Money laundering and murder are a bad combination for a respectable bank in the New Jersey suburbs. Fingered for all of the criminal activities going on in the bank is the president Baxter Bindle. He is the son of the owner of the institution who is an internationally known construction magnate. Taken away from the aunt and uncle who raised him then placed in the isolated world of private schools he became a neurotic mess. All of the efforts of his hard driving father to mold him into a successful magnate like himself fail miserably and often hilariously. Who is framing Baxter and why ?
A fast-paced and funny cozy mystery
Money laundering and murder are a bad combination for a respectable bank in the New Jersey suburbs. Fingered for all of the criminal activities going on in the bank is the president Baxter Bindle. He is the son of the owner of the institution who is an internationally known construction magnate. Taken away from the aunt and uncle who raised him then placed in the isolated world of private schools he became a neurotic mess. All of the efforts of his hard driving father to mold him into a successful magnate like himself fail miserably and often hilariously. Who is framing Baxter and why ?
A fast-paced and funny cozy mystery
  Baxter Bindle looked down at the orange jumpsuit clinging tightly to his body. How in the world did I end up in here? he anguished. Look at the horrible color of this prison suit! Prison! Oh my God! Mr. Bindle will be very upset over this. His son, in county jail in the town where he lives. He knew exactly what his father would say,
 âWell Baxter, you have to avoid fuzzy thinking. Fuzzy thinking is probably the root cause of your present predicament."
 He had learned not to object when Mr. Bindle uttered his admonition about Baxterâs decision making abilities. He paced in the small enclosure imprisoning him behind steel bars. Only the front of the cell provided a view of the corridor. Blank walls covered the other three sides of the jail cell. Baxter was the lone occupant in order to keep him in maximum security they had explained to him.
 Jail guards came by several times an hour to check on him. He hadnât committed any crimes, yet, every time a guard looked in on him Baxter felt guilty. By lowering his head as he was being scrutinized, he avoided looking at the guardâs searching eyes. Baxter was a pathetic figure sitting in a maximum security cell clothed in an orange prison suit.
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 Just 48 hours ago he had been a buoyant mood at Newark Airport waiting to board a plane to fly him to Europe. It would be an extended luxury vacation. He was arrested as he stood in line, waiting to board his flight. Baxter was confused, and humiliated when a police detective grabbed his arms, then twisted them behind his back, and handcuffed him, in front of a curious group of people. He was read his rights as the excited crowd looked on. In a matter of a few minutes his life had been completely changed.
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 Murder! Baxter was being accused of killing a bank examiner. His corpse had been found in an office on the executive floor of the Lowersex County Bank. He was shot in the back of the head at close range. A letter addressed to the Board of Directors of the bank was found on his person requesting a special meeting with them regarding the bankâs affairs. Baxter was the president.
 Except for one bloody fingerprint found on the letter to the board there were no clues. Where the killer had entered the bank, and how he exited the building, was a mystery.
There was no record in the bankâs surveillance cameras covering all of the ingress and egress areas of the bank. Cameras covering the bank parking lot were also clear of any disturbance. It appeared to the police to be a simple murder case. Lab results proved conclusively the bloody fingerprint was Baxterâs.
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 He couldnât prove he wasnât there, because he had free access to any part of the building as an officer of the bank. Being apprehended at Newark Airport waiting to board his flight to Europe seemed to be the clincher. Only a confident killer could be so cool. Baxter couldnât understand this horrifying, if not life threatening situation. He hadnât killed the bank examiner. Although there were times he was tempted to do him in.
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This was another thing weighing against him. It was common knowledge among the bank employees there was bad blood between Baxter and the slain bank examiner. Over the years he had confrontations with John Kingsley when the bank was being examined. He was a sly, devious and, unfortunately for Baxter, a highly intelligent man.
 Kingsley had a pudgy figure and an ailing face. His complexion was a pallor. There were dark circles under his melancholy eyes. His face was fleshy and it sagged deeply. Baxter had often stared at the gloomy countenance. He would get a vivid image of turning over a rock and finding Kingsley underneath.
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 On the occasions when he thought of the man, the first reaction was always, why doesnât he go outside occasionally and breathe some fresh air? At the time of the murder, Baxter had no idea he was in town. Kingsley's presence on the executive floor at a time when the bank was closed made no sense.
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 If the examiner was there to meet someone, no bank employee had come forward with any information about a proposed meeting. The victim had examined the bank a month prior to the killing. He wasnât contacted by Kingsley nor had he seen him since the bank examination. To be accused of the murder of a man he hadnât seen in over a month was astounding. There were more shocks to come.
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 At three oâclock in the afternoon county sheriff Clive Mullins showed up at Baxterâs cell. He was carrying two paper cups. One cup contained water, and the other one held a number of pills.
 âHey Bax, I brought up your pills myself. I wanted to check on you and see how youâre doing.â
Baxter lowered his head and replied,
 âNot good Clive. Not good at all..â
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 âWhat the hell is all this stuff?â Clive asked him as he stared at the multicolored mass of pills.
 âThe vitamins are C, B, a multiple, Zinc, St. Johns Wort, Ginko Balboa, Selenium and Garlic. Of course, I take Vitamin E too, but at a different time of the day. You canât take E with B at the same time. Vitamin B destroys the effectiveness of Vitamin E. Itâs all the pills I have hereâ
 âAll? Clive exclaimed, "Thereâs enough stuff there to kill a man.â
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 "Oh no, Clive, they are all necessary for my health. I have a delicate condition. My Aunt Olga always said I have a sensitive nature.â
 "You look healthy to me.â Clive replied.
 âSee? It works. The pills keep me well.â
Baxter offered as proof.
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 Clive changed the subject,
 "Youâre still causing a big stir. Reporters and the talking heads from television are dying to get at you. Can I set up a conference?"
 "No way!" Baxter replied turning pale at the idea. "I have nothing to say to them. I didnât kill the bank examiner. So whatâs to say?â
Clive wasnât pleased by his refusal. He was being deluged with inquiries about the murder.
 âAlright Baxter, but youâre making my life difficult.â
 âLet them wait until the coronerâs inquest
 Clive waved at him with his back turned as he left. Baxter was sure he felt better after ingesting all of the pills in the paper cup. He was a hypochondriac. His medical knowledge was vast. He read medical encyclopedias, the monthly AMA magazine and all of the pharmacy pamphlets. No matter what he read, he was sure he had the symptoms described for whatever illness he was studying.
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 Dizziness, blurred vision, aches here and there, palpitations of various organs of the body, headaches of all varieties, night sweats, day sweats, plain old sweats, twitches, itching, quivers, shakings, trembling, nausea, fevers, cramps, shooting pains, chills, visual spots, temporary deafness, dry mouth, wet mouth, swollen ankles, swollen feet, stiffness in his joints, memory lapses, inability to concentrate, etc. Oh, Baxter had them all at various times, depending upon the symptoms
described in the latest medical literature he was reading.
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 Baxter had been to over 100 doctors. Only Dr. Evenright was incisive enough to remain his personal physician. His ability to inspire an enormous amount of trust in Baxter didnât have anything to do with his medical skills. It was his keen observation about hypochondriac Baxter being a walking gold mine.
 Evenright was willing to bear his constant phone calls and unexpected office visits. Over time, the doctor performed questionable minor operations to keep Baxter happy, and to fatten his own bank account. These phony operations more than anything convinced Baxter the doctor possessed medical skills lacking in the other doctors, who had told him he wasnât sick.
 When Baxter woke up the following morning he was having trouble breathing. He freaked out. He tried to yell for help, but his throat was tightly restricted, only a whistling wheeze and a croak escaped his lips. When the guard came by on his rounds, Baxter frantically waved his arms between the bars to get attention.
 âWhatâs wrong?â the guard asked him as he examined Baxterâs face.
In a ghostly whisper he pleaded,
 âPlease help me! I must speak to my doctor right away. Please. Please.â
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 The guard didn't know about Baxterâs hypochondria, and he became alarmed. He immediately summoned Sergeant Feldon for help. Within minutes Feldon rushed up to the cell.
 âWhatâs going on?" he demanded to know.
 âIâm having an asthma attack,â Baxter whispered pitifully.
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 Sergeant Feldon was well aware of Baxterâs delusional ailments, âYou look fine to me Bax. Itâs probably all in your head because of the stress of your present situation. Just relax. Dr. Evenright is due to see you tomorrow.â
 âPlease" he pleaded, "I must speak to him. I'm suffocating!â
His statement shook Feldon a little. Iâll lay this one on Clive, he thought to himself. He used his cell phone to summon the sheriff.
 When Clive arrived, Feldon said in a low voice,
 "Bax is going nuts up here. Claims heâs having an asthma attack. You know how he is about his health. Heâs insisting on speaking to Dr. Evenright.â
Somewhat exasperated, Clive replied,
 âOh, let him, .Give him your cell phone. Itâs not like heâs going to use it as a weapon."
Sergeant Feldon handed over his cell phone,
 âThe sheriff says itâs okay to call your doctor.â
 âOh, thank you." Baxter replied.
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 Dr. Evenright's nurse took his call at the clinic,
 âGood morning Baxter. Whatâs going on ?â
 "Please Ethel, I have to speak to Dr. Evenright.â
 âHold on Baxter.â
She entered the doctorâs office,
 âItâs Baxter from the jail. Says itâs urgent.â
 He was annoyed about Baxter reaching him from jail. He had been enjoying a few days of peace without his patientâs incessant calling,
 âTell him to give you his symptoms. Iâll send something over to the jail.â
 âIt wonât work Earl. Heâll only keep calling.â
 âIâm enjoying the peace,â he whined.
 "Need I remind you itâs Baxter's fees that financed your middle boyâs college education?â
 âOh alright, give me the call.â
 âBaxter? Good morning. What is it?â
 âDoc, I woke up whistling this morning.â
 âWhy, itâs wonderful, considering your present circumstances. There you are in jail, accused of murder, and you have the courage to whistle.â
 âNo, no Doc, The whistling noise is in my bronchial tubes. It must be asthma, I could die.â
 âSorry Baxter, I misunderstood you. Iâll send medication over to the jail immediately to relieve your breathing difficulty. Get some rest and take the medication Iâm sending for your breathing.â
 âOh, thank you doc.â
 âNot at all," Evenright replied grandly.
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 When he hung up the phone, he called his nurse into his office. He said to Ethel,
 âHe thinks itâs an asthma attack. He has never had a breathing problem in his life. Make up an elixir of sugar water and food coloring with some alcohol added to give it a little zip. The color is your personal choice.â
 âAnother medical miracle,â Ethel said, as she left the doctorâs office.
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 When Evenrightâs magic elixir was delivered to Baxterâs cell, a guard watched him closely as he took the prescribed amount written on the label. His imagined asthma attack disappeared within minutes of taking the flavored, alcohol-laced concoction. He began to breathe easily, relief spread across his face. The guard stared at Baxter.
 "Dr. Evenright is a genius," he said to the mystified policeman. "I feel fine now. If you ever need medical help Pete, you should go to him."
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Baxter Bindle is a genuine sad sack of a character. He really got the short stick in life, though the author makes a good effort to build his unfortunate and tragic beginnings to set up his adult life. Yet, I had a tough time actually liking Baxter. His sad start, which should have made him a sympathetic figure, only made him pathetic. This characterization then colored the obviously intended to be comical situations he faced later, which then fell flat for me. His Aunt Olga did come across as a good woman, and I enjoyed the story thread regarding her driving (and its tie to later in the book.)
A couple of characters important to the story seemed to pop out of nowhere. Wally and his friend, Bert, were two such characters. Though intriguing and worthy of their story, their backstory was a big left turn from the main plot.
I could see that the situations Baxter found himself in were supposed to be humorous. However, on paper, they felt more awkward than funny. I think the scenes would have been hilarious (as would Wally and Bertâs involvement) if I had watched them unfold on-screen. The book felt more like a film script than a mystery novel.
I thought the murder mystery and the shenanigans at the bank were both good plotlines with twists and turns to surprise the reader. But the story shifts focus from the main character, Baxter, to Charlie toward the latter part of the book. Charlie appears out of nowhere, and though his involvement is explained later, that relationship seemed tenuous at best. Once again, maybe his backstory and initial similarity to Baxter is more humor that would have come across better visually on film. Charlie has his own story going with his own people and subplots, and while interesting, Baxter just dropped out of the book for too long.
The copy of the manuscript I was provided was still in rough form with numerous punctuation errors (which made sentences and ideas confusing), grammar, spelling, character and place names, and the visual layout of the material on the page/ebook image. This jumble absolutely disrupted my reading and could be why I felt the story was disjointed and prevented me from connecting with the characters or enjoying the humor. This, too, may be why I feel that VOTED LEAST LIKELY still needs development and is not ready for recommendation at this time.