The Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club by Ann Warner Book Tour and Giveaway :)
The
Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club – Book 1
by
Ann Warner
Genre:
Cozy Mystery
In
Book One of this cozy mystery series, a morose parrot with a
reputation for biting sums up Brookside Retirement Community for
reluctant resident, Josephine Bartlett. But when Brookside turns out
to be a setting for art theft, dodgy dealings, and…naked poker it
becomes vastly more interesting. Josephine investigates the unusual
goings on with friend and handwriting expert, Lill Fitzel. And the
two befriend a young woman Josephine tries to prevent from making the
same mistakes she has made.
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Chapter One
Josephine
When Thomas died, I discovered he’d shifted control of our assets to our son, and one of Jeff’s first decisions was where I would live. It was obvious from the speed with which he accomplished my move, he’d been planning it for some time. Had he asked my opinion, I certainly wouldn’t have picked Brookside Retirement Community. For one thing, there’s no brook, and for another, the cutesy bird-and-flower theme is simply annoying. Although I have an apartment and I’m free to interact with other residents, or not, as I choose, I still wouldn’t have chosen to live here. The hallways are lined with both fussy bird prints of dubious quality and flamboyant floral bouquets in need of dusting. Each wing of the complex (there are five) has a combination bird-and-flower name. I live in the Morning Glory-Mourning Dove wing—or GloryDove for short. I suppose that’s better than the Snapdragon-Titmouse wing. I’ve already noticed people who live in SnapTit tend to hesitate when asked which wing they’re in. Carrying the theme beyond pictures and floral arrangements, each wing has its own glass-fronted cage filled with tiny birds that dart about and tweet continuously. Next to the mandatory enclosure of birds in the front lobby sits a morose parrot in a cage so small it can’t even spread its wings, let alone do a quick flit. I feel sorry for the parrot who, like many of the residents here, is in his nineties, but I do steer clear of him. He has a reputation for biting, not that I blame him. If someone confined me to a small cage next to the roomier quarters of luckier members of the species and forced me to listen to all their nonstop celebrating, I’d bite too. So far, the only bright spot has been Lillian Fitzel. When I told Lill that, she laughed that deep, rich chuckle of hers. “Me a bright spot, Josephine? Why, I’m as black as the bottom of my granny’s favorite cooking pot.” Lill’s the one who said Brookside should be rechristened Babbling Brook, a tongue-in-cheek reference to both the nonexistent waterway as well as the more irritating residents. Jeff parked me here because he considers me elderly, but I’m only seventy. Much too young to be shut away with a bunch of old people, fake flowers, and birds. I’ve decided I won’t have it. I’ve spent fifty years living a life of duty and restraint, and I’m not wasting another minute. As soon as I get my financial and legal affairs in order, I’m out of here.
~ ~ ~
Shortly after Lill and I struck up
our friendship, she invited me to become the fourth in a group that
plays cards two days a week. I’m not crazy about card games, but I
decided it might be a welcome distraction. At least until I get my
next move figured out. Unfortunately, I quickly discovered it
wasn’t going to provide as much of a distraction as I’d hoped
since the other two women in the group are both as dull as case
knives. Not a sliver of intellectual curiosity between the two of
them. Myrtle, who would make two of Edna or
three of Lill, is never seen in public without makeup and carefully
styled hair. She favors flowing garments in bright colors that
flutter when she moves. It makes me tired just to look at her. In contrast, Edna’s makeup ends at
her chin, and her scanty hair often looks like a gerbil has been
playing in it. Setting off polyester pantsuits that should have been
sent to a landfill forty years ago is a strand of yellowing pearls
she’s never without. When it was finally my choice what to
play next, I simply couldn’t resist the imp sitting on my shoulder,
and the words “strip poker” tumbled out. Myrtle sat back and thumped the table.
“You can’t choose that.” “Why can’t I? You picked hearts.”
And if there’s a stupider game, I don’t know what it is, although
in the interest of ongoing relations, I refrained from sharing that
opinion out loud. “At least strip poker will be interesting.” Myrtle’s bosom heaved, something that
always makes me want to move rapidly out of her vicinity. “Well, I never. Josephine Bartlett,
you’re just, just—” “What kind of poker?” Lill chimed
in. “Strip poker can be played any number of ways.” “How about five-card draw?” “I don’t think poker is a very
ladylike game,” Edna said, her nose elevated. Edna’s a priss, if I do say so,
although I can’t take credit for coming up with the descriptor
since her bizarrely appropriate last name, Prisant, got there first. “And what exactly has being ladylike
gotten any of us lately?” “I don’t know about you,
Josephine,” Myrtle said, “but Bertie Teller came over and sat
next to me at the last movie night and held my hand during the scary
parts.” “If Bertie Teller tried to hold my
hand, I’d deck him. Not that it would take much. The old fart
totters around here cackling like a demented hen.” “You’re just jealous because nobody
wants to sit with you.” Edna always seems to have two cents ready
to pitch into any conversation. “Better off alone than stuck with a
Bertie,” I said. “Are we going to talk or play?” Edna lowered her nose with a sniffy
noise. “But really, strip poker? I’m quite certain nobody wants
to see you naked.” “They won’t since I plan to win.” Myrtle placed a finger in the corner of
her mouth and cocked her head. “I think it could be amusing.” I sometimes wonder if she practices
expressions in the mirror. “Nobody wants to see you naked
either, Myrtle. Trust me on that,” Edna said with another sniff. I was tempted to hand her a tissue, but
doubted that would go over very well.
Myrtle turned her head and gave Edna
what I’ve labeled her Queen Elizabeth stare. “I think they’d
rather see me than you.” “Whatever.” Edna has at least one
grandchild and proves it by keeping up with the latest slang. “How about nobody gets naked,” Lill
said. “That is, not literally.” Lill is skinny enough she could be
planted in a field to scare off crows, but she has this deep,
resonant voice that never fails to startle me. “After all,” she said, “the staff
won’t stand by and let the four of us strip without stepping in
with the meds. But perhaps metaphorically?” “What exactly do you mean,
metaphorically?” Edna sniffed again; I suspect golden retriever
genes in there somewhere. “And yes, Ms. Vocabulary, I do know what
metaphorically means. I just don’t see what it has to do with strip
poker.” But I did. It was as though Lill and I
had discussed this ahead of time. And she was right. There is more
than one kind of naked. “How about the biggest loser at the
end of the afternoon pays up with a personal story,” Lill said,
confirming what I’d guessed she was going to say. “And it should
be something that isn’t all sweetness and light.” “I absolutely agree,” I said,
jumping back in to take control of what was, after all, impulsive or
not, my idea. “And I want to hear something down and dirty I won’t
forget in five minutes.” Edna huffed. “You never forget a
thing, Josephine. It’s one of your least attractive qualities. And
what are we going to use to keep track, anyway?” “Doesn’t matter. Toothpicks, pills,
dust bunnies.” Edna snorted. I suspect she doesn’t
like me. And just to be clear, if I could vote her out of the group,
I would. Unfortunately, she was here first. And fair is fair. “Never mind that,” Myrtle said. “If
we’re going to do this, you have to tell us the rules, Josephine.” “Okay, how about this? We’ll all
start out with the same number of toothpicks or whatever. Then the
one with the fewest left by the end of the afternoon has to tell a
story.” “I think Myrtle means the specifics,”
Edna said with a frown. “You know. What beats what. Aren’t there
flushes and pairs and full houses and the like?” Truly, Edna is such a pain sometimes. “Well, a flush and a full house beat
a straight,” I said. Lill was obviously trying not to
chortle. Unsuccessfully, I might add. “I don’t see what’s so funny,”
Edna said, giving Lill a sour look. Edna has no sense of humor, which,
while we’re on the subject, is her least attractive quality. “As you very well should know,
Lillian, there are no stupid questions.” Edna’s voice, with its upper pompous
notes and its underlay of whine, always grates on me. If she did
indeed once teach American youth the fundamentals of English usage
beyond four-letter words, she would know that most questions are
either stupid or show a lack of attention by the questioner. It took a further fifteen minutes of
wrangling, but we finally managed to get through the list of what
beat what with Myrtle demanding excruciating detail and writing it
all down. Then Edna suggested we liberate a box of paper clips from
the associate activities director’s desk to keep track. By that
time, I was profoundly regretting my suggestion. My mood was not improved when the best
I could muster on that first hand was a pair of treys. I folded
early, conserving my resources. Myrtle won that hand with the full
house she’d telegraphed by running her finger over the list of what
beat what and settling it near the top. In succeeding hands, the gods of poker
continued to favor Myrtle. But although I couldn’t beat her with
cards, I was able to stem my losses by watching where on her list her
finger ended up. “About time for a story, isn’t it?”
Myrtle reached out plump hands to pull the latest pot to her side of
the table, leaving the rest of us with dribs and drabs. I did a quick count. “Edna has the
fewest clips left, so she’s the one who has to tell a story.” Edna sniffed. “If a person didn’t
know better, Josephine, they might suspect you kept folding just so
you wouldn’t have to tell a story.” I have to admit, Edna in her own vague
and annoying way sometimes has a point. “So. Okay. A story.” After sniping
at me, Edna appeared eager, which in my view, did not bode well.
“Well, then. When I was nine and my sister—Helen was her name—was
ten, she’s dead now, you know. Of the cancer, about fifteen years
ago.” She pulled out a tissue and dabbed at her nose. Finally. I sighed, wondering if she would ever
get to the point. “Anyway, as I was saying, Helen and I
were given a cocker spaniel puppy that Christmas. We were supposed to
share her. I named her Jonquil, and I loved her with all my heart.
She was my best friend. When we got home from school, she always came
to me first. And she slept on my bed and followed me everywhere.” Satisfaction made Edna’s voice even
more annoying than usual. Although I wouldn’t call the look on her
face a satisfied one. It changed as she spoke to something much more
complex. “Then one day, Helen took Jonquil for
a walk into the woods next to our house. When I went looking for
them, I found them in the small clearing where we often played. Helen
was tying a rope around Jonquil’s neck, and when I asked her what
she was doing, she lifted the rope with Jonquil dangling on the end.”
Edna paused and blinked with a far away look in her eyes. “There was a tussle. I ended up with
Jonquil, but Helen had a bad scratch on her cheek and bruises on her
arm and she’d ripped her dress. She ran away while I comforted
Jonquil. “When I got home, Mother came rushing
out. She grabbed me by the arm, and before I could say a word, she
started thrashing me. You see, Helen told her that I’d attacked her
when she tried to pet Jonquil, and Mother believed her.” Edna
paused, and for an instant, seeing the expression on her face, I
could tell the story still pained her. “After that, I wasn’t allowed to
pet Jonquil or take her for walks. And Helen…” She shook her head
and sniffed. “Helen always told Mother the instant I got near
Jonquil. It went on…” Once again she paused to compose herself.
“For years. But I finally got back at her.” A smile crept over
Edna’s face, and it wasn’t a nice smile. “What did you do?” Myrtle said,
sounding breathless. “I seduced her fiancé, then I told
him I was pregnant so he had to marry me.” We all sat blinking at Edna. Her story
was more down and dirty than I, at least, was expecting. “And then what?” Myrtle said. “What
happened after that?” “Nothing.” “What do you mean, nothing?” Myrtle
said. “Were you pregnant or not?” “Of course I wasn’t.” Edna gave a
so, there huff. “What happened when he found out you
weren’t?” “I just told him I’d had a
miscarriage. But not until after we were married. He never knew it
was a trick.” Myrtle frowned. “How do you fake a
miscarriage?” “Oh my, you do have a lot of
questions. But I only owed one story, isn’t that right, Josephine?” Mesmerized, I nodded, and Edna closed
her mouth and made the sign for zipping her lips. I might just have to revise my opinion
of Edna. It appears she’s a pistol, as we used to say. None of the
young people today know what that means. To them a pistol is just
something they use to shoot someone. As we gathered up cards and clips, one
of the staff stopped by our table and reminded us there would be a
concert beginning in fifteen minutes. Edna’s story had so
preoccupied me, I hadn’t even noticed the slow shuffle of other
residents taking the seats nearby. But now I did. The perverse mood that had led to my
suggestion we play strip poker dissipated, leaving behind a bad taste
in my mouth. Unfortunately, the next time we played cards, it was
Edna’s turn to choose what we’d play, and she chose the Naked
Poker Game, as she called it. “After all,” she said, “I
shouldn’t be the only one who has to tell a story.” So that’s how it started, and I have
no one to blame but myself.
The
Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club – Book 2
Josephine,
Devi, and Mac’s story continues. Devi and Mac are falling in love,
but a complication comes along in the form of Mac’s pregnant
ex-wife. As for Josephine, with the excitement of unmasking the
Brookside thief and Devi’s being shot now over, she’s finding
Brookside Retirement Community (aka Babbling Brook) as dull as she
initially expected it to be. Until, that is, she gets involved with a
man who suspects her of being a criminal mastermind. Finding love at
this late date is something Josephine never expected, and it’s her
Edward Hopper painting that plays matchmaker.
The
Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club – Book 3
Josephine
Bartlett is back, joined by a colorful cast of friends: her partner
in mystery-solving, Lill Fitzel, flamboyant ex-beauty queen, Myrtle
Grabinowitz, former attorney/current novelist, Philippa Scott
Williamson, Brookside’s thief, Edna Prisant, good friends Devi and
Mac McElroy, and last, but not least, love-interest Norman
Neumann.
When
new resident, Lottie Watson, loses at Naked Poker, she tells a
bizarre story about her husband disappearing in the LA airport.
Josephine and Lill, intrigued enough to investigate, discover there
are more ominous goings-on than a simple disappearance. Meanwhile,
Josephine ignores the mysteries of her own heart.
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Raised in an Air Force family, Ann grew up to be a clinical chemist, toxicologist, and university professor, but her life took an unexpected turn in 2001, when she began writing fiction. Her debut novel, Dreams for Stones, was a finalist for the Indie Next Generation Book Award in 2007.
Ann's
novels about strong characters facing interesting challenges take
advantage of the many unusual settings she's traveled to or lived in
including New Zealand, Australia, Peru, San Francisco, Alaska,
Colorado, Boston, and Puerto Rico. As well, her experiences as a
toxicologist have added fillips of intrigue to many of her
stories.
In
Ann's novels, the consequence of choosing to love or not to love is
an underlying theme, as characters face crises and complications that
force them to dig deep within themselves to discover their own
resilience.
The Rather Ordinary Events that Led
to a Three Book Series
A number of years ago, a tree-cutting crew hired by a neighbor chopped down several trees, felling them onto our property and damaging some of our trees. Then they left. We visited the neighbor who assured us he would contact the company and arrange for them to come back to clean up the mess.
Several months passed with nothing happening. Then one day the newspaper had a front-page article about tree-cutting scammers and named the company used by our neighbor as the worst of a bad lot. Armed with the newspaper account, I visited our local police department. At the least, I wanted the company charged with trespassing and property damage. I was informed that wasn’t possible.
I know that sounds like an unlikely inspiration for a novel. But this particular chain of events resulted in my meeting an officer who was to become the inspiration for a character in a book I didn’t even know I was going to write for another three years. You’ll meet him as Detective Darren McElroy in The Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club – Book One.
The other inspiration for this series came about because of my membership in a community chorus that performs in retirement communities and nursing homes. Although I didn't realize it at first, I was picking up colorful details I would later use in these novels. For example, one of the communities we visit has a parrot named Coti who bites women but seems to like men. My parrot has a different approach to men than does Coti, but he has the same irascible temperament. I do want to emphasize by the way that Brookside Retirement Community (aka Babbling Brook) is entirely fictional.
As for the tangled tree contretemps...after considering our options, we hired someone to clear away the debris, sent the modest bill to the neighbor, and he paid it. End of that story! But a reminder to me to pay attention to all the random events in my life, even the most mundane. For I never know what will provide the impetus to write my next story.
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