My partner, Nakayla Robertson, had taken a long weekend in Charleston with the women in her book club for the annual retreat they called "Reading Between the Wines." The mid-March rates kept the hotel price down, but the abundance of restaurants and shops guaranteed the money they saved was still spent in the antebellum city.

Left alone in Asheville to run the Blackman and Robertson Detective Agency, I'd goofed off Friday through Monday, not even bothering to come to the office. With Nakayla's return merely hours away, I'd decided I'd better make an appearance, and so I'd worked for almost an hour, sorting through unsolicited catalogues, shuffling a few papers, and forwarding e-mails to prove Sam Blackman was on the job.

Satisfied that all was under control, I made the executive decision to call it a day. I'd grab an early lunch at Lexington Avenue Brewery, swing by Asheville Wine Market for one of their recommended specials, and then wait for Nakayla at her West Asheville bungalow. I hoped her absence, leaving me alone for four and a half days, would lead to a romantic, home-cooked dinner. And I'd stop at my apartment to pick up some clean clothes in hopes that dinner would be followed by the invitation for an overnight reunion. She could even pillow talk the nuances of her book club discussions — a surefire sedative.

As I opened the hallway door, the office phone rang. I was tempted to bolt for the elevator and let voicemail catch whatever charity or robocall wanted money. But, the message would leave a time stamp that could undercut my "slaving-at-the-office" story.

I hurried to my desk and snatched the receiver from the cradle. "Blackman and Robertson, Sam Blackman speaking."

"Sam, is that you?"

The voice cracked and warbled. I recognized it immediately.

"Yes, Captain."

"Good. I thought you were one of those damn machines. Sometimes I start talking thinking a real person answered."

"It's me in the flesh."

"Well, I've got a case for you, if you're not too busy."

Other than my plans for lunch and then dinner with Nakayla, the rest of my life was wide open.

"I could probably squeeze in a new case, especially for you."

"Actually, it's for a friend. Violet Baker."

"I don't think I know her."

"One of the new residents. Only eighty. If I were ten years younger, I'd make a move on her."

Captain was just short of ninety-five, and I'm sure if he wanted to make a move on young Violet, his age wouldn't stop him.

"What's her case?"

"I don't know the details. I thought it better if you and Nakayla talk to her in person."

"Nakayla's out of town, but we'd be happy to meet with her."

"Good. I told her we could count on you. Come for a late lunch. You can brief Nakayla when she gets back."

I glanced at my watch. Eleven-fifteen. "You mean like two o'clock?"

"We were thinking twelve-thirty. The crowd will be thinning by then. And today's make-your-own-sundae-on-Tuesday. Half the damn residents are already lined up at the dining room door."

The vision of a burger and pint of porter morphed into a congealed salad and sweet tea.

"Okay, Captain. I'll see you outside the dining room at twelve-thirty."

"Thanks, Sam. I'm sure just talking to you will be a comfort for Violet."

"And you have no idea why she wants to hire a detective?" A few seconds of silence greeted my question.

Then Captain said, "Didn't I tell you? She thinks her brother's been murdered."

"Welcome to Golden Oaks Retirement Center. How can I help you?" The woman's voice emanated from a silver speaker on the side of an unmanned guardhouse where a crossbar blocked the road ahead.

"I'm here to see Ron Kline. He's expecting me."

"Very good, sir. Your name, please?"

"Sam Blackman."

"Hi, Sam. It's Joanne. I thought I recognized your voice. I'm covering while Clara's at lunch. Anything exciting going on?"

I'd met Joanne, one of the elderly ladies who was a member of Captain's CIA, Corridor Intelligence Agency, that he'd organized to patrol the halls and keep an eye on the retirement community's well-being. I also remembered Joanne had an eye for Captain, and was one of his harem of admirers. Telling Joanne that I was coming for lunch with him and Violet Baker, the new "young" girl, wouldn't be a smart move.

"He and I are just catching up."

"Well, come on, then."

The bar lifted and I began the twisting, convoluted climb to the retirement community atop a ridge. Ron Kline, aka Captain, was the acknowledged leader of its residents. Our paths had crossed several years earlier when Nakayla and I were drawn together by the murder of her sister. Captain had been involved in several of our cases, and I felt guilty that at least six months had passed since I'd seen him. As Captain was fond of saying, "At my age, you don't renew your magazine subscriptions and you don't buy green bananas."

Captain had been career Army, and although he'd risen to the rank of Colonel, he preferred to be known as Captain, the commission he'd held in World War Two, when he claimed he and his men performed their finest service to their country and to each other.

As his generation passed into history, some of his band-of-brothers camaraderie had been transferred to me. Captain and I shared a kinship forged by combat, although our wars were separated by more than sixty years. Mutual respect quickly grew into friendship.

He stood outside the open double doors to the dining hall, wearing a red flannel shirt buttoned to the neck and khaki pants with a belt that was hitched higher than his elbows. As I expected, a fawning cluster of elderly ladies encircled him. In a community where the gender ratio of female to male was ten to one, a man could usually enjoy the companionship of the opposite sex if he had one important trait — a pulse. Captain not only had a pulse, but also a charming smile, a quick wit, and the refined manners of a bygone era that could induce a woman to swoon — and possibly break a hip.

Captain caught sight of me when I was about thirty feet away. He stepped clear of the women, squared his shoulders, and snapped a crisp salute. I stopped and returned our ritual greeting.

"Sorry, ladies," he announced. "Duty calls."

His dramatic tone generated a chorus of girlish giggles. One woman with a round plump face and wry smile waggled a finger at me. "I know you. You're Sam Blackman. Don't tie Captain up too long. He's got a pinochle game at three."

"Don't worry, Bernice," Captain said. "Sam just needs a little advice on one of his cases. We'll be through in plenty of time."

"I'm sure you'll solve it for him."

I could have sworn she actually batted her eyes.

Captain grabbed my upper arm and ushered me into the dining hall. I felt him shift a little weight onto me and realized his step wasn't as spry as it had been.

"Where's Violet Baker?" I asked.

"I reserved one of the smaller dining rooms we have for private occasions. She's already there."

Captain steered me through the maze oftables. Everyone either nodded or waved as he passed. We went behind a short partition that formed a narrow hall. Two doors on the opposite wall had brass plaques denoting the Laurel Room and the Rhododendron Room. Captain pushed open the one to the Laurel Room.

In the center was a rectangular table that could have seated ten....