Murder 2 – Crown & Rose Pub
I made it to the Crown & Rose ok.
“Ok” meaning “alive.”
It was just my 80-year-old neighbor, Teeny LaCroix, at my front door earlier wanting to make sure I was okay before reminding me that I forgot to put out my trash this week. Again.
Larry owns the hardware store next door and is convinced the killer bought his (or her?) weapon there. And he’s also convinced that I’m the next target.
“All I’m sayin’ is that you fit the M.O. that’s all…”
To which I responded “Are you freaking serious?”
He nodded. “Female, 20′s….yeah. Better watch out.” His voice is always gravelly. Like he’s about to cough. Even when he’s smiling and teasing me.
“Well, looks like I’ve got 2,300 people competing with me in the victim department. 23% of the Baskin population fits that description!”
He smiled. “I don’t care about fancy math. All I know is you fit the profile. And that the killer could be closer than you think…Dunkin’ Donuts is only two blocks away. Prolly bought his knife at my store, who knows.” He took a swig from his bottle.
“Well…then…by that logic, YOU could be the killer, Larry!”
He almost choked on his beer, “What the hell? Me?”
“Yep. Most serial killers are caucasian males between the ages of 18 and 32.”
“I’m 37, so you’re safe.” He laughed.
I shook my head. “Minor detail! And how do you know it was a knife anyway? They never said…”
“Oh come on! They said the ladies were stabbed. Figured it was a knife.”
“Maybe…”
“Well…how do you even know there’s a serial killer out there?” he asked.
I nodded. “You’re right. I don’t know. It could be two murders connected to something. But not necessarily a serial killer.”
“Besides,” he joked. “I’m too skinny to be a killer. Anyone could take me.”
I looked at his 5’8″ frame sitting on the bar stool with his baseball cap and flannel shirt. Same height, but my 155 lbs could probably take him. “Yeah, I guess you’re right…”
“And,” he continued. “I have a new baby. So I can’t possibly be going around killing folk for fun. No time!”
“Probably not,” I said before Larry proceeded with one of his 20-minute monologues about the murder, the police, his girlfriend, his new baby Luke, the beer industry, the Red Sox, or basically anywhere his mouth led him.
That was my cue to turn on my laptop behind the counter, pull up a stool, and start typing. This is the only free time I’ll have before the evening ambush of drunkards. Remy and Sunshine just walked in! Stay tuned…
