New Excerpt From Cold as a Wedge!

     Excerpt from Chapter 2 of Cold as a Wedge

     The sun was just creeping up over the horizon in Southaven as J.D. and Rick arrived back at the station around 6:00am. Located on Main Street, it was a humble brick building nestled beside the fire house, not far from the center of town. When they pulled into the parking lot it looked like a typical sleepy Saturday morning. There were only a handful of vehicles but one looked out of place. It didn't belong to any of the personnel at the station.
     "That's a 1967 Pontiac GTO," J.D. observed, his mouth practically watering. "400 inch V8 engine, four barrel carburetor."
     "What are you, Kelley's Blue Book?" Rick teased. J.D. grinned as he threw the truck into park. They got out and strode over to the entrance of the police station. As they did, the door to the Gulf Turquoise GTO opened and a spry young woman appeared. She wore snug bell bottoms and a green sweater vest pulled over a cream colored blouse. Her russet hair, kissed with the faintest whispers of gold was tied back, the wavy remainder of which resting below her slender shoulders. Lively green eyes sparkled as they settled on J.D. He'd seen her before. Up at the courthouse in Durhamburg.
     "Detectives," she greeted them eagerly. "What can you tell me about the body you discovered at Leedom Park last night?" Kit Kelly. She was a reporter for The County Courier. And a damn tenacious one.
     "You'll have to wait for the night log," J.D. informed her. She sashayed into their path, barring them from proceeding.
     "Was it male?" she begged. "Female? Do you suspect foul play?"
     "How did you even hear about it?" Rick balked.
     "I have my sources," she returned demurely.
     "Scanner," J.D. tossed glibly to Rick. He gave Kit a teasing smirk. "Boy, you people really are-" He stopped himself, remembering how he learned the hard way not to mouth off to reporters, even in jest. "We'll provide you with the log just as soon as it's prepared, Miss Kelly."
     "Detective Reiter," Kit Kelly was not about to take no for an answer. Catching his hazel eyes, a genuine smile bubbled to her face. "Surely you can give me something of a head start before the rest of the... what word were you tempted to use- vultures, perhaps- show up?"
     J.D. sidestepped the savvy journalist. "Sorry." J.D. shrugged. Rick followed suit and the two darted into the station, leaving Kit in the parking lot. Once inside, they were greeted by Opal VanArtsdalen, radio room dispatcher and mother of Charlie VanArtsdalen. Her beehive hairdo, a fancy relic from the previous decade was neatly arranged in its raven splendor. Both J.D. and Rick were surprised to see her there so early on a Saturday morning. She sprang up from her desk as soon as she heard them come in.
     "Charlie called me," she told them, reading their expressions. "I figured you were going to need an extra hand today. Coffee is already brewing, Rick. Put on a fresh pot, just for you."
     "Thanks Opal." Rick smiled. "You're an angel."
     "That Kuhn boy," Opal put her hand to her chest and rolled her eyes behind her silver horn rimmed glasses, "that poor thing." She lowered her voice. "You two don't actually think he did anything wrong, do you? Officer Walsh took to questioning him and I thought the little dear would just about faint." Walsh was one of the seasoned older guys who didn't pussyfoot around.
     "He still here?" J.D. asked.
     Opal shook her head. "Walsh took him home around five. I thought that boy was going to cry when Walsh talked about confiscating his little bag of mulch for evidence."
     "Bark."
     "Pardon?" Opal gasped.
     "It wasn't mulch," J.D. chuckled. "It was bark."
     "Oh." Opal shook her head dismissively and waved her hand. "Anyway, the chief is here for the briefing, as well as the officers coming on duty for day work. Charlie is finishing up writing his report."
     "Did he find anything else?" Rick wanted to know.
     "You'll have to ask him, detective," she clucked. "I'm his mama, not his secretary. Go on now, get your coffee." She shooed them on. In an age of nepotism, Opal VanArtsdalen of 'old Southaven stock', did her best to have Charlie stand on his own two feet. She knew it was difficult for some of the senior officers to take him seriously, since he'd sat on their knees when he was a boy. At least it wasn't the case with those in their late twenties like Reiter and McKendrick.

     J.D and Rick located Charlie and learned that the canvas in the neighborhood nearest the park turned up nothing. Even further up on Sugar Maple Drive, no one saw or heard anything. That was understandable, as the creek was completely out of view from there. Nothing out of the ordinary was discovered at the scene and unfortunately, the murderous hunk of minerals remained at large. J.D. took point on briefing the officers and Rick meticulously prepared the morning log for the press. The only information he released was that the body of a seventeen year old female was discovered in the creek at Leedom Park late last night. He deliberately left out names and intimate details in order to ensure the success of the investigation. He'd been thoroughly trained in the art of communicating particulars to the press and knew what to withhold. Keeping the exact location of the body unknown could prove crucial to the investigation and publishing the names of witnesses was just plain careless.
     By 7:30am everyone was up to speed, the log had been given to the press and Charlie was sent out to develop the film of the crime scene photos. J.D. and Rick had been waiting in their office for Mac and Slim. Office was a generous term. Glorified broom closet would be a more accurate description. There was barely enough room for two regulation sized desks side by side with a narrow walkway in between. Each desk had a rolling chair behind it and a stationary metal chair before it. On the wall behind J.D.'s desk was a twelve by eighteen black and white poster of Buckwheat from The Little Rascals, mouth agape in surprise, signature hair jutting out in an erratic afro. J.D. had taped a speech bubble next to Buckwheat's mouth saying, 'Oh dit! Here tums da tief!'
     To the untrained eye, his desk preached organized chaos but there was a place for everything and everything in its place, and if you attempted to threaten that order, you'd be dealt with- severely. Rick's desk was neat and orderly with a navy blue Upper Southaven Township Police Department mug perched on the edge, perpetually stocked with black pens.
     Seated behind his desk, J.D. reached into his pocket and extracted a pack of Pall Mall cigarettes with no filter. He fished one out and stuck the end in his mouth. With a flick of his thumb, the Zippo sparked to life and he lit the cigarette. With it hanging by his lips, he spoke to Rick.
     "That Kuhn kid," he inhaled, then puffed a cloud of smoke above his desk, "just to be sure, we oughta ascertain whether he had any connection to Pamela Cornell."
     "You don't really think he did it, do you?" Rick laughed. He leaned back and rested his elbow on the arm of his chair.
     "Not especially, no." J.D. took another drag. "I didn't get a guilty read from him but it'd be foolish not to follow up on it."
     Rick jotted down a note. "Sounds reasonable."
     "You hungry?" J.D. solicited.
     "Starving," Rick replied, tossing his pen down on a stack of papers.
     "Come on." J.D. grabbed his keys. "Let's go to Lottie's for a quick bite, then head over to Donna Wilson's house. We'll take the Plymouth. That way if Mac and Slim need to get in touch, Opal can radio us."
     "Right." Rick pushed off the floor and wheeled back in his chair. When they walked out into the cool morning air, J.D. half expected to see Kit Kelly still milling around outside the station for a better line than what they put out, but the light blue GTO was nowhere in sight.

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Step Into J.D.'s World

Excerpt from Chapter 6 of Cold as a Wedge

     Around seven o'clock, J.D. left his father to his glass of brandy and hopped into his truck. As he began driving away from the solace of his childhood home, slowly the case began seeping back into his psyche. 

       "What was she doing there in the woods?" J.D. murmured to himself. Did someone lure her there, or was she followed? Mac and Slim didn't turn anything else up today... When he reached Southaven, instead of making a left and heading home,  he drove straight on down the pike towards Leedom Park. Darkness settled in now, almost mocking the lack of progress they'd made in the investigation so far. 

       As J.D turned down the lane into the park, he kept his eyes trained on the treeline for any signs of movement. There was nothing. Not even grazing deer milling about at the edge of the tree dotted field. He drove over the short bridge and into the park, further than he'd gone the night before. Up on his right was a small gravel parking lot, where the Cornells' car was found. J.D. half expected to see it there, but it was picked up yesterday after it was examined for evidence. J.D. drove to the end of the lot where it met the woods, and backed his truck into an unmarked spot. 

       Based on the report Charlie wrote up, Pamela Cornell was parked directly across from where J.D. sat now. He cut off the engine and pushed in the metal knob to extinguish the headlights. It was common practice for police to revisit the scene of a crime around the same time of day the incident occurred in order to note the traffic. If someone generally went there on a given day or at a given time, odds are they might have been a witness to what happened. 

       For a moment, J.D. sat behind the wheel, scanning his surroundings. All seemed still. He got out of the truck and as quietly as he could, closed the heavy metal door. While he was thankful for the moonlight, it was still pretty dark there in the park. He lit up a cigarette and took a drag. For a beat, he closed his eyes and listened. Crickets chirped a tentative serenade, as if at any moment now their chorus should be silenced. A light breeze barely jostled the freshly sprouted leaves on the trees. It was cool, requiring every bit of the lightweight jacket he wore. J.D. could almost sense himself melding into the surrounding forestry. He opened his eyes, finding they adjusted quickly to the shadowy terrain. 

       Through the trees he could see a pair of headlights make their way down the pike, but instead of continuing on their way, J.D. saw them turn down the lane into the park. Each muscle sensed with confrontation. He flicked his cigarette into the gravel and grabbed his heavy duty Maglite from beneath the bench seat of the truck. Closing the door quietly, J.D. stealthily slipped into the cover of the tree line. He could feel the blood throbbing in his temples. From his vantage point, J.D. couldn't make out any details about the vehicle other than it being smaller in size. The car moved with the slow flow of a funeral procession. It came to the bridge, then rolled to a stop. J.D. crept along, stepping from heel to toe among the legion of oaks. The headlights blinked the vehicle into darkness. As J.D. drew closer, he could see a figure exit the car, accompanied by a small beam of illumination from a flashlight. 

       The figure crossed the bridge and made its way over to the creek in the opposite direction of the crime scene. J.D. was no more than ten yards away from the creek now, having moved undetected across the lane and back onto the soft ground. His lungs tightened as he reached for his .357 Magnum. He could feel that bad boy set snug in the holster. He took a step forward, fingers poised for action. As he moved closer, he could now see that the figured belonged to that of a female. His shoulders eased some and his hand drifted away from his gun. Instead, he aimed his Maglite at the prowler. He threw his voice forward in a commanding bark. 

       "You mind telling me what you're doing here?"

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