pistol.
He approached the back door an d scowled at me; with his basse t-hound features, his scowl is dreadful to behold. “I see you disobeyed instructions to get out,” was his greeting.
“Oh, knock it off, Luther,” I said irritably. “And put that thing away. I’ve been through the house and there’s nobody here but me and the dog. And Rose, of course.”
He holstered his weapon and entered the kitchen, rocking back as he crossed the threshol d as if he’d taken a punch to the nose. Which I suppose he had, in an olfactory sense.
“Whoa!” he said. He looked over the kitchen, noting the dried blood and the scattering of ejected kibble, then walked cautiously around the table to view the body. After a moment, he said, “Uh-HUH!”
He turned back to me, pulling out his battered little notebook and flipping it open. “Okay, now Miz Rayburn,” he began.
Just then the phone rang. After eying it suspiciously through several rings, Luther went to the wall and answered. “Hello?”
He listened for a moment and then said, “Miz Jackson can’t come to the phone right now, who is this?” More listening, and then, “The vet’s office? A call from here?”
I raised a hand sheepishly. “That would be me.”
The scowl was back. Luther handed the phone to me. “Cecilia Rayburn,” I said into it.
“Cissy?!” It was Doc Harding. “Our Caller ID here shows a call and hang-up from Rose Jackson’s house.”
“That was me,” I answered. “I overfed a chihuahua and he was throwing up; I got concerned.”
“You looking after Rose’s Paco?” Doc asked.
“Yes, I guess so,” I equivocated. I looked down at the little dog. “But he’s stopped vomiting. It was pretty scary there for a few minutes, but I think he’ll be okay. He hadn’t eaten for a while, and I don’t know about portion sizes for little dogs.”
“Hadn’t eaten – Cissy, what’s going on?”
Luther gave me a Look. I said hastily, “Doc, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you back if Paco has any more problems.” And I hung up.
Luther said, “You fed the dog.”
“Well, look!” I gestured toward the corner. “She’s obviously been dead a good while. And the dog hadn’t been fed. What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to leave like you were told and leave my crime scene alone.”
“Alright!” I capitulated. I went to the counter and picked up a roll of paper towels. “I’ll just clean up the dog mess…”
“Put that down!” Luther roared.
I hastily put the roll back down. “But that’s not crime scene per se,” I argued. “It wasn’t here when I arrived, so I thought…”
“And stop thinking!” Luther added.
Well, if he was going to get in such a state. “What do you want me to do?” I asked humbly.
“Go outside, but don’t leave,” he said. “Since you’ve hung around anyway, I’ll have some questions for you.”
We both raised our heads then, at the sound of sirens getting closer. But it wasn’t the Sheriff’s department arriving, it was the Rescue Squad.
“Déjà vu all over again,” I told Luther, and headed out to the back yard.
Luther stood in the door of the kitchen, as Buddy Haines leaped out of the ambulance and bustled toward the door , determined to resuscitate the lifeless .
“You’re not coming in here, Buddy,” Luther told him.
Pot-bellied Buddy, in his unflattering EMT jumpsuit, managed to sound surprisingly authoritative. “Don’t give me that, Luther, you know darn well…”
“I’m calling it,” Luther interrupted him. “Live folks don’t rot. Nobody’s coming in here but our crime scene techs. ”
“Geez,” Buddy replied. “Rot, like rot?”
“You heard me,” Luther told him. “Go on, get on out of here. I’ll take responsibility.”
For a wonder, Buddy backed down. As the Rescue Squad ambulance backed away, we heard more sirens. Here came the crime scene techs. Luther gestured to the back yard. “Stick around,” he told me.
The back
He approached the back door an d scowled at me; with his basse t-hound features, his scowl is dreadful to behold. “I see you disobeyed instructions to get out,” was his greeting.
“Oh, knock it off, Luther,” I said irritably. “And put that thing away. I’ve been through the house and there’s nobody here but me and the dog. And Rose, of course.”
He holstered his weapon and entered the kitchen, rocking back as he crossed the threshol d as if he’d taken a punch to the nose. Which I suppose he had, in an olfactory sense.
“Whoa!” he said. He looked over the kitchen, noting the dried blood and the scattering of ejected kibble, then walked cautiously around the table to view the body. After a moment, he said, “Uh-HUH!”
He turned back to me, pulling out his battered little notebook and flipping it open. “Okay, now Miz Rayburn,” he began.
Just then the phone rang. After eying it suspiciously through several rings, Luther went to the wall and answered. “Hello?”
He listened for a moment and then said, “Miz Jackson can’t come to the phone right now, who is this?” More listening, and then, “The vet’s office? A call from here?”
I raised a hand sheepishly. “That would be me.”
The scowl was back. Luther handed the phone to me. “Cecilia Rayburn,” I said into it.
“Cissy?!” It was Doc Harding. “Our Caller ID here shows a call and hang-up from Rose Jackson’s house.”
“That was me,” I answered. “I overfed a chihuahua and he was throwing up; I got concerned.”
“You looking after Rose’s Paco?” Doc asked.
“Yes, I guess so,” I equivocated. I looked down at the little dog. “But he’s stopped vomiting. It was pretty scary there for a few minutes, but I think he’ll be okay. He hadn’t eaten for a while, and I don’t know about portion sizes for little dogs.”
“Hadn’t eaten – Cissy, what’s going on?”
Luther gave me a Look. I said hastily, “Doc, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you back if Paco has any more problems.” And I hung up.
Luther said, “You fed the dog.”
“Well, look!” I gestured toward the corner. “She’s obviously been dead a good while. And the dog hadn’t been fed. What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to leave like you were told and leave my crime scene alone.”
“Alright!” I capitulated. I went to the counter and picked up a roll of paper towels. “I’ll just clean up the dog mess…”
“Put that down!” Luther roared.
I hastily put the roll back down. “But that’s not crime scene per se,” I argued. “It wasn’t here when I arrived, so I thought…”
“And stop thinking!” Luther added.
Well, if he was going to get in such a state. “What do you want me to do?” I asked humbly.
“Go outside, but don’t leave,” he said. “Since you’ve hung around anyway, I’ll have some questions for you.”
We both raised our heads then, at the sound of sirens getting closer. But it wasn’t the Sheriff’s department arriving, it was the Rescue Squad.
“Déjà vu all over again,” I told Luther, and headed out to the back yard.
Luther stood in the door of the kitchen, as Buddy Haines leaped out of the ambulance and bustled toward the door , determined to resuscitate the lifeless .
“You’re not coming in here, Buddy,” Luther told him.
Pot-bellied Buddy, in his unflattering EMT jumpsuit, managed to sound surprisingly authoritative. “Don’t give me that, Luther, you know darn well…”
“I’m calling it,” Luther interrupted him. “Live folks don’t rot. Nobody’s coming in here but our crime scene techs. ”
“Geez,” Buddy replied. “Rot, like rot?”
“You heard me,” Luther told him. “Go on, get on out of here. I’ll take responsibility.”
For a wonder, Buddy backed down. As the Rescue Squad ambulance backed away, we heard more sirens. Here came the crime scene techs. Luther gestured to the back yard. “Stick around,” he told me.
The back
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