The Runner


“Glancing every few moments over broad shoulders, he looked to see if he was spotted, hoping the night would protect him.  The shadows became his home.  The death of night was his life.

It was the beginning of the new, full moon.  Great!  Just when he needed all of the night’s darkness.  The new moon shines bright.  What was that?  He was found!  Nothing could save him now. Sometimes even lovely ladies of a certain age can turn against you.”

“Ms. Matterson, can you please edit yourself and just give me the short version, please.” Detective Collins asked, again.

“Oh, if you insist. What is the world coming to when no one has any imagination? Readers are demanding more quickie bland writing. No patience for the emotional impact of the surrounding scene and personal insight into the character’s mind. Oh shush, I know, you don’t need to repeat yourself. I warned him. Every week he would run through my petunias and every week I would tell him to not use my garden. That one day he would be sorry. That’s why he lost.”

“Ms. Matterson, you shot him. He didn’t lose, you killed him.

“Details, details.”



Dear Diary


“And what’s this confession you say you have, Detective?”

“Your client’s diary, Sir. The last entry reads…

Dear Diary,

He read you. That’s why I killed him. Don’t worry, I buried him out back.


“Uhm, see here, ahh, did you ever find the deceased?”

“Yes, sir. Buried under your client’s peonies in her backyard.”


* * * *

Dear Diary,

My lawyer’s an idiot.



That phone call


“Detective, how was I to know the noise would kill him?”

“Sir, you blasted an air horn through the phone for a full five minutes according to those who heard it on the other end. It ruptured his blood vessels.”

“He should have hung up.”

“Sir, Mr. Riley’s hand and arm spasmed causing a death grip leading to his death.

“So, see, there, he caused his own death. I’m innocent.”

“As a result of your actions.”

“He interrupted the game with his stupid call!”

“That doesn’t justify his death. No, please stand up and place your hands behind your back.”

“At least I won’t get any more of those damn calls in prison.”

“Sir, where do you think Mr. Riley was calling from? Sir, put the air horn down. Now!”


“See hear, detective, I had every right to smother the idiot. I’m fighting for my life. He was preventing me from getting proper sleep.”

“Sir, you killed the guy.”

“He was dying. Just look at his charts.”

“You both had knee replacement surgery. Neither of you are dying. You just can’t justify your actions by believing he was dying. Or that you needed sleep.”

Detective Collins closed his notebook trying not to shake his head. After all these years, I thought I had heard it all. Maybe I better see the doctor about my own snoring, like Madge suggested.