Annie stood in silence, taking in the enormity of what she saw. She stood on what she could see was the only section of the floor without debris. She loved Allen with all she had, but at this moment she had to wonder about his judgment.
“I know, you think I’ve lost my mind. But this space can be everything we’ve dreamed of,” Allen promised.
Annie drew in a deep breath, immediately regretting it with her lungs full of the musty air.
Michael was not the greatest at being nonchalant. When he knew something he got this look on his face. Myra always said so. But Myra did not know what he did for a living. She wouldn’t know after today either, he’d make sure of that.
One of the three women talking to the manager was the assassin. The intelligence was light on this team. Too light for Michael’s taste.
He could feel the hair on his neck rise when the woman in the white sweater turned his way. Their was recognition and a dark smile. Yes, she was the one.
Julie loved being with Tucker. He was the kind of guy every girl wanted. She knew that was true because they could go nowhere without every single girl staring. But Tucker always reassured her by clasping her hand tighter as they walked. Until he didn’t.
Julie watched, listened and supposed what was to blame. Was it Christina, Maddie, or Victoria? Eventually she realized it was the new car. Tucker treated it better than her when they first met.
So she made her point, first by smashing the rear view, then with a baseball bat she bashed off the side view.
Tom Richardson was a good detective. One that followed orders. These orders weren’t that difficult to follow and understand. In place fifteen yards from the scene of this latest crime all kinds of thoughts poured through his head. He was glad Sophie was away. She could and would solve the murder in Perry Bay.
But eventually she would return to the office and catch wind of this. Captain Redmond ordered him to stay silent, shut her out. The last time this madman struck it nearly brought her down. The evidence was plain enough to know HE had returned. Sophie’s Devil.
Thanks to all for your great support of last week’s post. I am trying to develop a signature character that I can base a series on named Sophie Marcus. She is a mid-30s detective genius. She will have the same kind of irritating quirks all detectives seem to bring with them. This is not a serial, but another stand alone piece I may weave into her first long form work.
Sophie Marceau loved details. At first it baffled her uncle. Yes that uncle, the homicide detective who could never pull a card trick. Then he turned her on to the masters, Poirot, Columbo, Holmes, Jessica Fletcher and Monk.
As she studied the scene of the latest murder her mind whirred beautifully. “It’s the daughter!”
“How can you possibly know that from staring at that collection?”
“It’s a gift,” she smiled.
“I disagree,” Tom, her partner said.
“Same bet as always?”
“Are you kidding? Have you any idea how much I owe you now?”
Arnie von Kratzenhammer shouldn’t have died in that bike crash. People have collisions every day. Just watch America’s Funniest Home videos.
But Arnie didn’t have friends. He was labeled socially awkward by doctors. Well, he did have one friend. He called her “Okay Google Now” She was always there for him. When he wanted to become interesting he asked her to show him interesting people.
Evil Knievel was interesting. People loved him. So Arnie strapped two old firecracker rockets to his bicycle.
The likelihood of a bicycle killing Arnie was 9,999,999 to 1. But the softball-sized aneurism in his brain was 1 in 10,000,000.
Since his mother brought him to the port when he was a child, Peter was fascinated with seagoing vessels. He collected watercraft of every design, including the models constructed with glue. His mother’s purge of most of his collection was still a sore spot. No, wait it was all of his collection but the tug boat. Sure they were living on her waitress salary in a small apartment, but still it was his world then. Now the port was his.
“Let’s see you try to get rid of my new collection Mother!”
“Personally I like the rounded look. We are basically making a bunch of spikes, almost weapons on these fence panels,” Harmon said as he toiled on the order for the massive fence that would line the perimeter of J. Hardy Carroll’s estate.
“Mr. Carroll was very specific Harmon. He wants this design and this one only,” Butch the boss man replied.
“Makes you wonder what he is protecting or hiding,” Harmon commented.
“Only a set of the prettiest triplets God ever created. Louie said they are models.”
Harmon knew this, it was why on this panel he made it weaker.