The Gardens of Digby Green: You Poor Fool
Car doors slammed, and Ray Wilkinson stood. He’d been studying Rose’s calendar, marked with deliveries due, appointments, and task deadlines. The bell on the front door chimed, before someone barked “Police!” He spared one glance through the open rear delivery door, then headed to meet them.
“Hello, Marquez,” Ray said, and the detective blinked. “This is my wife’s shop.”
The detective grunted, gestured toward the cash register, and a forensics specialist prepared to dust for fingerprints. Another man took pictures.
“No obvious struggle here,” Marquez said. “Did you touch anything, Wilkinson?”
“I pulled out her desk drawers, and opened the office closet, where I got a flashlight. It’s on her desk, now.”
The detective stalked forward, grabbed Ray’s arm, marched him down the hall and out the rear door. “Idiot. You’re the county coroner, you should know better.” He released Ray’s arm and smacked his right fist into his left palm.
“What did you need a flashlight for? The power’s on in the building.”
“I went looking for Rose.” His words sounded feeble in his ears, and Ray waved toward the unlit area of the parking lot.
“Worse and worse. How far did you go?”
“All the way…and…She…wasn’t there.”
“You poor fool. Give me your shoes.” The detective snapped his fingers.
“What?”
“Think, man. Because you went wandering, my guys now need prints of your shoe soles to compare with anything they might find out there, in the morning.”
Ray stumbled to Rose’s Chrysler, where he leaned against the rear fender to stand on first one foot, then the other, while untying his shoes with shaking fingers. He handed his shoes to Marquez by the laces, and stood in his socks on the asphalt.
Please, let there be some evidence for them to find. I want my Rose back.
The Gardens of Digby Green is a serialized story which posts on Fridays.
Next week, part fifteen, Verify That.
Find a link to purchase Heartland Treasures anthology here.
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