The Detective with Dishpan Hands

The vintage Pontiac Firebird had left the road and plunged into the Pocomoke River. He had found the car the previous day...with the body still inside...and done his duty by reporting it. He was, of course, totally blameless.

Trooper Hall of the Maryland State Police was standing stoic and stolid and solid. A tall, slender Hispanic lady was talking at Hall and did not seem overly pleased with the trooper or the Universe.

She was wearing charcoal slacks and a lighter gray blouse buttoned to the throat; it had long, slightly-poofy sleeves and a Mandarin collar. Her shoes were black with low heels.

She was studying Gabe Bergeron. She had dark eyes that might be pretty when they were slightly less focused. She had thick masses of curly black hair tied back.

He had gone jogging expecting the car to be gone today, but it was not, and what appeared to his experienced eye to be forensic techs were crawling over the car and the whole area. They were snapping photos of the skid marks.

He had already given a statement to Trooper Hall, and the Dark Lady allowed him jog past. She did not stop, arrest, or abuse him in any way. She had a shiny badge clipped to her belt.

He returned to Aunt Flo's B&B and made breakfast for the guests, aka the ravening horde. He did this in Ezmeralda's kitchen. With her full knowledge and consent. This remarkable dispensation had been granted him due to the fact that Ezmeralda's brother, Ignacio, was in a hospital in Houston after suffering a heart attack, and she was at his bedside.

Aunt Flo was staring at him as he washed dishes.

He said, "I'm fairly certain it wasn't an accident." Aunt Flo nodded. "They had a forensic team going over the car, and there was a plainclothes detective on the scene with Trooper Hall dancing attendance."

"And is there any reason they might suspect you, Gabriel?"

"None! Absolutely none, Aunt Flo."

Well, he had known Ray, the driver, and they hadn't been buddies or chums. And it might be the case that Ray had punched him in the face, or tried to, but that had been seventeen years earlier.

So if there was anything hinky about Ray's death...the slightest little thing...the police would be coming to see him. Yesterday's questioning would be but prologue.

He was elbow deep in soapy water when he heard the vehicles in the parking lot.

The Dark Lady was coming to call.