Detective Ryan Telford turned the ignition key of his non-descript, eight year old grey Chevy to the off position and opened the driver side door. The old car gave a loud burp, coughed twice, snorted once and then as if deciding that a good rest was the order of the day ceased complaining.
Ryan placed his size twelve, scuffed black shoes onto the brown cobble stone, four car wide drive-way. He eased his lanky tough as sun dried raw hide frame off of the cracked, imitation black leather seat. Telford stood up and gave the large two story house at the end of posh Garden Circle a good twice over.
Every white brick, every piece of polished smoke grey granite, every bit of black mortar oozed wealth and privilege. He mumbled half under his breath and half out loud, “Must be six thousand square feet if it’s an inch.”
“It’s seventy-two hundred, but who’s counting.”
Telford whirled around, trying to discover the owner of the soft, warm, bedroom sounding contralto voice. His first eye sweep missed the five foot four slender body, half hidden behind a dozen rose bushes.
A low, “Over here,” was all the help he needed to hone his vision in on the red haired girl, “I’ve never thought that the size of anything mattered.” An impish grin was fixed on her freckle dusted, rather plain face.
The owner of the voice stepped out from behind well trimmed bushes loaded with large scarlet blooms. Ryan sucked in a lungful of fresh air, fresher than downtown Toronto any way and averted his eyes away from the figure. She appeared to be wearing nothing more than two small blue hankies that accented her goodies more than hiding them. He focused his peppers on her dancing jade green eyes and the provocative, full of the devil smile that made her look almost pretty.
She glided over to him and stretched out a small tanned hand attached to a slender sun browned arm. “Hi, I’m Sandy and who might you be, or is it whom might you be. Never could get those things straight. Not that it matters, or does it. Well never mind who you are, if you’re selling something just jump back into your rust bucket and mosey on out of here. If you’re here about the corpse floating in our pool, well pardner just amble that there way.” The right index finger pointed to the side of the house and as if this intrusion was nothing more than a dust mite in her eye, the girl turned her back and floated away.
Telford watched the well rounded; swivelling hips for a moment and then gave him-self a hard mental kick in the rear. “You’re more than old enough to be her father, you damn idiot. Now you best get your mind back onto the business at hand.” He tore his gaze away from the bouncing buttocks and on gangly legs ambled in the indicated direction.
Old doctor Young and a blonde haired woman, dressed in a no nonsense brown tweed business suit knelt at the edge of a large kidney shaped pool. Telford was unable to make out the object held in the woman’s hand.
Fifty feet or so to the left of the sun dappled water was a group of three men. Telford recognized all three of them. The first two were Captain Thomas Mason and detective Blayne Nash, neither one of them was on his face book’s best friend list. Or ever would be if ever bowed to Mrinda’s pleading to join that online community. The third was Mayor Phillip Price.
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