I brought the big car to a screeching stop in front of the small, neatly landscaped house. My partner, Detective Danny Dayton, was standing under a streetlight with a uniformed cop.
The spacious living room had upscale furnishings, but the homicide crew hovering around Sam Kissler’s dead body ruined the effect.
“Looks like that fireplace poker was the weapon, Connie," said my partner, Detective Danny Dayton. “And that might have held the motive.” He pointed at an antique glass-door bookcase. Its door lock had been forced open, the glass shattered and two of the four shelves were empty.
Frank Lacey slowed his pace as he turned the corner of the rundown neighborhood. There, just ahead, was a likely target. A short man, closing the trunk of his car, moving around to the driver’s side door.
Sally Pierson gave the dead man on her bedroom floor one final glance and then hurried to the front door to let in the police.
“I was in bed, almost asleep, when I heard a noise at the window,” she told the two plain-clothes officers as she led them down the hall. “He cut the screen and came over the sill toward me. If not for the gun in my nightstand...”
SORRY, CLOSED MONDAYS read the sign on the door, but my partner Bart and I weren’t at the restaurant for breakfast. Murder was on the menu this morning and Liz Castle, co-owner of the Cozy Café, was the victim.
“Stuck up by Santa Claus first thing on a Monday morning!” Millie Mason’s double chin shook, and she glared at Sheriff Abner Peters before pointing at the empty display cases for the fifth time. “Gone. Thousands of dollars worth of jewelry. What are you going to do about it?”
Deputy Latimore stepped out from the rest of the posse as Marshal Ben Clagget reined in his horse. “Marshal,” Latimore said, “those stage robbers were hiding out here by the creek just like you thought. The boys and I had ‘em surrounded before they could make a run. Got all three of ‘em hand-tied and ready for the ride back.”
Vicki Brockton sucked in a quick breath when she opened the front door and saw Sheriff Clay standing on the doorstep.
“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but....” Clay mopped beads of perspiration off his high forehead with a handkerchief and then craned his head around to look at the neighboring rundown homes, “Do you suppose we could talk inside, Ms. Brockton?”
Carol jumped away from the living room window as an official-looking car pulled up outside. “Denise,” she called hurrying out to the kitchen, “the cops are out front.”
Her sister finished scooping stuffing from the roast turkey’s cavity and looked up. “The police? Are you sure?”
Dirk laughed from behind his clown makeup and pointed his gun at the vampire-costumed couple. “Your jewelry,” he said to woman. “Give it to me. And you–” he waved his gun at the man “–toss your wallet on the couch.”
