Sheila pushed the play button on the answering machine. The beep sounded and a voice she did not recognize said, "Myra, this is Janet. I was supposed to pick up Scott at four o'clock in front of Hubbard's Café on Midland. Please, please, please, pick him up for me. I really need to show up at Jason's ballgame today. Thanks. Hugs. Bye."
Janet Figg checked her watch. She had one more stop to make before she wanted to get home. She always liked to be at home when Jeremy got off the school bus. She calculated the time for the stop and the time for her to get to her house.
One of Tani's first decisions in her new job was deciding whether her predecessor's desk needed to be thrown in the trash or if it was a mini land-fill in its own right. She stood with her hands on her hips, surveyed the disaster area and wondered how Bobby Gene ever got anything done. She had seen the desk many times before, but never really paid close attention to it, but now it was hers. Since today was January 11 and January 11 is National Clean off Your Desk Day, there was no avoiding this disaster area.
10 a.m., 2308 North Patton Ave, Wednesday, December 2nd, 2015:
Ron Wilderlust was talking into his cell phone. “I’m tellin’ you man, this could be a blast.”
“And what day is December 5th again?” his buddy Jake Kristen asked.
“National Bathtub Party Day.”
I had a million excuses never to attend funerals, but when Matt Scofield died they all went to shit. He and I went back further than even I liked to think about. When I was a rookie detective with the St. Louis Police Department, I was assigned to work with Matt. His old partner, Norm Price and two other cops had been killed during what was thought to be a small-time routine drug bust. Turned out, it was anything but routine. The bad guys had three times the fire power as the police. They were finally taken into custody, but at a massive loss to the department.
“I’m sure you can see why we might have a problem here, Mr. Paulson,” Detective Roger Greene said. “Mrs. Hatfield died from a dose of arsenic and we found a jar of anchovies in your refrigerator that have been laced with arsenic.
On top of that, your fingerprints are the only ones on the jar. You still have no explanation?”
The note was horrific. It was found at the front desk at the police station, but no one could remember seeing who dropped it off. The sergeant there just found it when he moved a small stack of papers he needed to work on.
The kill was easy. He snapped on a pair of surgical gloves and came into Cornell Wilcox's house via the rear kitchen door around seven-twenty, long before the family locked up for the night. He knew Cornell and his family would be watching television in the rec room. Cornell talked to him several nights ago about not missing this music awards show. Country music was his favorite.
“My little green muse took a vacation again.”
“I hate that.... wait a minute. Did you say green?”
“Yeah. Sucks, but they seem to work on their own terms. And it's green because he claims he's related to the little green rack monster who forces me to take naps. They both claim they're related to Kermit. Cousins on my mother's side, I think.”
"I'm sure you're aware of some of my husband's antics, detective, but this is totally unlike him," Golda Holder said to Detective Scripps, as she dabbed the corners of her eyes with a tissue.
