Monday, December 19
Diversion. Angelica needed a sure-fire diversion to bury yesterday. She found it in the masses scurrying about, holiday shopping at Walmart.
Santa might be close to sliding down her chimney, but Angelica had yet to pick up any Christmas decorations for her home.
As much as she wanted her first tree, real or artificial, it wouldn’t stand upright for more than ten seconds with Daisy around.
She settled for the meager pickings of snowman figurines and a wreath at the big-box store.
As she hung her fake pine-branch wreath on the front door, Angelica’s mind drifted back to her visit to the Greenery Eatery this morning.
The mystery man was there again, staring at her.
She could feel it. How do women sense that?
They shared a smile when she looked his way. Nothing more. No harm in that.
For a man she never expected to see again, she saw him twice.
He knew how to elevate casual business attire into a sharp, upscale professional look, even without a suit.
His tie still hung loose around his neck, but who knows—maybe it’s his signature look or a new trend?
She had to admit he wore his clothes very well. More than well.
One thing’s for sure: they both liked that diner.
Even though her bank account has received a new lease on life, should she reconsider ending her visits?
Nah, in all likelihood, he’s married. Men tend to marry by a certain age, and he looks to be around that age, maybe in his late thirties.
Or the guy is divorced. If a man is divorced, the wife isn’t the problem; he is!
What was he looking at, anyhow? If she had a strong point, a pretty face wasn’t it.
There was that scar, too. The ghastly wound stayed ever-present, whether she covered it with her hair or not.
The Miss America contest doesn’t have a category for women with facial imperfections.
Even Matt had mentioned it. She should have dumped him then.
After Angelica strategically placed her snowmen on the mantle, out of Daisy’s reach, she ended her idle pastime—decorating and dwelling on the male species.
Men! They all drove her nuts, disrupted her concentration, and drained her creative juices.
The opposite sex, the spice in her life, proved poisonous and fatal.
* * *
During his high-octane caffeine run at the diner, Garrett saw the young woman with the bruise again. Same booth, same window seat. She clearly had a standing reservation. She gave the impression that she only visits places that require one. She was a class act.
What was he thinking? After his ex, Carolyn the Viper, women were off-limits.
Never met one who renewed his faith in them.
Besides, his taste favored beautiful, statuesque blondes.
At under five feet, this plain little peanut missed the mark.
She embodied the kind of woman he wouldn’t gawk at more than once.
Before he left the counter with his to-go brew, the woman with the sexy hair glanced at him.
Even from across the room, women can tell when someone’s staring at them.
She flashed a captivating smile when their eyes met.
Garrett returned the gesture. Well, not in a captivating way.
Just a simple grin. Then she went back to her menu.
That was it. Yet it served as much of a pick-me-up as the hot energy booster in his hand. Things went downhill from there.
Charley Bickney, another homicide detective in their unit, appeared to be starting his second honeymoon in Aruba a day early. Leaning back in his chair, feet up on his desk, hands clasped behind his neck, he reminisced with gusto to Ed about a retirement party from days gone by.
“Hey, Fitzpatricks, you’re gonna love this story,” Bickney hooted. Or so the story went. Evidently, after thirty years of distinguished police service, a retiree keeled over during his farewell address to police officers.
Bang!
“Here’s the funny part. None of the attendees were aware of his demise! Best party ever!”
Garrett rolled his eyes. A room full of law enforcement officers, and none of the twits knew the man was dead? He found no humor in this off-color tale, nor did he find comfort in the fact that the officers flunked vital signs.
Bang!
Charley then took out two pencils and gave an impromptu drumroll on his desktop. “How could we have known he wouldn’t live long enough to receive his personally engraved brass retirement plaque?”
Bang!
Talbert chuckled and joined the revelry, sharing or trying to explain why and how things went down afterward.
“Everyone knew O’Reilly had a drinking problem.
We just thought he’d passed out again. Hehe!
Hours later, when it was time to go home, we couldn’t wake him.
After the coroner wheeled him out on a gurney, we all stayed for another round of drinks and songs to wish him a happy journey into the afterlife.
Salute! Many happy returns! Avidazen! Until we meet again! ”
How did Garrett end up with this group of idiots? He graduated at the top of his college class before attending the Academy. But apparently, Greenhill County requires no prior education, only a D minus at the Police Academy.
He envisioned working with a team of tough, no-nonsense bloodhounds when he gave up the patrol car, not with detectives who wanted to moonlight as comedians. And they were testing their material on him during their day job.
Bang!
A lively party atmosphere erupted in the squad room and showed no signs of letting up anytime soon.
The older detectives roared and whooped as if they had downed many kegs.
As the festive noise filled the background, Garrett sat at his corner desk, ready for his own drink.
When his desk phone rang, he could barely hear the caller.
Bang!
“The homicide unit is needed at the abandoned Cooper’s Cabin, where the railroad tracks along Route 21 are buckling.”
Bang!
“Victim, a young girl, possibly in her teens.”
Bang!
“Dead for days.”
Bang!
“No ID.”
Bang, bang, bang!
Three quick, repetitive shots echoed through the woods behind Garrett’s home. No one would care or even flinch in this backwoods county. Hunters blasted away with rifles or shotguns on a regular basis. Deer, duck, or whatever. This was their way of life.
This became Garrett’s way of life, too. He chose, however, not to annihilate any breathing creatures or drive them to extinction.
A row of empty beer cans perched on cinder blocks stacked five high symbolized his prey.
He never missed. Practicing regularly and armed with his own handgun, he used his property as his private shooting range.
Bang!
The last aluminum can was catapulted backward through the air, and, disappearing into the surrounding thick forest, came to its final resting place. No coroner required.
Garrett, in need of many full cans, walked forlornly toward his house.
He got a new case today. He watched them zip the beautiful girl, with cascading, curly blonde hair, into the body bag. And he’s the man, the lead homicide detective, in charge of finding her killer.