Day One, Could be Fun

. . . could be fun, indeedy-do, getting a book, our second official case as the Triple Threat Investigation Agency private eyes . . . for only 99 cents!

Hey, it’s Rey and Coco’s Nuts is avail for less than a buck over the next few days.  Woo-hoo!

So, what’s this exciting case about, you ask?  We’re out to prove that our client, classy Buddy Feuer (a former socialite turned trucker), isn’t responsible for two murders.  She had no motive to kill her boss, the notorious Jimmy Picolo, and she sure as heck didn’t murder her best friend, Eb Stretta.

Despite what the police believe and the evidence suggests, JJ, Linda and I are sure that Buddy has been set up.  Nutty Coco Peterson, a Picolo employee, seems to play a major part—too bad he can’t be found!

As we try to uncover a killer from a cast of curious and quirky characters, we get caught up in some hair-raising (and removing) moments, like when bombs go off.  That tells us we’ve ruffled feathers by asking too many questions.  Hopefully, we’ll get actual answers (and solve the case) before something significant blows up—us!

As beautiful as a Bamboo Orchid and as cool as an English cucumber, Buddy Feuer seemed neither fazed nor anxious, given the grave predicament. Tall and willowy, the thirty-four-year-old former society woman turned truck driver was easy on the eyes no matter what your predilection. A “looker” or “dish” she might have been called back in the days of gin rickeys, trilbys, and gumshoes. Some females truly lucked out in the comeliness lottery, as unconventional, chinchilla-faced Aunt Rowena Jaye was often heard to utter about a relation or friend (with a wistful, wishful sigh).

Buddy had contacted the Triple Threat Private Investigation Agency after researching our involvement — and success — with the handling of the “Gruesome Twosome Case” (as we’d jokingly dubbed our first P.I. job) and the ensuing arrest of our client, William Pierponce Howell. The now-deceased WP Howell had been as wealthy as he’d been eccentric (a tactful way of saying f’g zany) and the murder of his young, pretty wife was not the only crime he’d been guilty of. HPD’s Detective Gerald “Ald” Ives had been gracious enough during a media interview to credit the agency with providing “some valid crime-stopping information”, which had led to the apprehension of the millionaire and his equally culpable (f’g zany) partner. The truth was we’d done considerably more, but we were cool with letting HPD take credit.

Our latest assignment was fairly clear-cut: prove Buddy hadn’t murdered renowned entrepreneur Jimmy Silone Picolo III.

Jimmy Man-I’m-Fabulously-Rich Picolo was second-generation owner of a hapu’upu’u pickling factory called Braddah Jimmy’s Pickled Aquatic Delights (who’d have guessed preserved fish cheeks and eyes could be such popular delicacies). In addition, the shrewd man owned JSP Capital-Credit Corporation and Balz to the Walz Incorporated, a demolition-construction company that knocked down buildings as rapidly as it put them up. There were also pet projects here and there, little businesses he absorbed or annihilated.

Slim and trim and relatively short, Jimmy was a cross between Dean Martin and Sal Mineo in their heydays. Over the years, the attractive man had rubbed a few people the wrong way. You see, equally successful had been his loansharking and racketeering — excuse me, alleged loansharking and racketeering.

Unlike Jimmy Silone Picolo II, who’d been indicted on racketeering and murder in the 70s, “III” had never been convicted of anything. Equally charmed and charming, he’d navigated the tranquil waters of life and business with a multi-thousand-dollar smile and a playful monarch-like wave . . . of the middle finger. The odd time the folks in blue had become involved, paperwork transformed into ashes and lawsuits dropped like smoldering charcoal briquettes. Witnesses developed curious cases of amnesia or hopped continent-bound jets faster than Hollywood celebrities changed partners.

Maybe you’d like to check us out?  (We’d love it if you did!)

https://www.amazon.ca/Cocos-Nuts-Tyler-Colins/dp/1078374368

Forever Poi, Oh Boy!

Our third official case as Oahu-based P.I.s, Forever Poi is available for 99 cents for a couple more days.  Oh boy, what a deal!  Hi there, it’s JJ today.

Poi is the fourth book, as an FYI, in the Triple Threat Investigation Agency mystery series.  We’re out to learn who burned down two art galleries . . . and left two bodies in the ashes.  There are a number of potential perps, each as intriguing (and treacherous) as the other. 

Here’s an excerpt:

“Why do you suppose he’s not returned calls?” Rey asked as we followed the Jag along Kapiolani, five cars behind. “Guilt? Sadness? A combination of?”

“Only he can answer that.”

“Who’s the woman looking very Audrey Hepburn?”

“The same one I’ve seen twice already.”

“But who is she?”

“Your guess is—”

“As good as mine, yeah.”

“Xavier mentioned a half sister. Maybe that’s her.”

“From what little I’ve seen, there’s absolutely no resemblance. James-Henri has a dumpling nose and a donut-round face.”

“And he has hazel eyes while hers are powder-blue,” I added. “I did say ‘maybe’.”

“She’s certainly very attractive. And that designer red lipstick is awesome.”

The sporty car pulled into one of three empty spaces before a row of unexceptional townhouse-condos near Ward and Prospect. Most had once been dusty pink and were now just plain dusty. I maneuvered into a parking spot on the street.

Rey scanned stores and checked her cell. “That’s Carlos’ place.”

“Really?” I looked at her, surprised. “How do you know?”

“Gail emailed just before you picked me up. She told me she’d be researching the two as soon as she got home, but had done some preliminary stuff and came across this address. Given his background and everything, she found it weird.” She appeared perturbed. “Not what you’d expect a successful gallery owner-slash-consultant to live in, is it?”

“He did have financial issues according to Ald.”

She gestured the duo. “They don’t appear to want to do much but yak and watch.”

“Maybe they know we’re back here.”

“Then why stop?”

“You got me,” I replied with a fleeting smile, keeping a vigilant eye on the two lest they shot off again.

“He must have a key.”

I concurred.

“It’s odd that Carlos lived here and James-Henri there. I mean, they were lovers, at least until recently. I can’t imagine one allowing the other to live in such a . . . a blah place.”

“Blah?” I grinned.

“Ugly. Cheap. It’s not in keeping with the lifestyle or persona he was projecting.”

“You mean successful gallery owner?” I asked dryly, noting that neither sportscar occupant appeared anxious or concerned.

Rey grunted into her cell when taiko drumming announced a call. “We got James-Henri and an Audrey Hepburn wannabe in sight. What’s up? You at the office?” She glanced at me and shrugged. After a few uh-huhs, she disconnected. “Lindy-Loo wants us to head home when we’re able.”

“Is she all right?”

“She’s something, that’s for sure,” my cousin replied flatly and gestured. “Our prey aren’t doing much.”

“Either are we,” I said regretfully.

“To hell with that.” With Reynalda Fonne-Werde melodramatic (reckless) flair, my cousin sprang from the Jeep and strode purposefully to the Jag.

I hope I’ve whet your whistle enough that you might want to check us out …

https://www.amazon.ca/Forever-Poi-Tyler-Colins/dp/1079716483