Sergeant Inspector Riggs set down the receiver and grabbed his hat. This would happen just before dessert. And on a Friday. His wife, Amy, kissed him and reminded him that she was going fishing early in the morning. She didn't ask him what had happened. She never asked him about his police work when the children were in the room. She also didn't promise to save him any cake, but he knew she would.
At least the rain had stopped.
Michael Riggs put on his hat, climbed into his old brown '49 Plymouth and headed toward the address Inspector Fisher had given him.
Magnolia Hill was a nice neighborhood with expensive houses. The hill was on a green peninsula just northwest of downtown.
It only took Riggs fifteen minutes. Inspector Fisher was just pulling some flashlights out of his black and white police car. Riggs parked and got out. It was one of the best streets on Magnolia Hill. The address was easy to find since it was near a dead end and there were houses on only one side of the street. The other side of the street was an impressive downward slope that dropped a couple hundred feet towards Elliott Bay. From the top of the hill, there was a sweeping view of the bay and the Seattle skyline. In daylight, there would also be an impressive view of Mt. Rainier. Riggs put on his hat as he turned his back to the view.
There were two houses across the street. The last house before the road stopped was in complete darkness while the house to the right of it was using every lightbulb its fuses could support. Between the two houses, a long straight driveway ascended up the hill to the largest and most modern house of them all.
"Some folks really have all the luck, don't they Sir?" Fisher muttered.
Riggs nodded. "Unless they're a murder victim."
Fisher pointed to the house that was draining Grand Coolie dam of power. "The lady telephoned us from this house; she said it happened in the driveway."
As the policemen approached the house, a woman in her mid-thirties opened the door.
Riggs took off his hat. "Good Evening, Ma'am. I'm Sergeant Inspector Riggs of the Seattle police. This is Inspector Fisher."
The woman glanced at Fisher but her eyes lingered a moment longer on Inspector Riggs. "I'm Mrs. Forester. I'm the one who telephoned you. My husband is with the woman. She's in the driveway over there." Winifred pointed. "That's where it happened." Although she was still shy of forty, her distinct English accent and her calm composure reminded Riggs of his grandmother.
The two men went around to the side of the house to the gravel drive. It started as two parallel driveways with a narrow strip of grass dividing them, but the Forester's driveway stopped at the carport behind their house, while the other driveway led to both the house next door as well as the large house up the hill. A series of low rhododendron bushes, about 4 feet tall, separated the driveway from the yard.
"Stick to the grass, until we've had a chance to look for footprints," Riggs instructed quietly.
Fisher handed his boss a flashlight. "Man, I wish dolls would notice me like they notice you. Do you think it's the mustache?"
Riggs turned on his flashlight and suggested flatly, "I think I treat women more respectfully than you do."
"I'm very respectful," the junior policeman objected. "I never call a dame a 'broad' or a 'doll' to her face."
YOU ARE READING
The Blue Pearl MurdersMystery / Thriller
*** Wattpad Pick | Editor's Choice *** [completed] When a lovely artist is strangled at an intimate cocktail party, Victoria helps Riggs infiltrate Seattle's colorful art scene to discover the murderer. But as the motives and suspects mount, a tangl...