picnic season, and to celebrate, buy a family bag of your favorite snack chips and get one free! Then you can sample our onion dip and meet best-selling author Kevin Dangler, who's signing his new book Twisted Sheets. Welcome him to Walla Walla and get his book for 30% off!"
A gangly man, shirtless under denim overalls, abruptly steered his shopping cart to Kevin's table, where the voice of a new generation sat behind a stack of books and a bucket of chips, forcing himself to read the first chapter of The Nine Lives of Purrlock Holmes, currently number three on New York Times paperback bestseller list.
"Are you Kevin Dangler?" the man asked, snagging a complimentary potato chip and raking it through the complimentary bowl of onion spread.
No, I'm the Kevin Dangler imposter who goes from one K-Mart to another enjoying the vicarious thrill of not selling any books.
"Yes, I am," Kevin said.
"I liked Frost Bite. "
"Thank you."
"But your last two books really sucked," the man shoved the chip in his mouth and grabbed another greasy handful of them out of the bucket. "Welcome to Walla Walla."
The man pushed his cart away, munching chips and leaving a wake of crumbs. Kevin stared after him, seriously considering whether to commit his second murder in two days. Maybe it's true what they say, it does get easier after the first time.
"If it makes you feel better, I can have his car towed," someone said.
Kevin turned to see a pot-bellied man in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki slacks, holding a paper bag..
"You can do that?" Kevin asked.
"It's the least of my super-powers," the man set the bag down on the table, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a leather wallet, which he flipped open to reveal an ID card and a badge. "You'd be surprised what a homicide detective can do."
Kevin stared at the ID. Detective Bud Flanek. From Spokane. He felt all the blood drain from his face and wondered if the cop could see it.
"You're a long way from home," Kevin said, trying hard to keep his voice even and calm.
This could be a coincidence. They happen. There wouldn't be a word for it if they didn't.
"It's about a four hour drive," Flanek replied, shoving his badge back in his pocket. "You could make it in less time, but I like to stop in Lewiston for a burger on the way."
"What brings you to K-mart?"
"You, Mr. Dangler. I missed you when you were in town and I'm a big fan."
"Really?" Kevin's heart was pounding so loud, he was certain Flanek could hear it. He took a paperback off the stack and opened it up to the title page. "Well, let me hurry up and sign a book for you. I know you've got a long trip back home."
"You know what I like best about your books? You really get inside the killers head. Gives me some insight, let me tell you," Flanek said. "I've often thought about calling you up for advice."
"That's very flattering," Kevin motioned to the book with the tip of his pen. "How would you like me to sign your book?"
"As a matter of fact, I'm working on a unusually difficult case right now," Flanek continued. "This librarian was murdered in her own home, hit over the head with a blunt instrument. We don't have any idea why."
Kevin looked up from the book. Flanek was smiling jovially, just a friendly fan who couldn't stop talking. But Kevin knew a cat-and-mouse game when he saw one. The key was to keep his cool. They had nothing on him, he saw to that.
"Surely the killer must have left fingerprints, a hair, something you can go on."
Flanek shook his head. "That's what's so strange. It was like she was killed by a ghost. Whoever did it wiped the place clean."
Kevin almost sighed with relief, before catching himself and turning it into a cough instead. "What about witnesses?"
"We aren't that lucky," Flanek absently scratched his belly. "Tell me, what would you do if you were writing this as a story? How would you catch the guy?"
What does he expect me to do, confess?
"In fiction, the killer always makes a mistake," Kevin
A gangly man, shirtless under denim overalls, abruptly steered his shopping cart to Kevin's table, where the voice of a new generation sat behind a stack of books and a bucket of chips, forcing himself to read the first chapter of The Nine Lives of Purrlock Holmes, currently number three on New York Times paperback bestseller list.
"Are you Kevin Dangler?" the man asked, snagging a complimentary potato chip and raking it through the complimentary bowl of onion spread.
No, I'm the Kevin Dangler imposter who goes from one K-Mart to another enjoying the vicarious thrill of not selling any books.
"Yes, I am," Kevin said.
"I liked Frost Bite. "
"Thank you."
"But your last two books really sucked," the man shoved the chip in his mouth and grabbed another greasy handful of them out of the bucket. "Welcome to Walla Walla."
The man pushed his cart away, munching chips and leaving a wake of crumbs. Kevin stared after him, seriously considering whether to commit his second murder in two days. Maybe it's true what they say, it does get easier after the first time.
"If it makes you feel better, I can have his car towed," someone said.
Kevin turned to see a pot-bellied man in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki slacks, holding a paper bag..
"You can do that?" Kevin asked.
"It's the least of my super-powers," the man set the bag down on the table, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a leather wallet, which he flipped open to reveal an ID card and a badge. "You'd be surprised what a homicide detective can do."
Kevin stared at the ID. Detective Bud Flanek. From Spokane. He felt all the blood drain from his face and wondered if the cop could see it.
"You're a long way from home," Kevin said, trying hard to keep his voice even and calm.
This could be a coincidence. They happen. There wouldn't be a word for it if they didn't.
"It's about a four hour drive," Flanek replied, shoving his badge back in his pocket. "You could make it in less time, but I like to stop in Lewiston for a burger on the way."
"What brings you to K-mart?"
"You, Mr. Dangler. I missed you when you were in town and I'm a big fan."
"Really?" Kevin's heart was pounding so loud, he was certain Flanek could hear it. He took a paperback off the stack and opened it up to the title page. "Well, let me hurry up and sign a book for you. I know you've got a long trip back home."
"You know what I like best about your books? You really get inside the killers head. Gives me some insight, let me tell you," Flanek said. "I've often thought about calling you up for advice."
"That's very flattering," Kevin motioned to the book with the tip of his pen. "How would you like me to sign your book?"
"As a matter of fact, I'm working on a unusually difficult case right now," Flanek continued. "This librarian was murdered in her own home, hit over the head with a blunt instrument. We don't have any idea why."
Kevin looked up from the book. Flanek was smiling jovially, just a friendly fan who couldn't stop talking. But Kevin knew a cat-and-mouse game when he saw one. The key was to keep his cool. They had nothing on him, he saw to that.
"Surely the killer must have left fingerprints, a hair, something you can go on."
Flanek shook his head. "That's what's so strange. It was like she was killed by a ghost. Whoever did it wiped the place clean."
Kevin almost sighed with relief, before catching himself and turning it into a cough instead. "What about witnesses?"
"We aren't that lucky," Flanek absently scratched his belly. "Tell me, what would you do if you were writing this as a story? How would you catch the guy?"
What does he expect me to do, confess?
"In fiction, the killer always makes a mistake," Kevin
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