Jason Runny shifted the papers on the table. “Now, let me get this straight.” He made a check on this pad. “You two were meeting to give Nan here a bracelet, that somehow was delivered to your,” he pointed at Sheryl Howard, who was sitting opposite of him, and next to Nan McHough, “office, downtown.” He leaned back and looked at Nan. “And this has to do with a homicide in your,” again he pointed at Sheryl, “building. A homicide in which Miss McHough here is somehow involved.”
Runny, a detective on the New Orleans police department usually worked in the homicide division. “And apparently,” he pointed his pencil at Nan, “you are involved cause some street person, in his dying gesture, pointed at you in front of another officer.”
Nan nodded, she felt a tear roll down her cheek. “Uh, huh.”
Runny tossed the pencil in the air. “I thought about taking a day off today, but no, I had to ask the captain if there was anything interesting going on.” He caught the pencil and sipped his cup of coffee.
Nan cleared her throat. “Oh, and there wasn’t a waitress here, but one served us coffee.” She dabbed her eye. “Really.”
Runny shook his head. “Hmph. You oughta write a book about this.”
Nan tried to smile. “I would if I thought I would live through it. These guys who rolled Sheryl wanted the bracelet back for some reason.”
“It’s all they took. Oh, there was a file of obits in the briefcase too, but that was just paper.” Sheryl pushed her coffee cup away. “The guy was dressed like a painter.”
Misty fog was beginning to cover Charles Avenue as the threesome spoke. Outside the tiny Tip Top Café traffic moved along as if nothing was happening in the old city.
“I suppose this qualifies as part of a homicide investigation.” Runny made a scratch on his notepad. “But, from where I sit, there is little more here than a common mugging. As to the bracelet, I am still trying to connect that to this thing. Are you sure that there was nothing else in your briefcase?”
“Like I said, just newspaper copy, some pens, my car charger for my cell phone, some tissue, five or six paperclips.” Sheryl looked at the ceiling trying to list the contents.
Runny waved his hand. “I get it, just stuff.”
“Yeah.” Nan held her coffee cup with two hands. “But, someone is trying to get to me for some reason. And it has to do with the locket that Otis, the victim, was clutching in his hand.”
“A locket for your bracelet?” The detective drew a circle on his pad.
Nan nodded. “Yeah.”
Runny scooted out of the booth and stood by the table. “Anything else? Call me.” He dropped his card on the desk. “If there is anything else I should know, that has anything to do with anything,” the frustration in his voice was evident, “call me. No wait. Don’t. Send me an email. That way I can put it in my junk mail file.”
Sheryl looked up. “Right.”
“And you.” He pointed at Nan. “Don’t leave town, and if you know anything more about the homicide let me know.”
“Buy the book.” Nan giggled and looked out at the mist, fog, and traffic.
Runny pulled his rain coat on and smoothed out the collar. “What’re ya gonna call it?”
Nan tapped the window. “September Fog.”
“Send me a copy.”
“Send me ten bucks.”
A white painter’s van rumbled through the fog down Charles Avenue toward Canal Street.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.