The one detective who thinks has all of the answers but doesn't.
| Chapter One
"I glanced from my office, thinking how would the killer get off on strangling his wife?" Darwin asked himself.
"You haven't reached the point of cracking the case?" Myra asked him.
"I can't with you, hovering over me day and night, you can't decide from boiled eggs to scrambled eggs."
"I have decided scrambled." Said, Myra
The Columnist Tea Party takes place at the Good Sheraton Banquet Hall, over on Lake Street and the
Guest happens to be a man; who sports a mulligan and has a very eccentric personality; wherever he
He goes, he just owns the room with an iron fist.
"Sir, I don't believe we've met, I am Sheldon Richards and you are?"
"I would scrambled, before saying, I am Darwin Williamson, most folks just call me Hawkins or Papa
Dan, because I take care of my neighbors like a caring dad."
"You have no children." Myra replies
"And then I say, Myra do me a favor and go help yourself to some crab legs and a martini."
And then (flick!) all of a sudden the lights cut out and when they come back on, half a dozen
Who showed up for the shindig were dead, that's right about twenty people on a nicely clean
Persian rug; with blood gushing out of their heads, ears, eyes and noses and I have yet to
see who the culprit was, because by the time I did that, two scenarios would take place;
One I would either be dead with the guest or two I would get framed, once the suspect would
Smear the blood on my hands and jacket, I'm no Matlock, but I know something is up for sure.
No matter what I am determine to get to the bottom of this. (To be continued)...