This is the third installment of my serialized short mystery, "When We Were Middle Aged and Foolish." A new chapter will be posted every Monday for the next five weeks. If you missed the first installment, click here to read what's been posted thus far.
A reminder to those of you who read last Monday's installment: When last we left our middle-aged sleuths they had just delivered a dead body to the front lawn of their childhood nemesis, Kitty Kline. Mission accomplished. But not the end of things. Not by a long shot! Let's join our friends back in the bucolic town of Sagucci Bay...
When We Were Middle Aged and Foolish
Installment Three of Eight
There are hangovers, and then there are HANGOVERS. I currently suffered from the latter, and right now wished I was in a simple pine box buried six-feet under the ground.
Instead, I sat in an echo chamber labeled Police Interrogation Room Number Three, baking under lights that had to be 2,000 megawatts brighter than the sun.
“I’ll repeat my question,” Detective Dirk Rasmussen said. “How did you and Ms. Hunter come to be in Ms. Kline’s house?”
I forced myself to open my eyes and peeked at the man lounging in a metal chair. He was light-skinned, dark-haired, and built like a cuddly teddy bear. But the expression on his face more closely resembled a lion sizing up his dinner. I had a sinking feeling I was to be the main course.
“What makes you think we were in Ms. Kline’s house?” I asked. My recollections of the previous night were vague. Okay, more like non-existent. That Strawberry Hill wine had a tremendous amnesiatic effect.
“Because Mrs. Peterson reports seeing you and Ms. Hunter entering Ms. Kline’s house at two fifty-eight this morning. That’s one minute before a phone call was placed from that location, informing us of a dead body in the front yard.”
“Maybe Ms. Kline made the phone call herself. Did you ever think of that?”
“I find that highly unlikely, considering it was her body in the trashcan.”
I laid my head down on the cold metal table, closed my eyes and connected the dots of the previous day’s escapades. The dead body in the trash can we found at J.J.’s house was that of his playmate of the month, Kitty Kline. And it had been pilfered by his soon-to-be-ex-wife, a very jealous Monica Lyn, and delivered to her front yard by Monica Lyn and her childhood friend--me. It seemed a logical conclusion that one of the three of us had killed Kitty. The only thing I knew for sure was that it wasn’t me. “I want a lawyer,” I told the detective.
He nodded and left the room.
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<<Be sure and check back next Monday to see how much trouble our middle-aged amateur sleuths have gotten themselves into...and how much more trouble lies ahead!>>