Parting Shot

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I ran into someone on the street in Promise Falls the other day, a woman who knew me back when I was a cop here, before I left for Griffon, near Buffalo, and became a private investigator.

She said, “Oh, I didn’t know you’d moved back. How’s Donna? And your boy? Scott, isn’t it?”

I never quite know how to answer questions like this. But I said, “I’m kind of on my own now.”

She gave me a sympathetic look and nodded knowingly. “These things happen,” she said. “I hope it was all amicable, that you’re all still talking.”

I gave her the best smile I could muster. “We talk every night,” I told her.

She smiled back. “Well, that’s good then, isn’t it?”

Detective Barry Duckworth of the Promise Falls Police was sitting at his desk when his phone rang. He snatched up the receiver.

“Duckworth,” he said.

“It’s Bayliss.” Trent Bayliss, the sergeant on the desk where people walked into the station.

“Yeah.”

“I got a live one here.” Bayliss was unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

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