After several unsuccessful attempts to reach Chief Wallace, Samantha decided we probably stood a better chance catching him if we stopped by the station. Since I felt Jarvis really didn't need my assistance with renovation details and interviewing potential employees, I agreed to accompany her for as long as she needed me. Needless to say tagging alone and watching her work had become intriguing within itself. The way she always reflected and processed the moment reminded me of Floyd. How he had a knack for taking the most complex problems and finding the simplest solution. The two were so similar I had almost forgotten how recent it had been since I was released. A reality that altered my mood and left me missing my dear, old friend as we set out from St. Joe's for the Ypsilanti Police Department.
The sky blue Ford Fusion Samantha drove sped south on North Huron Street passing McDonald's and EMU's campus. Sleek and well-built, I was amazed at how much horsepower the compact torqued. At The Valley, whenever I’d receive the Sunday edition of the Courier, I'd always flip through the new cars' section and fantasize about the first vehicle I'd purchase upon my release. The Lincoln MKS had become my favorite. However, I’d often think, if I was a woman, and nothing else was available, for the money the Fusion would definitely be a dependable alternative. Lost in thought and as the words Floyd had bid me farewell with came to mind, I stared out the window at the Wooden Nickel Saloon’s parking lot. If ever I'd find a person to take pity on me, someone who drove an American made vehicle would certainly top my list of preferences.
"Familiar, wasn't it?" Samantha queried as I realized I hadn't spoken a word since we'd left the morgue.
Because the assessment was true and within itself hinted listen, I remained quiet and nodded.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
The Fusion signalled it was running low on fuel and so Samantha quickly pulled into Kampus Korner convenience store and gas station.
In disbelief I read the gas prices as if they were billboard digits on a futuristic movie set. Before I left, Jarvis would allow me to pump the gas whenever I’d accompany him on errands. Never more than a dollar had I ever paid for such a necessary commodity. "Absolutely unbelievable," I finally murmured.
Samantha opened the door and paused.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
"The door is ajar," the Fusion’s computerized voice warned.
"I've seen the photos of your father, Fence," Samantha began. "The wounds, his missing heart, those who should've been but were never officially considered suspects, I've gone over it all."
"The door is ajar," again the voice sounded.
"But what really bothers me about the case, is after all these years of inactivity, why would the killer suddenly kill again? Why now? And of all people, why the son of the first victim?"
"The door is ajar."
"Makes no sense. There has to be a connection. But what?"
"The door is—"
Blam!
YOU ARE READING
The Widower Murders
Mystery / ThrillerTwo decades ago, a total of five widowers were killed by a female serial killer named Ella Timmins. Believed to have been the fifth, local philanthropist and businessman, Adrian Price, was discovered bludgeon and mutilated in his mansion, Price Esta...
