pointed to the magazine. "It’s not the kind of stuff you usually read. You like National Geographic and Psychology Today, not reading about a hundred and one ways to cook hamburger."

It’s Shelly’s magazine; she loaned it to me. I’m going to enter this competition and win ten grand.

By doing what? Lou asked warily. Although he had been sharing Zukie’s house for over a year now, she still had the capacity to unnerve him. It was never a total surprise, since they were second cousins and he had known her since he was five and she was a squalling infant, but during the past year he had acquired a new respect for her late husband. How Eddie Merlino had lived with her for thirty-five years without losing either his temper or his sanity was nothing short of a miracle.

By making up a slogan. See? She tapped the page. Anybody can enter, and then they start narrowing it down. They choose five finalists who get a thousand bucks each and then the one they finally pick gets another ten thousand. Plus, I guess you’d get a kick out of seeing your slogan every day in the supermarket.  

And what makes you think you’d win?

What makes you think I wouldn’t?

Lou had to admit he didn’t have an answer to that, but he wasn’t too concerned, since he was always glad when his cousin found something innocuous to occupy her agile mind. Zukie had decided not to return to her waitressing job after Eddie’s death, and although she loved to cook, she would have been the first to admit that other kinds of housework bored her stiff. Lou, who had sold his plumbing business and envisioned a peaceful retirement, was never quite sure why he had agreed to move in with her. The meals she provided were delicious, but some of her other activities were much more questionable.

Sure, go for it, he said. At least you aren’t likely to trip over a dead body if you’re just entering a competition to make up a slogan.

That’s not fair, Zukie protested. Just because I happened to find someone who’d been murdered ...

Twice.

OK, two people, and helped the cops solve three homicide cases ...

Because you wouldn’t keep your nose out, no matter how many times they told you to mind your own business.

"State zitt’," Zukie said, thinking that it always sounded better in the southern Italian dialect than shut up did in English. Listen, Lou, all I’m doing is writing a slogan. No big deal. And no connection whatsoever with crime. Ten thousand bucks wouldn’t be enough to commit murder over, anyway.

Depends how desperate you are, Lou said. Remember the Martinelli kids?

Good point. Zukie thought about it. Well, I’m still going to enter. And nobody’s going to get murdered because of it.

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AFTER the fried chicken, potato salad and ripe sliced tomatoes had been eaten and the dishes washed, Zukie sat down again at the table and applied herself to the competition. She scribbled several ideas on a blank sheet of paper, then crossed them out. She was against the idea of instant meals on general principles, but she was willing to swallow her scruples when there was ten grand at stake.

Get ready, get set, cook ... she mumbled under her breath. She was reminded of races in her childhood, when she’d tried desperately to outrun her three older brothers. Even cheating a little by starting on the get set hadn’t helped. So ... could you call an instant meal cheating? It seemed so to Zukie, who’d been taught to cook everything from scratch by her Ma. The result was that she now even felt guilty buying dried pasta instead of making it herself, although common sense told her it tasted much the same and saved a lot of time. Her thoughts went round and round in circles until finally she wadded up the sheet of paper and threw it across the room. Lou, who had just come in, looked understandably startled.

Jeez, all I did was walk through the door and you’re throwing things at me?

No, it’s this competition. I can’t think of a good slogan.

Why don’t you sleep on it? You might dream one up. When’s the deadline to enter?

Zukie squinted at the fine print, since as usual, she had left her reading glasses somewhere else. The 30th. That’s next week, so I haven’t got much time. Too bad I didn’t know about it sooner.

You’ll think of something. Just focus on what makes this product different and better than anything else you could buy.

Yeah, but the problem is that I don’t ever buy anything like this. So I don’t know what the others are like. Canned soup is about as instant as I ever get.

Use your imagination. God knows you’ve got enough of that.

Zukie sighed and took a clean sheet of paper from the pad.

Meal, deal, veal ...

Get real. Lou grinned.

Thanks. Or, ‘In a hurry? Don’t worry’.

That’s not too bad.

You think? No, I reckon I can do better than that. For the first time, she noticed he was wearing his jacket. You off somewhere?

Poker game at Neal’s. I’ll be back about eleven.

OK. Good luck.

But when Lou had gone out the door and she’d heard him drive away, Zukie put her pencil down. Their comments about ten thousand dollars not being worth murdering someone over came back to her. It wasn’t that she wished anyone dead, but she had to admit it had been exciting to be caught up in a handful of homicide investigations over the past year. Not only had she been able to be of some real help to the Seattle Police Department, but as a bonus, her only daughter, who was thirty-two and should have gotten married long ago, had developed a romantic relationship with one of the investigating officers. Zukie was keeping her fingers crossed that Carol, a successful accountant, would work out that Jim Lanigan’s assets outweighed any liabilities.

But she agreed with Lou; it was unlikely that a prize for a slogan-writing contest would lead to any criminal activity. On that thought, she got up and went to the living room, where she slotted a DVD of one of her favorite detective dramas into the player.

When it finished an hour later, she made a quick tour of the house, locking the back door and turning out unnecessary lights, but leaving the porch and living room lights on for Lou. Normally she would have followed this with a long, lazy soak in the bath tub, but she knew the hot weather meant she’d feel like a poached egg if she did. So she stepped into the shower and let the warm water flow over her, then dried herself with a fluffy pink towel before donning her nightgown, a lightweight cotton one decorated with little roses.

She had planned a restful hour of reading a mystery novel in bed, but as she reached her bedroom, she heard the sound of Lou’s key in the front door. She put the book down and went back into the living room.

You’re back early, she said, looking at the clock on the mantel where the hands showed a quarter to ten. Neal throw you out because you won too much?

No, I’m back early because I never got there. Some idiot rear-ended me on Beacon Avenue on the way over and the cops got called out. By the time we finished all the paperwork and everything there didn’t seem to be much point in going to the game.

Are you all right? She scanned him quickly for visible damage. There didn’t seem to be any and she exhaled in relief. She didn’t want to have to tell his two daughters he’d been injured, because she suspected they’d blame her even if it wasn’t her fault.

Yeah, I am, but the car isn’t. The whole rear end is crunched and the exhaust is hanging by a thread. It wasn’t driveable, so I had to call the insurance company and they sent a tow truck out.

Why didn’t you call me?

Why? There wasn’t anything you could have done.

No, not to the car, but I could have brought you back. How’d you get here?

The cops gave me a ride. I don’t know if they were supposed to, but it was only about a mile or so and they offered, so I decided it would be better than walking.

Zukie mulled this information. So you don’t have a car now.

No, but I can probably get a loaner from the insurance company. I’ll check tomorrow. Right now, I’m just mad. That son of a bitch, he can’t have been even looking at the road or he wouldn’t have hit me. Probably on his phone or texting or something.

Was he drunk?

No, I don’t think so. Just stupid. Stupid to hit me and even more stupid because he doesn’t have any insurance.  

Lou took off his jacket and threw it on the chair. Normally Zukie would have commented on this breach of housekeeping rules, but looking at Lou’s thunderous expression, she decided it would be better not to.

As long as you’re OK, that’s the main thing.  

I suppose so. It’s not the only thing.

Zukie frowned at him. You worrying about how much it will cost to fix it?

Well, I have a pretty high deductible to keep the premiums down, so yeah, it’s going to cost quite a bit. And I opted not to get the cover for getting hit by uninsured drivers, so I guess that makes me stupid, too.

No, it doesn’t, Zukie said firmly. Don’t worry about it, Lou. I’ll win that competition and get the ten thousand dollars. That will pay for the car repairs and have lots left over.

A smile flickered across Lou’s face and he felt his anger ebbing away. He had to admire Zukie’s self-confidence, although he doubted it was justified in this case. Still, there was always a remote possibility and he had learned not to underestimate her.

Be nice if you did, he said. I see you’re just about ready for bed, so we’ll discuss it tomorrow morning.

OK.

Oh, and Zuke?

Yeah?

Even if it doesn’t pan out, thanks for the offer.

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ZUKIE  was up early the following morning, her mind already spinning with ideas. She poured her first cup of coffee and watched the sun turn the sky behind the Cascade Mountains a brilliant pink and orange. It was about as close as she came to religious belief, since she had never really forgiven God for making Eddie suffer and taking him away before his time. Lou, who was more devout, had tried to convince her everything happened for a reason, but Zukie wasn’t buying it. Still, she appreciated the sunrises.

She turned her attention back to the kitchen and decided that this morning Lou would be eating scrambled eggs and bacon, with a slice of whole wheat toast. His daughters had been skeptical of the nutritional aspects of Zukie’s cooking until she had informed them that the alternative was having him turn up at one of their houses three times a day expecting to be fed, and they had backed off. And she got very few complaints from Lou, who appreciated her output and had no desire to eat what he called rabbit food.

She could hear him whistling in the bathroom, so that meant she had eight minutes to scramble the eggs and fry the bacon. He walked into the kitchen just as she slid the food onto his plate and poured a cup of coffee. She refilled her own cup and sat down opposite him at the kitchen table as he started to eat.

Half the time; twice the taste, she said.

Lou paused with a forkful of scrambled eggs in mid-air.

What is?

That’s my slogan for FastMeals.

Oh. That’s not bad.

Of course it isn’t. I might think of a better one, but if I don’t, I’ll use that.

Twice the taste of what, though?

Don’t be so picky. Twice the taste of the other products, maybe. Don’t know how you’d prove that, but slogans don’t have to make sense, do they? It’s just something to catch the customer’s attention long enough for them to decide they can’t live without that product.

I suppose so. Lou worked his way through his bacon and eggs, while Zukie watched him  approvingly. Her philosophy had always been that feeding people was the most constructive thing you could