Baby Bunco Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  POST SCRIPT

  BIOGRAPHY

  Thank you

  You Can Help!

  God Can Help!

  Free Book Offer

  Baby Bunco

  Book 2

  Bunco Biddies Mystery

  Julie B Cosgrove

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Baby Bunco

  COPYRIGHT 2017 by Julie B Cosgrove

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version(R), NIV(R), Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

  Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

  Prism is a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410

  The Triangle prism logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  Publishing History

  Prism Edition, 2017

  Paperback Edition ISBN 978-1-943104-86-4

  Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-943104-85-7

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  Dedicated to my great niece, Emily,

  who is a budding mystery aficionado, bassoon player, and a pretty good knitter.

  ONE

  “Did you say she found a baby?” Janie stopped mid-roll, the pink and white dice warming in her clutched fist. “Here in Sunset Acres, a retirement community?”

  Babs, seated to her left at the Bunco table, nodded. “That’s what Mildred told me as we were walking up to your front stoop tonight. Right, Mildred?”

  “I went to collect a few more of my things since I’m staying with Ethel, and no more than three minutes later the leasing agent pounded on my door. ‘Come see,’ she motioned to me. Her eyes grew as wide as those mega donuts at the Crusty Baker.” She thumped her pencil against her score pad and groaned. “It took every ounce of gumption to follow her into that—ugh!—place next door.” She quivered her shoulders.

  Janie shifted her gaze to the woman sitting across from her. “Ethel, you knew about this?”

  “I did.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?” Her voice elevated to echo-off-the-ceiling volume. She harrumphed and pivoted to face the storyteller. “Mildred. What happened?”

  The other eight ladies halted their Bunco round. Each swiveled to listen in, their eyes fixated on the first card table.

  Mildred leaned back and raised her voice for all to hear. “I paused at the steps, determined to not go inside. Only peek in from the front door. Then high-pitched, frantic cries came from the direction of the bathroom. Well, I had to rush to its aid. Every motherly fiber in my being dictated it.”

  Murmurs and head bobs filtered through Janie’s living room.

  Mildred sniffled. “Poor little thing. Alone, scared, and red as a beet from wailing so hard. That house is cursed, I tell you.”

  Janie patted her hand. “Now, dear. Just because someone murdered Edwin soon after he moved in there doesn’t mean...”

  Mildred shot from her seat and paced, her arms flaying in circles, resembling the duck windmill on top of the antiques store down the road. “Ever since I relocated into Sunset Acres it’s been one thing after another. Edwin murdered, then my nephew Bobby arrested, and now an abandoned newborn in a bathtub? This is supposed to be a quiet retirement community.”

  “Maybe because you live on Solar Boulevard.” Annie huffed. “Nothing weird ever happens on my street, Sunrise Court, except for an occasional stray golf ball. Then again, if you kept your nose out of everyone’s business...” Her voice trailed off with a smug cock of her head.

  “My nose?”

  The other ladies mumbled to each other.

  Ethel blew a whistle through her teeth. “OK, everyone calm down. We all lived through the ruckus of one of our neighbor’s brutal murder last month. It’s not Mildred’s fault. Nor mine or Janie’s that this happened...”

  Betsy Ann raised her hand, as if her legs once again dangled from under her desk in Ms. Everett’s kindergarten classroom.

  Janie rolled her eyes. “What?”

  “Well, it is sort of our fault.” She pointed to Janie, Ethel, and herself. “We helped solve the case and Bobby did wind up in the middle of all of the commotion. That’s why he threatened you and tried to break into your house.” She folded her hands and gazed down at them. “I’m just saying...”

  “Duly noted.” Janie felt the healing, pinkish wound on her neck where his knife had grazed her skin. “I must add, my dear son-in-law, Chief Detective Blake Johnson, appreciated all of our”—her hands encircled the room—“research, sleuthing and cunningness. He told me so.” A smile curled along the edges of her mouth. “Besides, it did beat back the doldrums for a while, right?’

  A few silvery heads bounced in agreement as the condo sprinkled with giggles. Annie crossed her arms and harrumphed.

  Janie led Mildred back to her designated chair. She patted her on the shoulders and scanned the room, making certain every slightly glaucoma-pressed or cataract-corrected eye fixated on her. “Now we must figure out who placed a newborn baby in a vacant garden home bathtub and why?”

  Babs cocked an eyebrow. “We do?”

  “Absolutely. Let’s face facts. Someone put the little thing in a home in our community so she would be discovered. Therefore, it is our responsibility—”

  “Well, now. I’m not sure...” Mildred frowned.

  “We are all over fifty-five, correct? The child certainly doesn’t belong to one of us. If so, we should be renamed Sarah after Abraham’s elderly wife in Genesis.”

  “Or Elizabeth in the New Testament.” Betsy Ann added, this time with a forefinger, not a full hand, aloft.

  “Exactly. Therefore, unless one of you wants to confess...”

  Cackles ensued.

 
Janie allowed the cacophony to settle, her eyes glimmering with escalating excitement. “I, for one, do not think this is a coincidence that this wee one ended up in Edwin’s old garden home. There may be a connection we overlooked. Blake never discovered who left long, black hairs in that comb or ruby red lipstick on those empty beer cans when the police searched Edwin’s place for clues.”

  Ethel scoffed. “Pffft. We all can guess what she was, even if we don’t know who.”

  The women eyed each other and chuckled.

  Annie shook her head. “But the officials only released him from prison a couple of days before he died, right? Last I heard, it takes nine months to make a baby.”

  Mildred arched her eyebrow. “I thought it only took one night.”

  Several of the elderly ladies laughed so loud Janie’s china tea service jiggled.

  Janie pumped her hand toward the floor. “All right. All right. Even so, someone knew that home remained unoccupied.”

  Babs flipped up her palms. “His demise dominated the local news for several weeks. Which means thousands of readers learned about it.”

  “More than that,” Roseanne Rodriguez spoke up. “Hundreds of thousands. It was all over the nightly news, too.”

  Mildred flayed her arms. “That narrows it down a bunch.”

  More laughter.

  Janie tapped her fist to the card table. The hum of comments faded. “True, Roseanne. However, I don’t recall them specifically giving out the address, even if everyone heard Betsy Ann and I discovered him in the community dumpster here at Sunset Acres.”

  “So, whoever dropped the baby girl off cased the joint and determined no one lived there anymore.” Ethel, the one with the massive cataloged mystery paperback collection, offered the proverbial gumshoe response.

  “Which means they planned to leave her at that garden home.” Janie snapped her fingers. “Yes, that has to be it. So a person or persons unknown, who wouldn’t attract attention as they wandered around our senior retirement village, knew about this pregnancy and somehow persuaded the mother to give up the poor thing.”

  Babs clucked her teeth. “Well, it does happen.”

  “Yes, but what gets me is they figured someone would find the infant fairly quickly.”

  “A ‘For Lease or Sale’ sign is planted plain as day on the front lawn.” Annie shoved the last bite of butterscotch brownie into her mouth.

  Janie gave her a nod. “Good point. Still, there must be homes all over this area for sale or rent. Why our little corner of the world? A fifty-five plus community. Why not a neighborhood with young families? That’s what we must discover. Something tells me the answer might be the key to the whole dilemma.”

  ~*~

  Ethel leaned into Betsy Ann. “Get a load of Janie. Proud as a peacock and giddy as a school girl. She’s in her element. A new game’s afoot.”

  Betsy Ann lowered her auburn, curly head into her hands. “Here we go again. Bunco Biddies to the rescue whether anyone wants us involved or not.”

  TWO

  Janie wiggled her foot as Mrs. Jacobs, the community manager, shuffled papers on her desk. Betsy Ann, seated in the chair next to Janie, flashed her stern warnings and mouthed the words, “Calm down.”

  Janie huffed and re-crossed her legs.

  “Hmm. Let’s see. I know I put your to-do list somewhere.” Mrs. Jacob’s reading glasses dangled on the tip of her nose, the crystal-beaded string attached to each earpiece reflecting the midday sunshine filtering through the windows.

  In order to stealthily gather clues as to the identity and history of the newest Sunset Acres resident, Edwin Newman, now deceased via butchery, the women had volunteered as office staff a few afternoons a week. Even after the case had been solved, the two agreed to continue helping out as needed. Working a few hours twice a week passed the time and made them feel productive and useful. For Janie, the job provided the added benefit of first-hand insight into the happenings of her neighbors. So it miffed her that she hadn’t been one of the first to learn about this newborn.

  Janie decided on the direct approach. “Mrs. Jacobs. Mildred told me the leasing agent found a baby in the bathtub at Edwin Newman’s place?”

  The middle-aged woman rocked back in her executive desk chair and tented her fingers in front of her. “I guess there is no such thing as keeping a secret from you.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Betsy Ann muttered under her breath.

  Janie dashed a glance to Betsy Ann, who looked away. Janie then returned her attention to their manager. “Where is the infant now?”

  “Children’s’ Protective Services came for her.”

  Janie clucked her tongue. “According to Mildred, the poor thing lay naked.”

  Mrs. Jacob removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “Yes. Brand spanking new per the emergency medical technician. Still had a shriveling umbilical cord attached to her little tummy.”

  Janie cleared her throat. “So, not a hospital delivery.”

  “Apparently not. Probably some wayward teenager got herself in trouble. Their guess is the boyfriend, or her girlfriends, helped her deliver. They panicked and decided to dump the newborn.”

  “But here?”

  “Exactly my reaction.” Mrs. Jacobs sighed. “In all the years I’ve managed this quiet, rural retirement village, never did such strange goings on occur. I do not understand why they are now...” She rose from her chair and stared out the window, her arms hugging her torso.

  Janie placed her hands on her knees and straightened her back. “If there is anything we can do to help discover...”

  Betsy furrowed her brow and riveted her eyes to Janie’s face. Her lips formed the word “We?”

  “Would you?” Mrs. Jacobs swiveled on her high heel and faced the two elderly residents. “You assisted your son-in-law in solving Edwin’s murder, and I am sure the case would have dragged on if not for your diligence.”

  Janie responded with a practiced demure grin. “Thank you.”

  “I am told Child Protective Services will investigate this whole thing, but they’re so overworked. The board is already raising eyebrows over the fact Edwin’s body ended up in our gated community’s trash receptacle. And now this?” Her eyes glistened with tears. “I suspect the person who dropped off this poor little tyke picked Sunset Acres for a reason. Still, it makes no sense whatsoever.” Mrs. Jacobs’s attention returned to the scenery outside her office. Beyond the parking lot lay serene Texas meadows dotted with canary wildflowers amidst sprawling oaks. “Why pick a quiet, pastoral complex for the retired instead of dropping it off at a fire station, hospital, or even a daycare?”

  “Let us see what we can find out.” Janie motioned between her and Betsy Ann, who in return mouthed the word “no.”

  Janie cocked her head.

  Their boss swiveled around to face them with her brows knitted. “Are you certain you can?”

  Janie wiggled to the edge of her chair.

  Betsy Ann slunk further into hers. “Tell her never mind,” she hissed through her teeth.

  “Of course. Happy to help.” Janie shot another glance to her friend who’d quickly become interested in a horsefly buzzing near the window sill.

  Janie rose. “Well, we better get to work on that tract rack. Isn’t that what you mentioned we’d be doing today?”

  Mrs. Jacob’s cheeks reddened. “So it is. Thank you.” She reached down and plopped a heavy cardboard box on her desk. “These brochures on the regional caves and caverns arrived by mail only yesterday. See if you can find room for them.”

  “I’m sure we can.” Betsy Ann took the load and headed for the door.

  Janie stopped at the threshold and pivoted back to Mrs. Jacobs, who had returned to her desk. “Do you, by chance, have the name and number of the leasing agent?”

  “Yes, I keep several of her cards. She’s landed quite a few of our current residents.” Mrs. Jacobs rummaged through the side top drawer of her massive desk. “Ah. Here’s one. J
anice Louise Oliver with Centex Rural Realty.”

  Janie took the card and flicked it against her fingernails. “Perfect. I’ll give her a call later on today and set up an appointment.”

  Betsy Ann turned to her, that familiar, ditzy curiosity reflected on her face. “But you already own a condo here, Janie.”

  Janie pitty-patted her friend’s arm. “Never mind, dear. I’ll explain it all to you later.”

  Throughout their shift, the pair worked in silence. Every once in a while, Janie would give Betsy Ann a questioning glare. Betsy Ann would turn her back and humph.

  Janie wondered what had gotten into her friend? Maybe she had a sinus headache.

  ~*~

  When Janie stopped by Ethel’s condo two hours later, the door stood ajar to coax the rare cool breeze inside. Carried on a late cold front from Canada, the lower temperatures provided blessed relief from the ninety degree readings Central Texas already experienced in early May. She knocked on the screen door. “Anyone home?”

  From deep within the condo echoed Ethel’s response. “Come in, Janie. We’re baking muffins for the bake sale tomorrow.”

  Janie followed the aroma into the kitchen where Mildred and Ethel, wearing a good portion of the ingredients on their aprons, poured goop into several paper-lined cupcake tins. The first two dozen of their efforts, fresh from the oven, beckoned from the cooling trays. “Hmm. Cinnamon apple would be my guess.”

  Mildred smiled—a rarity these days. She licked some batter from her fingers. “That they are. Want one?”

  “I’m starved. Been cleaning up the tract rack.” Janie peeled the lining from a still-warm cupcake and opened her already salivating mouth.

  Ethel cleared her throat. “Those are to be sold to help the children at the mission orphanage.”

  “OK. Here.” Janie set the muffin down and dug into her pocketbook. “Three dollars for the cause for three muffins. I’ll grab the butter.”

  Mildred slipped the next batch in the oven. “I’ll put on the kettle, and we’ll have a proper tea.”

  “No need. I bought that one-cup-at-a-time brewer, remember?” Ethel pointed to the silver unit on the counter resembling something from a sci-fi movie.

  “Oh yes. I forget the contraption makes tea as well as coffee.” Mildred spun the carousel holding the individual plastic cups. “Chai, Earl Grey, or Green?”