Synopsis

Dido Book knocked on Dan Trix’s door in Sarasota. Dido was a home handyman Trix met while doing expert witness work for the Jonsons in Lincoln, NE. Marietta Jonson had been killed and Trix was the consultation for the civil suit to financially recover for loss of economic life.
Trix asked why Dido was there.
“I’m here because the same thing happened to my wife, Lees.”
“Your wife was electrocuted by her washing machine?” Trix said.
When Trix discovers that Dido and Marietta Jonson had been having an affair, he wonders if Marietta’s death was really an accident. When he investigates KwiKleen appliances, he’s led to elder care facilities and is astounded at the size of the appliance sector serving such facilities.
Was there a connection between the deaths of Marietta and Lees? When his life is threatened and one of his confidants is killed, it’s obvious that someone doesn’t want him to pursue the matter. What started as a curious tort case becomes a case where little decisions have big consequences.
Trix needs to take care that he doesn’t become a consequence.

Chapter 1.

“I thought it would be hard to find you. It was a long time ago,” he said.

“Even so, I remember you,” I said.

“It is not a pleasant thing to remember,” he said.

Expedido Book had been working as a handyman, gardener and other duties as required for a wealthy family in Lincoln, Nebraska. I only met him once; to talk with him about the death of Marietta Jonson, the lady of the house.

“I worked for the Jonsons for four years. I saw her so many times. But when I see her now, it is lying on the floor. Why do I not remember her putting flowers in a bowl?” Expedido said.

“There isn’t any pill. There is only focus,” I said.

I’ve seen bad blood spilled in bad places. Somewhere along the line I developed the ability to take a bad thing, put it in a closet and lock the door. I have a lot of closets.

“What does that mean?”

“You have to train your mind to think about other things,” I said.

“Train my mind? My mind trains me.”

Expedido was a handsome young fellow when I first met him. He had matured into a distinguished middle-aged man. Salt-and-pepper over the ears, smooth complexion and a part in the middle of his dark hair. His semi-crossed front teeth, rather than being distracting, were endearing. A small gold cross hung around his neck. He could be the charming Hispanic in a low-budget movie featuring mermaids and coconut drinks.

“Please come in. Let’s sit on the lanai. Coffee? An espresso?”

It was the kind of day that makes locals forgive all their personal failings because they had the genius to move to Florida. Water birds trolled for brunch. Spanish moss waved as would a patient Queen. Bumpy clouds dappled the blue sky and golfers across the pond rummaged through palmettos in search of their golf balls as though finding them was actually important.

It took a few minutes to heat up our Lavazza espresso machine and fetch a couple homemade brownies from the fridge.

We initiated the warm-up protocol. Him: Not so humid these days. Me: Cornhuskers look promising this fall. Him: Heard downtown Lincoln is dying if not dead. Me: Used to go out to Waverly on Sunday night to drink beer and listen to a local three-piece band—drummer, violin and accordion. Wonder if that little town is still there. Him: Yeah, I know that place. His face changed from a smile to a grimace.

“Gracias, señor. Muy amable,” he said.

“De nada. This isn’t something we could discuss on the phone? It was a long way for you to travel,” I said.

“Not so far. I live here now.”

Expedido—call me Dido—explained he had graduated from household handyman to owner of a Florida business that specialized in landscaping three seasons a year and hothouse flowers and plants during the winter. He had employees and trucks with his name stenciled on the side: Book Your Landscaping with Book.

“You didn’t mention that when we spoke. Why did you leave Nebraska?”

“Winter is two seasons up there. Also, I don’t want to talk on the phone. I like to see someone when the talk is important. You can see a better answer than just in the words,” he said.

“What is so important?”

“You remember why you talk to me back then?”

“You found Ms. Jonson.”

“Yes. How could anyone expect such a thing,” he said.

“You cannot. That is the definition of an accident.”

“And after it happens once, it cannot happen again, such an accident,” he said.

“Hard to imagine.”

“Not hard, impossible. But yet it happened. To my wife, Leess.”

“Your wife was killed by her washing machine?” I said.

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