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    Write to Me
    Write to Me
    Write to Me
    Ebook135 pages2 hours

    Write to Me

    By Mary Elizabeth Rogers

    ()

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    About this ebook

    “Write To Me”
    J.D. is a feisty single woman who lives in a Cape Cod cottage with two cats that she prefers to people. She supports herself by income from investments and by writing one moderately successful mystery novel a year. She writes to eighty-five penpals from all over the country, which she regards as true friends, although she has never met any of them.
    When Elizabeth, a long time pal doesn’t answer her letters, J.D. becomes worried, and when she receives a frantic letter from the same pal, she decides she must investigate though she hates to leave her beloved Cape.
    As soon as J.D. arrives in town, she realizes she is unwelcome. Elizabeth’s nephew, Tim, and owner of Peaceful Acres Nursing Home forbids her to visit saying she will only upset his aunt. The police chief plainly thinks there is no problem, and even Elizabeth, when J.D. does go to her home, doesn’t seem overjoyed to see her.
    J.D. decides she isn’t needed after all and is on the road home when she is involved in a car accident and briefly hospitalized. Battered by her accident, J.D. is taken under the wing of the handsome and sexy Mickey Maroni, casino owner and son of the crime boss. She visits Peaceful Acres while waiting for her car to be repaired and gives a talk there.
    Tim is murdered soon after J.D. comes to town, and she is questioned about some pills found near the scene of her accident.
    While her car is being repaired, J.D. revisits Peaceful Acres Nursing home where she makes an amazing discovery..
    With help from an unexpected source, J.D. solves the crime and thankfully returns home to her beloved Cape Cod.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMary Elizabeth Rogers
    Release dateNov 18, 2013
    ISBN9781311232144
    Write to Me
    Author

    Mary Elizabeth Rogers

    Mary Elizabeth Rogers is the pen name of a former real estate agent and newspaper correspondent. She lives on Cape Cod with her husband and two cats.

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      Book preview

      Write to Me - Mary Elizabeth Rogers

      Write to Me . . .

      A lighthearted mystery set on Cape Cod,

      where red herrings abound.

      By Mary Elizabeth Rogers

      Copyright 2013 Mary Elizabeth Rogers

      Smashwords Edition

      Write to Me . . .

      Chapter 1 - J.D. explains her life style

      It’s another beautiful day on Cape Cod! The Cape is always beautiful, even when it rains. Some days I can’t believe I really live here. And if I never go off-Cape again, it is fine with me. This morning for instance, there were four downy woodpeckers at the suet feeder, and two wild rabbits eating the tall grass in the yard. Best of all, as far as I am concerned, there was no sign of people anywhere.

      I moved to Cape Cod in September of 1999 leaving people-pleasing behind me. I was burned out. Burned out from working real estate in a slow market, a husband from Hell, relatives who borrowed money and didn’t pay it back. Perhaps I’m not the type for long-term relationships. I like to do things my way, and I don’t care who knows it.

      Case in point, my marriage to Henry. When we were first dating, he told me he loved my independence. I’d never want to change you, he told me. You say what you think, and I respect that. I even love the quirky way you dress. You’re perfect just the way you are.

      This was before we said, I do. After, all that changed. You need to be more careful what you say, says Henry. You realize I have a certain position to maintain. If you want to be a flaming liberal, for God’s sake, do it on your own time.

      And now it was, When are you going to get some grown-up clothes? I’m embarrassed to take you anywhere. You look like you only shop in thrift stores.

      I do! Live with it, I snapped back.

      When dear Henry began to compare me to his secretary, I should have seen the writing on the wall. "Bev always looks nice. You should get her to go shopping with you.

      Bev agrees with me on the war. We need to stand up for America’s rights.

      You left out a few words. You must have meant ‘America’s rights to big oil.’

      Bev makes the best spaghetti.

      And how would you know that?

      Well, you get the picture. I haven’t heard from Bev and Henry since their wedding three years ago.

      Some days, I think that if I never see another human being, that would be all right. Wouldn’t be practical though.

      I do leave my house sometimes, to get groceries, go to the library or walk the beach. I love the ocean. That’s the main reason I moved to Cape Cod. I go to the beach early in the morning, rain or shine, even when it’s snowing. I go again around sunset. I know every seagull. And I read a lot.

      Two years ago, I took a course in self-defense at the police station. Sergeant Tom McGrath told me I was the best student he’d ever seen. Well, I was the most motivated for sure! A skinny, well let’s say, fashionably thin woman, living alone like I do, needs to know a few tricks. Just in case!

      I also have my Dad’s shotgun. I keep it loaded, of course. If someone did break in, I doubt I’d have time to load. Dad must be turning over in his grave! He always said to never keep a loaded gun in the house. But so far, my two cats haven’t shot anyone. Neither have I, thank God! But I’m sure I could if I had to. Probably I won’t have to now that Tiny moved in next door.

      Tiny and I are the only two living people on this street. The cemetery is at the end of our road, and the people in there are very quiet neighbors. Tiny and I aren’t exactly close friends, but we speak daily, and we share the same need for privacy. Everybody says he’s retarded. Maybe he is, maybe not.

      Tim lives on state aid to dysfunctional people. He gets an occasional visit from his social worker. Otherwise, he keeps to himself, and watches a lot of TV. I can hear him yelling at the referee or the umpire when a game is on. I take Tiny a pie or a casserole now and then, and he and his pit bull show up if any one tries to cruise by my place. The pit bull, her name is Susie, is a real sweetie. She’d lick you to death maybe. Nobody but Tiny and I ever get close enough to find out.

      Tiny is a man-mountain, so strong that he carried my big oak table in for me with one hand. I understand that he once knocked down a building with a sledge-hammer. After that stunt, folks gladly let him alone.

      I met Susie in my yard one day shortly after Tiny moved in. She had broken loose from her unbreakable chain, maybe because she saw my big cat in the window.

      I heard this awful racket and hurried into the living room to find Hershey hissing and spitting, puffed up to twice his normal size. Susie was just standing there, looking puzzled. Her chain was dragging and I was afraid she’d get tangled up in it and maybe hurt herself some way. I have never been afraid of dogs, so I rushed out.

      Susie seemed overjoyed to see a person and began licking my legs while I grabbed for her chain. Then she licked my face. Eventually I calmed her down enough to walk her next door and hand her over to Tiny who had been washing his floor and hadn’t noticed when she broke free. His door was standing open and when he saw me standing there, he yelled, Hi! Be right out! Then taking the chain, Susie, what have you done? You broke the chain again. Susie was now leaping up on Tiny, licking his face.

      Thanks for bringing her back, he said. I’m Tiny O’Connell. They call me Tiny cause I’m so big. He reached out a hand to shake, realized it was wet and wiped it on his pants She’s Susie.

      I’m J.D, and you’re welcome. I turned to go, then turned back. Do you chain her up very often?

      Nah, only today like when I’m washing the floor. She breaks all her chains anyway. But my landlord says if she bothers anyone, I’m outta here. Did she bother you? He looked anxious. Susie just smiled and leaned against my leg.

      No. You don’t have to chain her on my account. I don’t like to see dogs tied up anyway.

      Me neither. Hey, I like you.

      Thanks. Listen, I have to go now. I just came to bring Susie back.

      Goodbye. Tiny went back to washing his floor although it didn’t look like he was doing much more than spreading the dirt around.

      Tiny keeps to himself and he is always home, much like me. He gets his groceries and six pizzas a week delivered to his shack. He doesn’t drink anymore though since the sledge hammer/building thing, except for Pepsi, which he buys by the case. Can’t stand the stuff myself. I stick to coffee or bottled water. We speak when we see each other and Susie comes over a lot every time I go out in the yard. The cats have gotten used to seeing her now.

      Today was Tiny’s pizza delivery day. Can’t remember the last time I had a pizza. I used to love them, but food allergies make that sort of thing impossible now. I have to eat healthy food, and so I spend time making tasty and nutritious meals for myself. I truly enjoy eating alone while reading a good book. If I don’t happen to have a good book, I listen to classical music on the radio. Even when I was married, I ate most of my meals alone. I came to prefer it that way. My spouse used to eat in front of the TV.

      I like being alone. I’m dependent on no one. My cats give me plenty of love. They both follow me from room to room, and sleep on my bed at night. They’re always ready for petting or brushing, or to comfort me if I am sad or lonely, which I mostly never am since I don’t have people around to cause those emotions.

      Unlike Tiny though, I am not a recluse! I got very angry when one of those book reviewers called me that! One especially mean reviewer said that maybe I just don’t like people. That isn’t true. I like people just fine. Well, some people anyway. I know how to socialize, talk to strangers, how to sell my books and myself. God knows I did enough of that kind of thing in the beginning. Everything my agent said to do, I did. There wasn’t much choice as a new writer. I had to do all that to help sell my books. I was even good at it!

      But eventually, I realized that every time I completed a tour, I got sick. I’d go home spend a week or two in bed, recovering from the latest designer virus, or just plain old fatigue, too much of the wrong food, whatever. I was miserable. After the fourth book, I said, No more book tours. My agent wasn’t happy, but she made the best of it and my books continued to sell. I’m told that I became a mystery to my readers, and that had some positive results as well as some negative ones. Some fans seem to find it intriguing.

      One way I guard my privacy is by refusing to use email. I want no part of the Internet. That annoyed my agent more than anything else I did or didn’t do. But somehow, no matter how much I tried to guard my email address, it had always leaked

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