Tranquility - A Humorous Cozy Mystery

By Jesse Jacobson and Mark Len Mayfield

Mickey Petroski, a young undercover LA cop, is placed into witness protection after kingpins from an organized crime syndicate are set free. She begins her new life as a hotel clerk in the sleepy southern town of Tranquility and lives for two years in obscurity. However, when Mickey's elderly friend dies suddenly of a heart attack, her "cop radar" kicks in. Mickey believes foul play was involved.  The problem is, no one else believes it.

Unable to convince local authorities that a murder has been committed, Mickey begins a clandestine investigation on her own. Evidence begins to mount that not only was her friend murdered, but there are other victims as well. Someone is stealing money from elderly widows and then murdering them to cover it up. Mickey and a rag tag group of unlikely sleuths begin a clandestine, and often humorous, investigation to build a case and to bring the murderer to justice.

"Tranquility" is filled with intrigue, twists and turns and humor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen John
• Release date: May 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393089285

Book preview

Other books by Jesse Jacobson

Tranquility (A Cozy Murder Mystery)

Elle James’s Brotherhood Protectors

The Sam Steele Series

Steele Ranger

Guardian Ranger (Introducing Rainhorse)

The RAINHORSE series

Guardian Ranger (Introducing Rainhorse)

Rainhorse

Rainhorse Returns

A Good Samaritan

Paul Jolly

Devil’s Fork

Susan Stoker’s Special Forces Operation Alpha

The Trevor Saunders Series

Protecting Honor

Fighting for Honor

Defending Honor

Summer Breeze

Major Events

Other books by MARK LEN MAYFIELD

Devil’s Face

TRANQUILITY

A Cozy Murder Mystery

Chapter One

SUNDAY MORNINGS IN Tranquility were incredible. This particular one was unseasonably mild, meaning for this time of year in southern Georgia, the temperature was projected to be in the low eighties. I’d recently developed a solid workout routine which included morning and afternoon runs, and I'd managed to eat healthier over the last month as well. I’d lost four pounds and decided to treat myself. When meeting with my friends later this afternoon, I intended to have a humongous burger from The Lick Skillet Diner.  They have the best burgers on the planet.

I'd just finished my run and was cooling down on the park bench looking out over the lake. I enjoyed watching the geese just after sunrise and I loved the way the clouds chewed away at the peaks of the distant rolling hills. The wind created a soothing rustle as it whipped through the trees.

I pulled my phone to text my friends that I was running a little late—no luck. My battery was dead.

My name is Mikaela Petroski. It’s the name I was provided when I became a card-carrying member of the United States Federal Witness Protection Program, or WITSEC, for those in the know.  It’s a Russian name although I have no Russian background. A Federal desk jockey who decides these things seemed to think my blonde hair and freckles made me look Russian. Thus, I became Mikaela Petroski.

Why am I in WITSEC?  It’s a whole different story for another time. For now, let’s just say I saw some very bad people do some very bad things while working undercover as an officer for the LAPD.  I testified against them, but they got off anyway due to some mishandling of physical evidence. The bad guys were back on the street and my butt was twisting in the wind.

As it turns out, mob leadership takes strong exception to people who infiltrate their organization with intent to destroy it. They put out a large contract on my life. Within days, news of the bounty on my head went street-viral. Every low-life in LA knew they could make some good cash to end my life. The fact that I was a cop made the prospect all-the-sweeter. The LAPD did the only thing they could do to protect me and voilà, here I am.

Everyone in town calls me Mickey. Although Mikaela is not all that hard to pronounce, it seemed to be quite a mouthful for the residents here.  I’m thirty-one years old and now live in Tranquility, a small Georgia town about ninety miles north of Jacksonville, Florida. It’s a quaint little community of around three-thousand where the average age is about sixty, though it feels like the number should be higher.

Tranquility has a charming Victorian-era Old Town Historic District with humongous oak trees, a half-dozen or so gift shops for the tourists passing through, nearby resorts, and a golf course.  There are restaurants, a community hospital, a number of schools, a movie theater, library, courthouse and various other businesses you’d find in a small town.  The Things to Do in Tranquility visitor’s guide is a four by eight-inch pamphlet. Actually, it’s more of a single page than a pamphlet, with print only on the front. The Tranquility Putt-Putt Golf Course is the featured attraction. Actually, it’s pretty nice.

Before my exile, I served as a police officer for six years, primarily patrolling the Skid Row District with my partner. Skid Row has one of the largest homeless populations in the country.  Some five to eight thousand people reside on the streets at any given time. I’ve seen poverty, drug-addiction, alcoholism, mental illness and suffering others can only imagine.

None of the residents in town knows I am in WITSEC—no one. Not even my new boyfriend, who is a local law enforcement officer.  He’s had a tough time buying my cover story, I can tell. The WITSEC charade has been tough to keep up. I hated lying—I wasn’t good at it.

The transition from L.A. to a sleepy Georgia town has been . . . rather unusual to say the least.  My new job is nearly as exciting as the town where I live. I’m a front-desk clerk at the Tranquility Hotel. Yay, me.

How about this for contrast? Instead of yelling, Stop! This is the police. Lay down your weapons, I’m smiling and asking people if they want to upgrade to a king-sized bed for only ten-dollars more.

That’s when I’m actually working, of course. The hotel is temporarily closed for renovation to preserve its historic value. It was built prior to the Civil War and is considered to be a historic landmark. The renovations are expected to last two more months and the hotel is scheduled to reopen when it’s complete.

That made me currently unemployed. Fortunately, in my previous life I managed my finances well.  I saved a little and still had over half of the money my mom left me when she passed away. I’m certainly not wealthy but have enough to keep me comfortable, especially in a small town like Tranquility, where you can still rent a house for eight-hundred-dollars a month and eat yourself into a coma at the local diner for seven bucks. To help fill the void of unemployment, I began volunteering at the Tranquility Library.

I know it sounds like I’m complaining, but I realize things could be worse—a lot worse. If I’d stayed in LA, I’d be dead by now. Tranquility, for all its quirks and oddities, is actually a very nice place to live. I could have done much worse.

Many people in Tranquility don’t like me. I’m an outsider and I’ve been told many times, ‘people around here don’t cotton to outsiders much.’ I do have a boyfriend and three wonderful friends, however. That’s two more than I had while living in Los Angeles, a county with twelve million people.  My boyfriend is Noah Whitmore, a Deputy with the Flynn County Sheriff’s Department, which serves Tranquility.  Our relationship is best described as complicated. It’s cliché to say, I know, but it is what it is.

We’re working things through.

I pulled into the parking lot of The Lick Skillet Diner about three o’clock. The parking lot was nearly full. The building was designed to look like a humongous train caboose. The inside décor was right out of a Norman Rockwell painting, only with duller colors and less attractive people. The table tops were chipped and worn, made of faded brown Formica.  Lined up alongside the counter were nine green swivel stools mounted to the floor on tarnished chrome pedestals. The tiled floor was a dizzying pattern of black, white and orange squares. The owners painted the walls in mustard yellow and burnt orange, adorned with black and white photos of Georgia sports stars. The only one I recognized was Dominique Wilkins.

Our usual spot was a green leather booth that had seen better days, and those days dated back to when The Marshall Tucker Band rode through town on their way home to one of the Carolina’s—I forget which one. The place was unnervingly quiet. Attached to the wall was a mini-jukebox.  I skimmed through the titles: no Katy Perry; no Taylor Swift; no Pink; no Beyoncé. I pulled out a quarter, selecting the only song I recognized as being from this century, "Boys Round Here," by Blake Shelton. The contraption ate my quarter and produced no music—typical.

I saw my friends right away, sitting at their usual rounded corner booth. Anna, Julie, and Liam were engaged in a serious conversation when I walked up. They barely gave me a passing glance when I arrived and sat.

Normally the three of them greeted me warmly, even when I was fashionably late. This afternoon was different, however. Their look was dour. Something was wrong.

Am I interrupting? I asked.

No, of course not, Mickey, Liam replied.

Liam Whitmore is a loveable thirty-five-year old nerd, one of Tranquility’s two EMTs, operating out of the Flynn County Fire Department. When he wasn’t working or hanging out with us, he was playing Mortal Kombat 11. He was also the cousin of my boyfriend, though you’d never know to look at them side by side. Noah and Liam could not be more different. Liam was cute in a dorky way, sweet, talkative and affable, three adjectives that you’d never use to describe Noah. My boyfriend is gorgeous and hunky as hell, but often quiet and guarded.

Liam was head-over-heels in love with Anna, who either never noticed or didn’t care. She considered him a friend and nothing more.  I know this not because either of them actually told me about their feelings.  I know it because . . . well . . .  I’m a woman and a former cop, that’s why.

Anna and Julie had been best friends long before I arrived in Tranquility. Anna Pinsky was smart, mature and street-savvy. She was also very guarded about her personal life, even with her friends. Over time, I found out she graduated with honors from the University of Georgia. She worked as an executive in an advertising firm in Atlanta but quit and moved home to Tranquility when her mother was diagnosed with liver cancer. Her father died when she was only sixteen.

Anna dutifully took care of her mother until the poor woman died about a year before I moved to Tranquility. Rather than moving back to Atlanta, she decided to remain, living in her mother’s house and working in an administrative capacity in the Flynn County Courthouse.

Why she chose to stay in Tranquility and work in a capacity where she is grossly overqualified and equally underpaid is anyone’s guess. I found out early on that it’s a sensitive subject and as far as I know, no one, not even Julie, knows the details.

Anna is also gorgeous—as in super model gorgeous. I was always used to being the ‘pretty one’ in the circles I hung out in, but when Anna became my friend, all that changed. Don’t get me wrong, I scrub up pretty well, but not Anna Pinsky well.

What’s with the long faces? I asked. You all look like you just got bad news from the dentist.

We’re just processing the sad news, Anna added.

Oh, dear, what happened? I asked, embarrassed by my ‘dentist’ remark.

You mean you haven’t heard? Julie asked.

No.

Mickey, I tried calling you four times, Anna sighed.

My phone battery is dead, I replied.

Daisy Danner was found dead yesterday afternoon, Julie announced. Heart attack.

My heart sank. I gasped, Oh no! Are you serious?

I felt ill; blood was rushing from my face, making me slightly lightheaded.

I'm afraid so, Anna said.

I used my hands to cover my face and took in a big breath and held it, trying not to hyperventilate. I moved my hands to exhale knowing my face was beet red.

Daisy Danner was an elderly widow, a retired history teacher at Tranquility High.  Anna, Julie, Liam and Noah all had her as a teacher and held her in the highest regard. They remained in contact with her through the bad times in her life and there were a few. I’d met Daisy through my friendship with Anna and Julie.  She was a sweet woman and I grew to enjoy her company.

Daisy suffered personal tragedies in her life that no one should ever have to live through—the loss of a husband, and the death of a teenaged daughter. When she retired, she went into a deep depression and became a recluse, leaving her house only occasionally to purchase food and necessities.

Anna, Julie and me all visited her once a month and brought her things, sat with her and talked. Since I didn’t go to school here, I didn’t know her well at first. For a while, I just tagged along quietly. I’m not sure whether it was because so few people in town actually liked me or that she reminded me of my own mother, but I grew very fond of her and the news of her passing hit me like a ton of bricks.

Liam, were you on the team called to the scene? I asked.

He shook his head, No. I was off, but I just saw her a few days ago, he explained. She looked fine.

How about you, Mickey? Anna asked. You saw her more than just about anyone over the last few months.  Did you see this coming?

No, not at all. I saw her two weeks ago. I brought two books from the library for her to read. She seemed . . . I don’t know, happy . . . and healthy. I can't believe it.

Well, you know how heart attacks can be, Liam stressed. They often have no warning signs.

And they can happen just like that, Julie added.

Such a shame, Liam murmured. She seemed to be doing so well lately. I saw her not all that long ago, myself. Mickey is right. She seemed healthy to me, too—and happy.

When did you see her, Liam? Julie asked.

I don’t remember for sure, maybe ten days ago at the Hardware Store, I believe, Liam recalled. It was so good to see her out of the house. She was in the store with Alma Peabody.

Alma Peabody? I don't know her, Julie remarked.

She's a friend of Grace—lives out of town. She and Daisy were in the store shopping for plant food.

Grace was Tranquility’s Volunteer Election Coordinator.

I’ve seen her. Alma lives toward Hickory Bluff, Anna chimed in. She's divorced—doesn't come into town all that much.

I had no idea Daisy was friends with anyone named Alma, I said. She told me she was getting out of the house a bit. I was certainly happy to hear that.

I think she'd met Alma fairly recently, Liam offered. I overheard them talking about the nursery in Hickory Bluff. I figured they must have met there.

Daisy loved her garden, that's for sure, Anna agreed. Meeting a new friend in a nursery would be no surprise.

Daisy having a heart attack should not have come as a surprise to any of us. I’d seen her medications on the kitchen counter in the recent past and knew she’d been treating a heart condition.

For many years Daisy lived frugally on a very tiny retirement income. She’d lost her husband to a stroke twenty-two years ago. The loss hit her hard, but the worst was yet to come.

Five years after her husband passed, Daisy’s teenaged daughter, Donna, a then-seventeen-year-old student and aspiring actress, was murdered. The authorities investigated for thirty-months before the case went cold. Donna’s murder remained unsolved—that is, until I stumbled on new and interesting information.

Having served as a cop for six years, I developed a nose for foul play, and even though I had no authorization or authority to do so, I began a clandestine investigation into Donna’s murder. The investigation turned out to be a source of aggravation between me and my boyfriend, Deputy Noah.

Uncovering new information about Donna’s murder happened completely by accident. About a year ago, during a time my landlord was treating my rental house for termites, Daisy Danner was kind enough to let me stay two nights in her spare bedroom, which was next door to Donna’s old room.

Daisy had maintained Donna’s room in its original condition as a shrine to her daughter’s memory. I stumbled on a secret compartment in Donna’s desk drawer. The drawer contained correspondence between Donna and the man who eventually was proven to be her killer.

I took the evidence to Noah, who was annoyed