Dumpster Dicing (Bunco Biddies Book 1) Read online

  DUMPSTER DICING

  Julie B Cosgrove

  A Bunco Biddies Mystery

  Book 1

  Copyright 2016 Julie B Cosgrove

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Cover Art by Joan Alley

  Edited by Susan M. Baganz

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means without the permission of Prism Book Group. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Published by Prism Book Group

  ISBN-10: 1-943104-48-4

  ISBN-13: 978-1-943104-48-2

  First Edition, 2016

  Published in the United States of America

  Contact info: [email protected]

  http://www.prismbookgroup.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DUMPSTER DICING

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  ENDORSEMENTS

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY- SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY–SEVEN

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Endorsements

  “Julie’s a genuine jewel when it comes to dishing this delightful tale of sleuthing by seniors.” Mary Daheim, author of the B&B and Alpine/Emma Lord mysteries

  “The Bunco Biddies are here to serve. From the moment the gals decide to help the busy local police solve a murder on their territory, Betsy Ann, Ethel, Janie, and Mildred will wiggle their way into your heart with their determination to learn “real” detective work while protecting Sunset Acres and serving the best bakery and tea.” Lisa Lickel, author of the best-selling Buried Treasure mysteries

  “What a wonderful start to a new series! Ms. Cosgrove’s Bunco Biddies cozies will be a welcome addition to many reading lists, mine included.” Sharon McGregor, author of the Island and Boarding Kennel mysteries.

  “What happens when you find body parts in the dumpster? You investigate! What a delightful read! Julie Cosgrove has created a laugh out loud mystery with quirky older characters. Bring on the next book!” Cynthia Hickey, author of the Nosy Neighbor Mystery Series

  DEDICATION

  To all who are getting older, but are still sharp.

  May society recognize your worth.

  And to my son, James, who recognizes mine.

  Chapter One

  Betsy Ann Hunt huffed up the hill, breathing in time to the slap of her sneakers on the early morning dew-dampened pavement. The lavender, velour-covered backside of her neighbor and Bunco playing buddy, Janie Manson, wobbled ahead of her, her elbows swinging in sync with her steps, no doubt to some early Beatles song on her I-pod. Janie claimed to be one of the privileged few who squealed on the first row of the band’s concert at Sam Houston Coliseum during their first British Invasion tour in April of 1965. But Janie bragged about a lot of things, such as her physical stamina—which appeared to be ebbing at the moment as a result of the sultry Texas humidity.

  Betsy Ann urged her sore calves to accelerate on the incline. With every ounce of gumption mustered in her quivering ligaments, she edged alongside Janie. Exhaling a slight wheeze, she tapped her friend on the shoulder. “Can we slow down?”

  “Huh?” Janie pulled out the left ear bud. She waited at the top of the lane near the entrance to the club house parking lot in their fifty-five-plus community of Sunset Acres. The rumble of the sanitation truck on its Tuesday morning rounds to empty the dumpsters drowned out Betsy Ann’s breathless response.

  “What did you say?” Janie jogged in place as she leaned closer.

  “Have...to...stop.” Betsy Ann raised a hand with fingers spread and then pressed it to her thigh as she bent over. Her ample breasts bounced with each chest heave under her fuchsia zip-up jogging jacket.

  “Okay, all you had to do was say so.” Janie clicked off her music. “It’s only been three weeks since you slipped on your tailbone, Betsy Ann. I realize you gained six pounds lying around, but are you sure you should be power walking so soon? Dr. Pearson gave me strict orders about exercising when I chipped my hip bone two years ago.”

  Always knows everything. With gritted teeth to keep her from speaking her mind, Betsy Ann straightened upright in slow motion as she counted to ten. But the sincere concern on Janie’s apple-cheeked face dissolved her angst. She edged up to her friend’s ear and spoke louder to compensate for the trash vehicle’s droning engine. “I’m fine, really. Just need a breather for a moment or two.” A whiff of three-day-old, fermented garbage combined with diesel fumes left her a tad lightheaded. She waved a hand over her nose. “Whew, away from that monster.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  The two widows eased to a bench under one of the many sprawling live oak trees dotting the community. Their eyes followed the commercial dumpster as it rose in the air. The sanitation lorry’s built-in forklift maneuvered the box up and over the cab.

  “Amazing how they lift and dump, isn’t it? The dumpster must weigh several tons.”

  Janie nodded. “Hydraulics, no doubt. My brother became a mechanical engineer, you know. Explained them to me one Thanksgiving, oh, back in 1972...”

  Betsy Ann’s eyes glazed over. Janie exhibited the epitome of a walking encyclopedia. Her mind, even though encased in seventy-two-year-old wrinkles, still resembled a sharpened pencil lead.

  Her attention left her jogging mate’s diatribe on modern mechanics and turned to the labored whir of the metal arms grasping the garbage container. Black plastic sacks, white ones, and various cartons tumbled into the truck’s receptacle like upturned chocolate-covered mints into a wide open mouth. Then, something long and blue-jean colored caught Betsy Ann’s eye. She jolted to her feet.

  “Oh, my word. A leg! With an orthopedic shoe attached.”

  “Dear, I thought you quit taking oxycodone for pain.” Janie pushed a sweat-dampened silver curl off her brow.

&nb
sp; “I’m serious. Look.”

  Janie’s gaze followed her friend’s finger. “Oh, my heavens. It is!” She jumped up as she waved her hands over her head. “Stop. Stop.”

  Her words didn’t reach the city worker’s ears over the automatic grinds and thunks.

  Betsy Ann dashed in front and proceeded to slam her hands onto the driver’s door.

  A middle-aged man knitted his thick black eyebrows. He jerked the lift to stop and rolled down the window. “What?”

  The community’s trash receptacle dangled at a precarious angle.

  The senior citizens sputtered in unison. “Stop. There’s a body.”

  The man shook his head in confusion.

  Betsy Ann motioned to the back. “A body. Get it? Dead person.”

  The man shut down the engine. “¿Muerto?”

  “Yes. Uh, sí.” She bobbed her cropped, reddish-blonde hair.

  The worker crawled down from his seat and walked to the back of the sanitation truck, which rumbled and spewed more putrid fumes. The dumpster titled down at a forty-five-degree angle. Suspended in time clung numerous trash bags, pizza boxes, a broken lawn chair and...an arm?

  “Blessed Mary, Mother of God.” The man crossed himself and dug a cell phone from his back pocket. He punched in a number and began sputtering Spanish rapid fire like a machine gun from a 1940’s film noir movie.

  The two spinsters edged around to peer up into the dumpster’s contents, their cupped palms shading their eyes from the morning sun’s rays. Janie scrunched her mouth to one side. “If I am not mistaken, it’s Edwin Newman in there.”

  “Who?” Betsy Ann swiveled her torso towards her sprinting partner.

  “You know. The old grouch who moved down the street into the Williams’ old condo last Friday.”

  “Oh, yes. The Williams transferred to the assisted living units, didn’t they? He developed advancing Alzheimer’s and she’s recovering from double hip replacements. Or a knee and a hip? Oh, dear, I get fuddled sometimes about all that medical stuff. So many of us are losing body parts and getting titanium joints...”

  “Betsy Ann!” Janie hissed. “Body. Dumpster. Remember?”

  “Yes. My, aren’t we testy?” She brushed her jacket with the palm of her hand. “Why do you think those belong to... What did you say his name was?”

  “Newman. Edwin Newman. He chewed out Mildred Fletcher because her Yorkie barked at him. Threw a coffee mug at the poor animal. Whack! Right on the nose. It left a raw, sore spot.”

  “He did?”

  Janie gave her a quick nod. “Mildred must apply a special salve on him three times a day. Says it cost her $22.95.”

  “On Mr. Newman?”

  Janie scoffed into her velour v-neck. “No, the Yorkie.”

  Betsy Ann’s lips formed an “O.”

  Janie pointed to the dumpster. “Mr. Newman’s in there all right.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Janie bent to Betsy Ann’s ear. “I see his head.”

  Chapter Two

  Sirens pulsated from the highway. In minutes, the red hook and ladder truck from the Alamoville, Texas, fire department wound past the oak tree-dotted entrance like a barrel racer steering a trusting mare around the metal drums in a rodeo arena. It screeched to a halt as the wailing abruptly ceased mid-cadence. Close behind, an emergency medical services van bumped through the front gates, followed by two police cars and a Texas Department of Public Safety vehicle.

  Janie and Betsy Ann sat on the bench to take in the orchestrated mayhem. Residents shuffled toward the scene, some in robes and others in street-wear. Betsy Ann clicked her teeth. “The sounds of sirens draw folks in this community the way the ice cream truck’s jingle once attracted my kids “

  “Yep. Everyone wants to find out who fell, croaked, or suffered a heart attack.”

  Ethel MacDaniels, one of the Bunco Biddies, as they fondly dubbed the twelve of them who gathered for the game each Thursday at 6:00 p.m., sauntered towards them, wrapped in her fleece housecoat. Day-old mascara smudged across her crow’s feet. “What’s going on?”

  “Morning, Ethel.” Janie grinned. “You fell asleep watching TV again didn’t you?”

  “How d’ya guess?”

  Janie motioned to Ethel’s lower eyelids.

  Ethel wiped across the right, darkened half-moon and stared at her forefinger, now sporting a grayish smudge mark. “Oh.” She dabbed her digit on her tongue and began to rub.

  “Hardly shows, hon.” Betsy Ann waved the gesture away. “No one will notice, not with all the commotion.”

  Ethel peered over at the row of emergency vehicles. “What happened?”

  Janie stretched her legs out in front of her. “We found a body in the dumpster. Well, pieces of one, that is.”

  Ethel’s mouth opened as wide as her eyes.

  Betsy Ann became animated. “Janie thinks they belong to a mean old man who moved into the William’s condo on Solar Boulevard.” She turned her head back to Janie. “What did you say his name was? Edmund?”

  Janie straightened her back. “Ed-win. Edwin Newman.”

  Ethel’s head bobbed in rapid jerks. “Oh, the one who beats up dogs? Yes, I heard. Poor Poopsy. Mildred seemed quite irritated with him.”

  “With Poopsy?”

  “No, Betsy Ann. With Mr. Newman.” Janie rolled her bluish-silver eyes.

  A black car with a red light pulsating on its dashboard pulled into the drive. A forty-something man in a dark suit and gray tie hopped out. His baritone voice acknowledged the caller broadcasting through the Bluetooth in his ear. “Yes, Mr. Mayor. I’m at the scene. Well, the first responders with the Alamoville Fire Department are here. So are two of my officers and a Texas state trooper. No, sir. I’m not sure why he’s here. No signs of the coroner, yet.” His boots crunched the asphalt gravel. “Yeah, tape’s going up now.” He whistled. “Hey, Officer Jenkins. Get those people back behind the barrier.”

  “Hi, Blake. How’s my daughter and the kids?” Janie flashed the professionally dressed man a sweet smile.

  Detective Blake Johnson tapped the ear device to end the call as he walked over to the bench. “Hi, Janie. They’re fine...” He halted mid-sentence. “For Pete’s sake. Can’t they follow instructions? Excuse me for a moment, ladies.” He took several purposeful steps toward the crowd, his shoulders arrow-straight.

  Janie bent closer to her friends. “Melody doesn’t think they’re ‘fine.’ Last night, she sniffled to me on the phone about Blake missing yet another of Ellie’s volleyball games. Plus, he had to leave before Jamie gave his recital last Friday. Got a call and skedaddled. Ever since they put his partner on medical leave two months ago...” Her thought process halted at the sound of her son-in-law’s bellow.

  “Jenkins. Now?” Blake jerked his thumb to the growing crowd of on-lookers, now peppered with local TV reporters.

  The underling officer shrugged his shoulders and continued his efforts to corral the silvered heads and camera-toting press into a contained area as uniformed police taped off the perimeter around the dumpster.

  Blake shook his head and walked back to the trio. “Sorry, ladies. Your neighbors are being a little too curious.”

  Betsy Ann flipped her wrist. “They always are.”

  “Might as well be herding cats away from a bowl of cream.” Janie humphed. “Half of them are deaf, and the other half just pretend to be.”

  He snickered and bent to peck his mother-in-law’s cheek. “Good to see you. Melody says you are coming to dinner next Friday?”

  “That’s the plan.” She narrowed her focus. “Hope you’ll be there.”

  “All depends.” He tipped an imaginary hat rim. “Betsy Ann. Ethel. Nice to see you as well. You ladies should return to your homes now.”

  Janie rose to her feet. “I think you’ll need us to stay here.”

  “Why?”

  “We discovered the body.” She pointed back and forth between herself and Betsy Ann. “Well, some of
him anyway.”

  Betsy Ann shuddered.

  Blake rocked back on the heels of his boots. “You’re serious? Are you ladies all right?”

  Both motioned that they were.

  “In that case, why don’t you wait here, out of the way of the mayhem? I’ll call you over in a few minutes to get your statements.”

  Ethel gasped. “Just think. A murder.” She danced on her tiptoes and clapped her hands. “Oh, I’ve never witnessed a real one before. Only on TV.”

  Janie patted her arm. “Yes, sweetie.” She turned to her puzzled son-in-law with a smirk. “Ethel owns four bookcases filled with cozy mystery paperbacks. Catalogs the crimes in alpha order.”

  Blake pursed his lips. “Um, hmm.” He back-stepped before pivoting on his boot tip. He strutted to speak to the emergency medical technician tending to one perplexed, pale-faced sanitation worker wrapped in a disposable silver blanket.

  “Humph. What a wimp. None of us are falling apart.” Janie jutted out her chin and sat down on the bench again.

  Ethel leaned against a tree trunk. “Well, he is sort of young, so it stands to reason he hasn’t witnessed that many dead people.”

  Betsy Ann re-crossed her legs. “Me, I have visited dozens of people in caskets. My parents, elder brother, my beloved late husband, Joe...” She made a sign of the cross over her heart with a pout. “Next came Aunt Gertrude, Uncle Ted, oh, and Shannon Perkins when she keeled from an aneurysm during a Bridge match three years ago.” She stopped on the seventh finger. “And, of course, President Johnson was my first. We stood three hours in line at the Capitol to pass by him lying in state. But I was much younger then.”