to wake him.
The officer with the camera continued taking pictures. I wanted to grab the camera from him and smash it into his face. Didn’t he realize Dale didn’t want to be photographed?
His eyes were open. That freaked me out the most. He looked right at me. How could he not see me? How could he not know what was going on now?
The doctor took a step back from the body. He looked at Chief Hooper.
“Notice the ragged edges of the skin along the wound?”
The chief nodded.
“Most likely a knife with a serrated edge. Judging from the size and depth of the opening, a rather large blade I’d say.”
“Maybe a hunting knife?” the chief questioned.
“Could be.”
The cop with the camera kept shooting.
“It doesn’t look like he put up any struggle,” the doctor continued. “No defensive wounds on the hands.”
He did look peaceful, I thought.
“Could it be,” the chief said, “that the killer came up behind him?”
The examiner nodded. “Possible.” He rubbed his chin. “Most likely they wouldn’t have gotten much blood on themselves that way.”
“No,” I said.
All heads turned toward me.
“The killer wasn’t behind him. He would have been in front. Dale saw the killer. You can see it in his eyes.”
His eyes were looking at something. They weren’t just vacant eyes. Even in death they held something.
The chief glared angrily at me. He conferred with the examiner some more in an inaudible conversation. Then he signaled for the ambulance attendants, who had been patiently standing nearby, to proceed with their end of the business.
I watched as they callously laid Dale’s body out on the outspread plastic bag. I couldn’t take my eyes away. I realized this would be the last time I would see Dale. I wanted to reach out to him, tell him I wouldn’t forget him.
One of the attendants pressed his eyelids closed.
No, I thought. Don’t shut out his world. Don’t close off his last look.
But I realized he could look no more.
I turned my head when they began to zip up the plastic bag. I did not want to see that, but the metallic sound ripped through my body like an icy blade.
After the ambulance pulled out, I opened my eyes and looked at the others. Martin’s head hung down, exposing more of his bare scalp; Lonny’s hands kept twitching as his fingers continuously moved to his head to adjust his hairpiece. It didn’t help.
Even Oliver seemed shaky. He kept exhaling deep breaths.
I listened as Hooper questioned Professor Bonz and the two women. They had all gone to bed early they told him, the professor accentuating his need to rise early to get onto the lake for his studies and expressing frustration at this current interruption.
I remembered seeing the female guest going upstairs to her room while we were still in the den. I also remembered the chambermaid, Sandy, coming down from Oliver’s room. What did she consider early? How long had I sat out on the porch with Dale? How late was it when I went up to my room? Nothing was clear to me.
Hooper thanked them and let them go about their business. Then he turned his attention to us.
As he crossed the porch approaching us, the floorboards emitting a strained creak with each step, he removed from his front pocket a plastic bag and pulled out of it a hunk of pepperoni. He bit off a huge chunk, gnawing it as he replaced the remainder in his pocket. He tugged on his belt when he stopped in front of our group.
The way he glared reminded me of the many times he would approach us as kids and accuse us of some mischievous activity. Like the time Oliver caught a duck with a fishing net and we put it in Hooper’s car. The next morning, the bird flew out as soon as Hooper opened his door. But it had left behind a gooey mess all over the car’s seats.
He had stared at us then in hopes one of our members would finally crack and admit our guilt. But no one ever did. Except that one time Jason Nightingale squealed.
“I knew you were all
The officer with the camera continued taking pictures. I wanted to grab the camera from him and smash it into his face. Didn’t he realize Dale didn’t want to be photographed?
His eyes were open. That freaked me out the most. He looked right at me. How could he not see me? How could he not know what was going on now?
The doctor took a step back from the body. He looked at Chief Hooper.
“Notice the ragged edges of the skin along the wound?”
The chief nodded.
“Most likely a knife with a serrated edge. Judging from the size and depth of the opening, a rather large blade I’d say.”
“Maybe a hunting knife?” the chief questioned.
“Could be.”
The cop with the camera kept shooting.
“It doesn’t look like he put up any struggle,” the doctor continued. “No defensive wounds on the hands.”
He did look peaceful, I thought.
“Could it be,” the chief said, “that the killer came up behind him?”
The examiner nodded. “Possible.” He rubbed his chin. “Most likely they wouldn’t have gotten much blood on themselves that way.”
“No,” I said.
All heads turned toward me.
“The killer wasn’t behind him. He would have been in front. Dale saw the killer. You can see it in his eyes.”
His eyes were looking at something. They weren’t just vacant eyes. Even in death they held something.
The chief glared angrily at me. He conferred with the examiner some more in an inaudible conversation. Then he signaled for the ambulance attendants, who had been patiently standing nearby, to proceed with their end of the business.
I watched as they callously laid Dale’s body out on the outspread plastic bag. I couldn’t take my eyes away. I realized this would be the last time I would see Dale. I wanted to reach out to him, tell him I wouldn’t forget him.
One of the attendants pressed his eyelids closed.
No, I thought. Don’t shut out his world. Don’t close off his last look.
But I realized he could look no more.
I turned my head when they began to zip up the plastic bag. I did not want to see that, but the metallic sound ripped through my body like an icy blade.
After the ambulance pulled out, I opened my eyes and looked at the others. Martin’s head hung down, exposing more of his bare scalp; Lonny’s hands kept twitching as his fingers continuously moved to his head to adjust his hairpiece. It didn’t help.
Even Oliver seemed shaky. He kept exhaling deep breaths.
I listened as Hooper questioned Professor Bonz and the two women. They had all gone to bed early they told him, the professor accentuating his need to rise early to get onto the lake for his studies and expressing frustration at this current interruption.
I remembered seeing the female guest going upstairs to her room while we were still in the den. I also remembered the chambermaid, Sandy, coming down from Oliver’s room. What did she consider early? How long had I sat out on the porch with Dale? How late was it when I went up to my room? Nothing was clear to me.
Hooper thanked them and let them go about their business. Then he turned his attention to us.
As he crossed the porch approaching us, the floorboards emitting a strained creak with each step, he removed from his front pocket a plastic bag and pulled out of it a hunk of pepperoni. He bit off a huge chunk, gnawing it as he replaced the remainder in his pocket. He tugged on his belt when he stopped in front of our group.
The way he glared reminded me of the many times he would approach us as kids and accuse us of some mischievous activity. Like the time Oliver caught a duck with a fishing net and we put it in Hooper’s car. The next morning, the bird flew out as soon as Hooper opened his door. But it had left behind a gooey mess all over the car’s seats.
He had stared at us then in hopes one of our members would finally crack and admit our guilt. But no one ever did. Except that one time Jason Nightingale squealed.
“I knew you were all
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