Moon held his tongue. Iâll get some ice cream and pie, too.
Twenty-year-old Sarah Frank could not resist lodging an oblique protest. âI think Mr. Parris is very nice to buy ice cream forââ
âHah!â Daisy shot back. âYouâd think rabid foxes was nice until one of âem put the bite on you.â This off-the-wall assertion was an effective conversation stopper.
Pleased with her witty self, the aged combatant settled back into the cushioned seat and sighed with unconcealed satisfaction. She was promptly rewarded with a slight twitch in her lower back, which part of Daisyâs anatomy was wont to gave birth to excruciating muscle spasms. Sure enough, the twitch sharpened to an agonizing pain. Was this the just reward for her misbehavior? Perhaps. Daisy Perika grimaced. Before this happened, I was having a good time.
That was it (a Suitable Sentiment for an Epitaph):
BEFORE THIS HAPPENED
I WAS HAVING A GOOD TIME
But these words were not suitable for Daisyâs gravestone.
Then for whose polished granite slab?
A pertinent question, and one whose answer eludes us. But only for the moment.
Of this much we may be assured: before the first gray glow of dawn, one pretty tough customer will be in the market for an inscription on her (or his) tombstone.
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CHAPTER FIVE
A CAUTIONARY TALE
The caution referred to is directed particularly to those young folk who aspire to a satisfying career in law enforcement. (Bless their innocent hearts.) But who among us has not occasionally daydreamed about wearing the spiffy uniform, toting a deadly weapon, and tearing around town on a government-provided motorcycle? Not to mention the intellectual stimulation of detecting a sly crime-in-progress, the visceral thrill of the subsequent chase, and the soul-filling gratification of arresting a dastardly criminalâthus saving some upstanding citizen from suffering an act of mindless violence and/or the loss of valuable personal property. And add to those rewards the heartfelt appreciation of said upstanding citizen who has been served and protected by the courageous, clear-eyed constable on patrol.
Ninety-nine percent of the aforementioned youths will, of course, yawn at the forthcoming lesson (provided free of charge) and return their slack-jawed attention to the latest computerized diversion wherein the cherished goal is to maim or kill the maximum number of digitally simulated fellow creatures. But for that one-in-a-hundred young whippersnapper who will pay close attentionâthe Granite Creek chief of police is about to demonstrate the folly of youthâs vain ambitions.
HIS UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER WITH THE CRIMINAL ELEMENT
As Scott Parris slogged his way slowly across the snowy supermarket parking lot, the off-duty policemanâs mind was occupied with thoughts about this eveningâs dessert. Mrs. Parrisâs little boy had never met a pie he didnât like, and he could not make up his mind about what kind. Iâll just close my eyes and grab a couple off the shelf. Which left the matter of ice cream. Two half gallons will be more than enough for the four of us. The uncomplicated fellow would have been happy to settle for chocolate and vanilla, but there were about two dozen flavors to chose from, and that plentitude obliged him to make a carefully considered decision. Nearing the Smithâs entrance, he was mulling over the relative merits of strawberry, butter pecan, and peach. Not an easy choice: each of these flavors was a taste-bud-titillating treat. Parrisâs pleasant mullings were interrupted by the muffled patter of hurried footsteps somewhere behind him. Instinctively, the cop glanced over his shoulderâto spot a slender figure dressed in black who was high-stepping it along the slippery parking lot. Whereâs that Gomer goinâ in such a hurry? He turned to get a better look, just in time to see the sprinter snatch something from a grocery cart