Tigers Love Bubble Baths & Obsession Perfume (who knew!) by Mary K Savarese Genre: Cozy Mystery
Angie Pantera thought she had the perfect life: a loving, devoted husband of twenty-five years, two wonderful, grown children, and an impending wedding anniversary celebration with friends and family. But the celebration is ruined by a cheating husband, and Angie’s life devolves into a living nightmare—until serendipity brings her to Birdsong, Maine, as recreation director at the Home of the Little Flower. A church-run nursing home that is slowly wasting away with its nonagenarian inhabitants, the Home could use a miracle . . . or maybe a facsimile of one. A bit of creative advertising prompts Angie to buy a bouquet of “magical” dandelions, and in a flash of inspiration, she knows exactly how to bring light to these dark days. After all, no one is ever too old for wishes. But then people start dying, and the only thing they have in common is Angie. Harangued by a distrustful elder and under suspicion by the police, Angie must fight to clear her good name as she seeks out the truth: Is this a miracle or murder? Add to GoodreadsAmazon * B&N
I was born and grew up in Brooklyn, New York, going on to earn a business degree in accounting from City University, NY. Soon after I found myself working in insurance and financing and went on to marry my wonderful husband. We moved to New England. I have spent thirteen years as a religious education teacher and have lived and worked in New York, Connecticut, and Massachusetts. For the past decade, I have served as a Eucharistic minister at my local Catholic church, bringing the Eucharist to community nursing homes. After raising a family in CT, my husband and I became Florida Residents though continue to spend time in CT where I continue in my ministry My debut novel is a contemporary Spiritual Mystery that transcends three genres: Mystery, Spirituality, and Romance. I love to write imaginative stories for all ages! I hope you enjoy this story and look out for more to follow! Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Amazon * Goodreads
Five elders knelt in novena prayer in front of the wooden statue of Saint Therese. The statue was also
known as the Little Flower. Scattered amidst the pews, the men in various stages of balding whispered
into their hands. Sitting behind them, a steely-haired woman stared up at the statue.
Together, they whispered, “Little Flower, please send us the help we need.”
Sitting back, they waited.
“Let’s hope we get an answer soon.” The gray-haired woman glanced over her shoulder at the door.
“We’re running out of time.”
“We have one more day,” replied the man with black-rimmed glasses.
“We’re in day eight of our nine-day novena.”
“No,” she replied. Sitting up straighter, she clasped her hands together. “I’m quite sure this is the ninth
day.”
“It is,” the other three responded.
“You should learn how to count,” laughed the man with a saucershaped bald spot bordered by salt-and-
pepper hair. A large crash echoed through the chapel.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” a man from another room cried out.
“He’s in the house,” said the quiet man, partially bald with platinum strands that ran down his neck. His
ruddy complexion and bulbous nose
gave him the appearance of a Christmas bulb.
Wearing a brace on his right leg from the ankle up past his knee, Father Joe Methuen hobbled out the
sacristy door with his crutches. Dressed in black pants and shirt, he wore his ever present priestly white
collar. Simply known as Father Joe, his youth followed him even though he just celebrated his seventieth
birthday. Still owning a full head of lightbrown hair with only a slight touch of gray, he wore frameless
glasses that accentuated his long thin nose.
Over the last thirty years, his chapel experienced both good and bad times. Currently, they were bad.
Reconstructive knee surgery due to a black ice fall added more weight to his otherwise heavy cross. His
once
robust flock of parishioners had dwindled to meager numbers over the last decade with no relief in sight.
The parish properties had been folded into the auspices of the Caribou Diocese. A dreaded call from the
bishop
announced the sad news. “We’re selling the Home. We don’t have a choice.”
At least the bishop was allowing their residents a little dignity by keeping the doors open until the last one
passed on to heaven. Approaching the elders, Father Joe thought about how many the Home of the
Little
Flower had served throughout the years. Kerr Bird Song had deeded his 25,000-square-foot mansion to
the chapel, and the Home, as it came to be known, cared for many of Birdsong’s local residents.
“What do you want to hear first?” Father Joe sighed as he stood before the elders. “The good news or
the bad?”
“What did you break now, Father?” the woman asked.
“Nothing, Mary. I just knocked over a small table.”
“Just another little thing for me to clean up,” she replied, shaking her head.
“What will it be? The good or the bad?” Father Joe glanced over at the woman. “Mary?”
“Let’s get the bad over with,” she replied.
“The bad it is. Our recreational director just quit. The good . . .”
His eyes trailed upward and into the heavens. “The diocese is sending a temporary administrator to
replace the one who resigned last month. But only part-time.”
“Let’s face it, Father,” the bald man said. “We’re a sinking ship. Parttime is probably better than no time.”
They all laughed.
The bald man added, “Now we only need the person heaven is sending us. Two for the price of one
would be a winner for all.”
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