At some point, surely someone must notice the pattern… right? Note: Beginning slightly edited for clarity.
##
It took a while, but I’ve convinced Maggie to tell me when she goes out of town. I’ll feel better, I say, if I know for sure where she is when a body makes the news.
Which is true, of course. The sheer frequency with which that little lunatic does it keeps me awake at nights. But it also enables me to take certain precautions.
Like this one.
“Hello, Branford County Police Station, Constable Ford speaking.”
“Hello, Constable Ford, this is Detective Inspector Winsbury. I’m going to need to speak to whoever is in charge there about a possible murder.”
As usual, there was some back and forth at that point, but eventually I got through to an Inspector. “What do you mean, a possible murder?!” he asked, irritated.
“Just what I said. Tell me, Inspector, have you ever had dealings with an amateur detective? The real thing, I mean. The genuine Carrion Crow.”
His tone went from hostile to guarded. “I’ve… heard some things. Never met one.”
“You’re about to. Mine’s visiting Branford, ostensibly to see an old school friend, and I wouldn’t bet you the price of a beer that she’s not going to show up to report a murder within a few days.”
“You can’t possibly - “
“Her count’s at fourteen, to my certain knowledge.”
Keep reading