Read Online From Newsprint to Footprints: A River's Edge Cozy Mystery (River's Edge Cozy Mysteries Book 1) by Elaine Orr - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elaine Orr
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know you're capable and know everyone in town, but I don't like that agent or the fact that the sheriff sent that deputy to accompany him. Tell your brother I'll drive you down, unless you object."
I can't agree more . "Thanks. Ambrose, did you hear that?"
"Yes. That's the guy you're working for? Tell him I owe him a six-pack."
CHAPTER SEVEN
TWO GOOD THINGS resulted from yesterday's half-hour of IDI agents' questions, all of which were repeats of the first round except mine about Hal's car, which they wouldn't answer. First, Ken Brownberg said that if the agents needed to question me again, they were to call him to bring me to them unless there were 'exigent circumstances.'
Whatever those are .
Second, I was so damned mad that I was no longer going to presume right would prevail and someone else would be arrested for Hal's murder. I was going to put my five years of investigative skills to work for myself. Not that I really knew what to do beyond the questions I'd already asked at Farm and More.
I'm a good writer, but it's generally not hard to get information in River's Edge. The paper covers a lot of good things going on in town or, hopefully, a new business. Negative stories were about people everyone would agree were bad guys. Meth makers, home burglars, people like that. People were willing to talk about that, if they knew anything.
The stuff people wanted to stay hidden wasn't fodder for South County News stories. Lots of folks might want to know whether the chief teller at the bank was sleeping with the woman who sold lottery tickets at the gas station, but Hal never wanted to be sued. He just walked around spreading gossip rather than writing an article.
That's why I was surprised that the Methodist Church was packed for the memorial service.
I was in the last pew because I wanted to see everyone who entered. By the time the service started, about two hundred people were seated, which was close to the church's capacity. I watched the fire chief silently count heads.
Usually a casket sits in the middle aisle toward the front, or a box of cremated remains sits on a round mahogany table. That was likely the small table's only purpose. Who would want to see a stack of church bulletins on it, if their parents or friends had once rested on the table?
But, no box. Probably Hal's body was still in Des Moines for the autopsy. Instead, there was a large photo of Hal on the table. I couldn't tell from where I sat, but Hal seemed to be smiling. That would be unusual. Idly, I wondered if there would be a grave or if his ashes would be scattered somewhere. I couldn't think of anyone who might want his urn.
Reverend Yvonne Patrick told us the opening hymn would be Blest Are the Pure in Heart. I'm not sure I would have picked it for Hal, but Reverend Patrick never worked for him.
Mayor Samuels, jowls jiggling, gave the eulogy. "Hal Morris was a fixture in River's Edge for more than twenty-five years. Anyone who knew him would say…"
This ought to be good .
"..that he never shied away from a story."
Okay, that was pretty much true .
The mayor praised Hal's dedication to his work and willingness to bear any kind of weather to cover a story.
The weather? He has to talk about the weather to find anything good to say about Hal ?
I thought about how different my parents' service was. It was so large that the church used a closed-circuit television feed so people could watch from the community hall. The minister stood after twenty minutes of individual tributes, or we would have been in church half the day. The phrase most often used to describe my Mom and Dad was 'generous spirits.'
My eyes started to water, and a tear strayed down my cheek before I could brush it away.
Someone standing behind me squeezed my shoulder lightly, and I looked up to see Fred.
He bent over and whispered, "It'll be okay."
I patted his hand on my shoulder, and he removed it when I turned to face the front again. Should I tell Fred
I can't agree more . "Thanks. Ambrose, did you hear that?"
"Yes. That's the guy you're working for? Tell him I owe him a six-pack."
CHAPTER SEVEN
TWO GOOD THINGS resulted from yesterday's half-hour of IDI agents' questions, all of which were repeats of the first round except mine about Hal's car, which they wouldn't answer. First, Ken Brownberg said that if the agents needed to question me again, they were to call him to bring me to them unless there were 'exigent circumstances.'
Whatever those are .
Second, I was so damned mad that I was no longer going to presume right would prevail and someone else would be arrested for Hal's murder. I was going to put my five years of investigative skills to work for myself. Not that I really knew what to do beyond the questions I'd already asked at Farm and More.
I'm a good writer, but it's generally not hard to get information in River's Edge. The paper covers a lot of good things going on in town or, hopefully, a new business. Negative stories were about people everyone would agree were bad guys. Meth makers, home burglars, people like that. People were willing to talk about that, if they knew anything.
The stuff people wanted to stay hidden wasn't fodder for South County News stories. Lots of folks might want to know whether the chief teller at the bank was sleeping with the woman who sold lottery tickets at the gas station, but Hal never wanted to be sued. He just walked around spreading gossip rather than writing an article.
That's why I was surprised that the Methodist Church was packed for the memorial service.
I was in the last pew because I wanted to see everyone who entered. By the time the service started, about two hundred people were seated, which was close to the church's capacity. I watched the fire chief silently count heads.
Usually a casket sits in the middle aisle toward the front, or a box of cremated remains sits on a round mahogany table. That was likely the small table's only purpose. Who would want to see a stack of church bulletins on it, if their parents or friends had once rested on the table?
But, no box. Probably Hal's body was still in Des Moines for the autopsy. Instead, there was a large photo of Hal on the table. I couldn't tell from where I sat, but Hal seemed to be smiling. That would be unusual. Idly, I wondered if there would be a grave or if his ashes would be scattered somewhere. I couldn't think of anyone who might want his urn.
Reverend Yvonne Patrick told us the opening hymn would be Blest Are the Pure in Heart. I'm not sure I would have picked it for Hal, but Reverend Patrick never worked for him.
Mayor Samuels, jowls jiggling, gave the eulogy. "Hal Morris was a fixture in River's Edge for more than twenty-five years. Anyone who knew him would say…"
This ought to be good .
"..that he never shied away from a story."
Okay, that was pretty much true .
The mayor praised Hal's dedication to his work and willingness to bear any kind of weather to cover a story.
The weather? He has to talk about the weather to find anything good to say about Hal ?
I thought about how different my parents' service was. It was so large that the church used a closed-circuit television feed so people could watch from the community hall. The minister stood after twenty minutes of individual tributes, or we would have been in church half the day. The phrase most often used to describe my Mom and Dad was 'generous spirits.'
My eyes started to water, and a tear strayed down my cheek before I could brush it away.
Someone standing behind me squeezed my shoulder lightly, and I looked up to see Fred.
He bent over and whispered, "It'll be okay."
I patted his hand on my shoulder, and he removed it when I turned to face the front again. Should I tell Fred
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