Malpractice Makes Perfect

Chapter 8

          "I'm still not over it."

          "It's been years."

         "The Burenville Crawdads? Don't you miss when they were called the Suns? It was respectable."

          "It was and I do."

          "Am I supposed to buy Burenville Crawdads merchandise?"

          I glimpsed at the cartoonish muscular crawdad logo that graced the center of his hat. "You're wearing a Burenville Crawdads hat right now."

          Manny smiled and touched his fingers to the rim of the navy-blue baseball cap. "Yeah, but its hot today."

          "Color looks good on you."

          "Thank you—woah!!" He jumped from his seat and stared as the ball went flying, flying, flying...out of the park. "Damn that was a good hit." He clapped his hands in excitement as the ballpark DJ played the homerun jingle. On the diamond, the men at second and third base took a leisurely jog past home.

          I stuffed the last bit of my hotdog into my mouth in a most unladylike fashion and washed it down with a swig of ballpark cola. "That one was worthy of the Majors for sure."

          He sat back down with an enthusiastic flop. "Absolutely!" Our city's minor league baseball team was Double-A with a...moderate record. Not that that made the games any less fun. "So, how'd it go yesterday?"

         "I didn't find the necklace, but I did find a written murder accusation."

          "What?"

         I recounted yesterday's events as number thirty-six was taking a couple of practice swings. "She said she'd call if she wanted me to look into it."

         "That's crazy."

          "What do you think?'

          "I think you don't have much of a case without evidence." He leaned back and looked over at me behind the dark reflection of his shades.

          I saw my lip curl ever so slightly in the reflection. "But what would you do?"

          He bit into his hotdog and smacked loudly over ketchup and relish while he thought about it. "They wouldn't even call me without conclusive proof but if I were you, I would feel out anyone who had means and motive. Evidence is another matter."

          "How could they have buried her without the mortician calling it in?"

          "If it's not blunt force or a gunshot wound, a lot can slip by. Smothering, poison, withholding medications. Can't know without an autopsy."

          "She's already buried. Could they have missed it?"

          "There probably wasn't an autopsy. They only order one when the death is suspicious."

          Duh! Diana had been a sixty something year old woman dying of cancer. As far as I know there was no suspicious marks on her to indicate foul play. Of course, there was no autopsy. That would only make my job harder if I did indeed have a job.

          "She probably won't call."

          "Probably not." He stared daggers at number eighty-one as he hit his fourth foul ball of the game. The DJ's smarmy voice boomed from the speakers, "This foul ball brought to you by Harrison's Hardware."

          "Why won't they bench this clown?" Manny asked.

         "But if they bench him, he won't get his participation trophy."