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Sara Hoskinson Frommer, author of Death Climbs a Tree, Witness in Bishop Hill, The Vanishing Violinist, Murder & Sullivan, Buried in Quilts, and Murder in C Major, lives in Bloomington, Indiana with her husband, Gabe, a retired professor of psychology at Indiana University. They have two adult sons, Charles and Joe. With friends, the Frommers own woods in beautiful Owen County, Indiana, but it was local coverage of tree sits in Bloomington and in Yellowwood State Forest that suggested a tree-sitting mystery. In addition to her mystery novels, she is the author of Kaleidoscope: A Collection of Stories, 16 very short, easy-to-read books of fiction for adult new readers, published by Laubach Literacy International's New Readers Press. Five of them are mysteries.

"This 1004-word cozy is the only short story I've ever set in the same small town as most of my published mystery novels, of which the sixth, Death Climbs a Tree, was published by St. Martin's Minotaur in 2005. It's also the only story I've ever based on something that actually happened, though it's certainly different from the true story of what went on in Kewanee, Illinois, where I grew up. These days, like Flossie, I live in Indiana, where baseketball is king." Sara Hoskinson Frommer

Flossie Locks Up by Sara Hoskinson Frommer

Flossie Staggs never used to worry about locking her door. Oliver, Indiana, wasn't that kind of town, she told Bobby Turlock at her kitchen table while he drew up her new insurance contract.

"Even with all the college students who walk by here, I've never had a speck of trouble. Sometimes I think people who spend all that money on insurance and locks just ask for trouble. They dare folks to come after them, don't you know."

"Yes, Mrs. S." Like all her other Cub Scouts back when she was a den mother, Bobby had always called her Mrs. S. "It's a wise precaution, just the same."

"I suppose." She sighed. "I'm going to feel foolish starting to lock up now, after all these years."

"It's entirely up to you, of course. All we can do is advise you to be careful."

"So if burglars take all my things because I forget, you won't hold it against me?"

"Don't worry, our company will pay your claim. It will take a week or two for your contract to arrive, but you'll be covered as of today."

"Good. That's why I called you. Annie Jordan said you paid on the dot when her house was hit. Was she

ever mad! She looked like a turkey gobbler, with her wattles...you should have seen her."

"I did." Bobby grinned.

"That's right, of course you did." She grinned back. "Have another cookie?"

Most people were suckers for Flossie's chocolate chip cookies, but Bobby resisted a fourth. "Have to watch the old waistline," he said. "Here's the list of your valuables for you to sign."

She read it carefully and signed it, sighing again.

He tucked the list and her check into his briefcase. "All set, Mrs. S. Now, suppose we look at your security precautions."

"Promise you won't laugh."

"It's no laughing business."

"It certainly isn't. These burglaries are hurting innocent people. Annie was so upset about her mother's cameos. Insurance can't replace sentimental value. I know if anyone took my photo albums, I'd be beside myself. Money wouldn't bring back these old pictures of my parents and grandparents, or my grandchildren's school pictures." She showed him page after page of smiling children posed against bright blue walls.

"No, ma'am, it wouldn't."

"But I couldn't afford to replace my good silver, or my rings. And if the house burned down...oh, my."

"Then you're making a good decision. And I'm grateful for your business." He stood up.

"How's your family? I thought a lot of them."

"My folks are retired now, down in Florida. I'll tell them you asked about them. But let me show you my boy." Beaming, he offered her his wallet. "This is Chris." Chris's curly hair blended into the background, but his smile lit up the picture.

She held it and marveled, "He looks exactly like you at that age."

"You ought to know." That smile again.

"When will you bring him to see me?"

"He and his mom are still in Kentucky––Patty teaches kindergarten. They'll move up here soon as school's out."

Two weeks later the new contract arrived, with a formal letter from Robert Turlock thanking Mrs. Staggs for her business and asking him to recommend him to her friends. He enclosed a ticket to the last home game of the Oliver College basketball season.

"I wouldn’t think of missing that game," Flossie told her friend Annie Jordan at the Oliver Senior Citizens' Center. "Can’t think when I’ve seen a college game. What did he send you, Annie?"

"I got a basketball ticket too. Guess he remembered how much I loved basketball." When he was a child, Bobby's family had lived next door to the Jordans.

"He seems like such a nice young man."

"You always wonder how they're going to turn out," Annie said.

"And then sometimes you find out, even with the ones who leave town."

* * *

On game night, Bobby greeted Flossie warmly at the field house. "Your seat all right, Mrs. S?" he yelled over the Oliver College band.

"I can see just fine. Where are you sitting?"

"I'm way over there." He pointed to the far side of the court. "Enjoy the game, now."

"Oh, I will." Flossie smiled, secure in the knowledge that her house was protected while she was away.

When she drove home an hour later, the police cars were still in her driveway, and Bobby was coming down her steps in handcuffs.

"We got him, Flossie," Sergeant Johnny Ketcham told her. "Thanks to you and Annie."

"Is Annie all right?"

"I certainly am!" On the porch, Annie Jordan, all smiles, held a cell phone in one hand and a sock on four needles in the other, with the yarn running down into her knitting bag. "I sat there knitting in the dark. When I heard him crawling through that back window you never lock, I hit 911 on my cell phone. Johnny was here in no time."

"How...?" Bobby blurted.

"Annie and I checked," Flossie said. "Not everyone you sold insurance to had a burglary, but everyone who did had bought your insurance. You knew exactly what they had for you to steal. And they were all at a football or basketball game when the burglary happened. No one suspected you, because they saw you at the game. But when I got that ticket in the mail, I knew when you were going to come here."

"But how…?" he said again.

"I already knew you were lying, of course. That picture of Chris was your own school picture, wasn't it? You don't really have a son."

He hung his head.

"What tipped you off?" Sergeant Ketcham asked.

"The background."

"Huh?" Bobby said.

"Your son's picture couldn't have that color background. The company that used it went out of business years ago. You should have looked at some recent school pictures. You always were lazy, Bobby. This time it got you caught. Now if you'll pardon me, I have a game to get back to."

THE END