THE KEY TO HAPPINESS

A PREVIEW

ROBERT M. KERNS

Copyright © 2021 by Robert M. Kerns

Published by Knightsfall Press

All characters, places, and events in this work are fiction. Any resemblance to any person, place, or event is unintentional. No part of this work may be duplicated—in part or in whole—without written consent of the publisher. All rights reserved.

ABOUT THIS STORY

The Key to Happiness

A Sam Colton Mystery

As a private investigator, Sam is used to odd items in his pockets. A miniature fingerprint kit, small notebooks, even the occasional pistol round… just to name a few.

But never a key he doesn’t recognize.

The easy answer is to toss the key in the trash and finish his laundry.

But Sam never takes the easy way out of anything…

Join our intrepid gumshoe as he sets off on his next adventure, where things are rarely what they seem.

1

If you’re anything like me, you find all manner of random weirdness in your pockets on laundry day. I have something of a knack for collecting some of the most unbelievable items, and often, I don’t remember acquiring them. I know what you’re thinking, and no… I’m not a closet kleptomaniac.

This particular laundry day was the Monday after a couple meatheads broke into my office one Saturday morning. I stood at the washer with one of my laundry bags emptied into a basket, and I meticulously went through the pockets. I hate digging loose change or thumb tacks or the occasional pistol round out of the washer after the spin cycle; it’s just annoying. Well… except for that one time the thumb tack—with its base jammed under the agitator—found the pistol round’s primer; that one was more hair-raising than annoying. Well… annoying, too, since I had to replace that washing machine.

But that’s another story, and seriously, folks… don’t try my crazy shit at home. I’m a professional survivor, not just a damn good detective. Don’t believe me? Police academy, check. Ten years as a police officer while married to a woman who became one of the state’s leading criminal defense attorneys, check. See what I mean? And I could keep going.

As I was saying, though… I stood at the washer, checking all my pockets, when I discovered a key in the right-front pocket of my favorite pants. It’s not uncommon to find keys in my pocket, unless the key isn’t mine and is one I don’t recognize.

It was brass, and shiny too… even without the assistance of my favorite detergent. The teeth felt sharp, maybe even freshly cut. Its style made me think of a house or apartment door key, or maybe a padlock key. I’ve encountered a couple padlock keys that looked too damn close to house keys in their size and stylings. No markings, beyond ‘seventy-two’ in numerals stamped into one side. No scratches or other indications of banging around in my pockets since before time.

Curiouser and curiouser…

The only noteworthy event that day was a woman bumping into me on the sidewalk outside my office building, earlier that day. I didn’t really remember her… maybe brown hair? Was she the origin of this unknown key? And if she was, did she lose it in my pocket by accident or on purpose?

The longer I stood at the washer, staring at the key, the more a familiar itch wormed its way into the back of my mind. I loathe puzzles. Hate the things with a passion. Because I’m one of those people who has to solve the puzzle. From an investigator’s perspective, that’s a wonderful trait to have. But when I’m trying to do laundry, it’s not so handy.

Damn… fine.

I shoved the key into the right pocket of the pants I wore and finished setting my laundry to wash. I love this washer. It connects to the house’s Wi-Fi and communicates its status to a cellphone app. It and the dryer are a matched set. I double-checked that my phone was still on the account and turned to my co-conspirator… er… that is, my charge and ward.

“Well, Max… wanna go for a ride in the Goat with me?”

The Doberman I’d raised from a pup and left with Kelly in a not-so-subtle attempt to help her stay safe—even after the divorce—stood from his sitting posture and barked once. Deal!

I retrieved his harness and leash from the far side of the utility room, and we headed out to the driveway. Waiting for us was my other baby. A 1966 Pontiac GTO. Royal blue. Hard-top. I love that car. It was a gift from my grandfather when I graduated the police academy, sadly right before we lost him.

Max loves it, too; it’s almost a second home to him after all the rides we used to take. He stood at the passenger door, wagging his stubby tail with his ears perked before I was halfway there. I opened the door, and he hopped right in, then promptly sat and turned back to me, tilting his head a little to the side as if to say, “Seriously? The engine’s not running yet?”

I double-checked the house’s locks and security system on my phone one last time as I walked around the car and slid into the driver’s seat. A turn of the key, and the engine roared to life, easing back to an aggressive purr as it idled.

Seconds later, we were on the street and headed to Gwen’s.

Gwendolyn Patricia Zahn—or Gwen to her friends and close associates—is the best locksmith I know. With good reason. She also happens to be the best thief in the tri-state area and probably beyond… hopefully retired. More than thirty heists across a ten-year period fit the MO of the one that I tied to her, but while she pleaded guilty to that specific heist, the other cases remain unsolved to this day. The twinkle in her eyes and the smirk on her lips as the bailiff led her away was as much of a confession as I needed, but the courts like things to be a bit more substantial.

We coasted to a stop at the first parking spot after the handicapped ones, and Max didn’t wait for me to open his door. He came right across the seat and followed me out the driver’s side. I clipped the leash to his harness, and we headed for the door.

An honest-to-goodness bell above the door jingled to announce our entrance, and by the time we reached the counter, a lithe, statuesque vision of German and Scandinavian ancestry glided out of the back. Her happy demeanor noticeably dimmed when she saw me, but then returned full-force with a suggestive smirk.

“Detective Sam Colton… finally come to put handcuffs on me again, have you?” She presented her hands as if waiting for the cuffs. “I usually prefer dinner or drinks first.”

“Hi, Gwen. I’m not with the police anymore, so I won’t be putting those bracelets on you again.” I paused just long enough for effect, then quirked an eyebrow. “But I thought you knew that.”

Gwen slipped into a pout so easily I bet she rehearsed it. “Aww… but a little role-play adds spice to a relationship, don’t you think?”

I noticed she carefully danced around the issue of the divorce and my daughter. Smart. “I wouldn’t know, Gwen… and I’m here on business.”

All semblance of flirty playfulness vanished in the blink of an eye. “What do you need, Sam?”

I went prospecting in my pocket and retrieved the key, holding it out to her. “Any idea what this key is for?”

“Hmmm… interesting,” Gwen remarked as she claimed it from my hand. Her hand slipped under the counter, and I couldn’t keep myself from tensing until she brought out a high-power magnifying glass. She smirked at my sudden tension but didn’t comment. She spent a couple of minutes giving it a thorough looking-over before dropping it back in my palm. “So… would you like the good news or bad news?”

“I’m a realist, Gwen; give me the bad news.”

“I have no idea what that key opens. It’s generic enough that it could be any of a hundred—or even thousand—applications.”

Damn… the odds of solving the puzzle just decreased a bit. “Okay. What’s the good news?”

She beamed. “I’m free for dinner this evening.”

I started to decline politely but stopped. The whole reason I took my laundry to Kelly’s house was that she asked me to house- and Max-sit while she went out of town for a week. And wonderful life that I have, her sister made the point of ‘stopping by’ the office to gush over Kelly’s new boyfriend in the guise of a consult for a potential case. Now, I could have been adding two and two and coming up with seven, but a week-long trip out of town outside the conference season plus a new boyfriend seemed like it came rather close to equaling ‘not a business trip.’

Yeah… I was certainly shaving with Occam’s Razor, there.

“You know, Gwen, that sounds like a good idea. Did you have anything in mind?”

Gwen froze and blinked. After a heartbeat, a smile took over her expression. “Well, damn… that was basically a Hail Mary. I honestly didn’t think you’d take me up on it. Especially with me being a felon on parole and you the cop that arrested me.”

I chuckled. “Ehh… I haven’t exactly been dating a lot, plus I’m not a cop anymore. Before the night’s over, you may decide to re-frame it as taking pity on me.”

The suggestive smirk returned in full, complete with the irresistible twinkle in her eyes I remembered so well. When she spoke, her voice was a throaty purr. “Oh, Detective… that sounds like a challenge.”

WHAT’S NEXT?

The full short story is available at your retailer of choice.

Visit the book’s page to learn more.

THE WORLDS OF ROBERT M. KERNS

For a complete and accurate listing of all publications, both currently available and forthcoming, please visit Knightsfall Press.

Knightsfall Press - Books

https://knightsfall.press/books

SO… WHO’S THE AUTHOR?

Robert M. Kerns (or Rob if you ever meet him in person) is a geek, and he claims that label proudly. Most of his geekiness revolves around Information Technology (IT), having over fifteen years in the industry; within IT, he especially prefers Servers and Networks, and he often makes the claim that his residence has a better data infrastructure than some businesses.

Beyond IT, Rob enjoys Science Fiction and Fantasy of (almost) all stripes. He is a voracious reader, with his favorite books too numerous to list.

Rob has been writing for over 20 years, published his first novel in 2018, and has no plans to stop any time soon.

Connect with Rob at robertmkerns.com.

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