Page 10 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

"I still think you should've bought the black suitcase."

"The black suitcase had no personality."

"It had functioning wheels."

"So boring."

"It was practical."

"It was ugly."

"It was practical."

Frank pinched the bridge of his tiny ceramic nose.

"You two have been arguing about luggage for four days."

"It started it," Gerald muttered.

"The suitcase?"

"No."

"Her."

"I have excellent taste."

"You have glitter."

"I like glitter."

"We know."

The drive back home was quiet

Well.

As quiet as a car occupied by two argumentative ceramic garden gnomes could be. The radio murmured softly, though I couldn’t tell you what song was playing. Every few minutes my mind wandered. Not to tomorrow’s deadline. Not even to the editor who was undoubtedly drafting another Just checking in :) email. No. It wandered to whiskey. Or rather…The man who sounded like whiskey.

Detective Elias Reed.

I tried the name out in my head. It fit him. Strong. Simple. Dangerously memorable. Gerald groaned.

“You’ve started repeating his name.”

“I have not.”

“You just did.”

“That was… research.”

Frank blinked.

“You’ve begun using ‘research’ as an excuse for everything.”

“It saves time.”

The familiar outline of my cottage appeared around the bend. Warm yellow light spilled from the kitchen window onto the garden path. Home. Finally, I pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. For a moment, I just sat there. Then something caught my eye. A warm light glowed from the cottage next door. I blinked.