Forensic Science: Everybody’s Friend
Writing ‘the Beats’ for Sweet Spot, trying to remember all the things I have planned to throw at Rebel and Tom in the fourth and last of the Poet, Oregon Series. For those new to the writing game, this is the outline we writers put together to give ourselves a road map of ideas to follow when we’re in the throws of creating our latest masterpiece.
We sometimes follow this map; we sometimes veer off into the bushes and take a few extra days taking in the local sights. We often indulge in a few extra calories; let out the belt an extra notch. It’s all good.
Got up this morning, shuffled into the kitchen at dark o’clock to make a coffee and get back at it. What’s that? A short, wiggly white worm-like creature is crawling across the floor. Ugh. Picked it up with a tissue, tossed it.
The cats, Miss Daisy and Stevie King (my in-house editor) have been interested in bugs lately – it’s been raining pretty heavily lately and they’ve got a bit of cabin fever, so I get it, though I must admit, they seemed to favor the flying variety. Made the coffee. Trudging over to my desk, worm #2 makes an appearance. Okay – it’s a grub. Getting that creepy crawling feeling – just a little bit. Out comes another tissue. Tossed. Wash up, just to make sure …
A few more steps out of the kitchen grub #3 waves his stubby little head – big creepy feelings now. Shuddering, tissue three comes out, I toss said grub and decide it is time to investigate. I’ve watched enough forensic files to know about this: They date the time of murder based on these little guys. Murder? I only writes ‘em lady ….
We give our dogs a fresh bone every night after their seven kilometer run—they have spectacular teeth, btw—I highly recommend it. They abandon the bone once they worked out all of the marrow. I gather the bones up from around the yard every week or two. I’m thinking, since I have clearly not murdered anyone in real life (can’t say that about my novels, however…) the bones may be the attractive culprits here. Did one slide under the couch by accident?
I get out the broom and begin sweeping out all the fur balls and lost toys that end up under the couch. Since I haven’t done this in weeks, I’m pleasantly surprised at how little there is. But wait.
Ah. Mystery solved. Stevie King has deposited a dead bird under the couch. Nice going Stevie.
Stevie doesn’t eat them, you understand. A few days ago he brought one into the cabin, alive, quite proud of his catch and release program. We quickly relieved Stevie of his prize and set the bird free. It flew right back to the tree Stevie likely found him.
The bird stashed under the couch wasn’t so lucky.
I clean up the carnage. Wash up. Grab my coffee and head to my computer.
Forensic science, huh?
It only took three little grubs to lead me to the body …. And identify the killer.