This made my head spin. I even had to put my hand on the hood of my car to steady myself. “Shot? Bob and Francine Wilks have been shot?”

Timmy just nodded and mumbled, “In the head.”

This was just too bizarre. I spoke to the elderly couple every day. If I didn’t see them while I delivered the paper, I’d run into them at the diner or Luten’s grocery store. Something didn’t add up. All I could do was look at my friend and say, “Let’s go.”

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

My mind was still racing as I followed Timmy, driving at his normal, conservative pace. Shit like this just doesn’t happen in Marlboro. Maybe in Poughkeepsie or even Newburgh. But not here. What the hell was going on?

I was anxious to get to the crime scene but realized I needed to be with Timmy to get past any of the other cops, so I chugged along behind him. I figured I might be of some help. I’d been through a number of forensic and crime scene schools in the Navy. Since then I had been through more than a few similar classes at Dutchess Community College. I probably understood these things better than the local cops, who never had to deal with them. At least when I was a master-at-arms in the Navy, I’d seen a few crime scenes on base. And I knew the local cops’ weakness: They didn’t want to call in the state police unless it was absolutely necessary.

Timmy knew my background and got me past the yellow crime-scene tape and the disturbingly young patrolman who was standing guard. I got a few odd looks from the other cops, and the only detective on the scene completely ignored me as she silently made notes in the corner.

The bodies were still in place as someone from the coroner’s office took photographs. They were sitting right next to each other, as if watching TV from the ancient plaid couch they probably bought in the seventies. Single gunshots, probably from a 9mm, had left holes near the center of each of their foreheads and had caused just a trickle of blood to run down each pale face. It was neat and probably quick and professional.

I glanced out the window and saw that the sun was starting to set. Where had the day gone? Then I noticed it. I moved toward the kitchen, careful not to disturb anything, and stared for a moment until Timmy eased up beside me.

He said, “What is it, Mitchum?”

I nodded toward the counter. “That’s one of Bailey Mae’s coffee cakes.” I leaned over and touched it, then broke off a corner and popped it in my mouth. “It’s fresh. She was here.”

Chapter 9

Chapter 9