A Killing Fair

by Glenn Ickler

  “Our record speaks for itself,” I said.

  “And they don’t like what it’s saying.”

  I was getting into Al’s car when my cell phone rang. It was Don O’Rourke.

  “You still at the police station?” he said.

  “Just leaving,” I said.

  “Don’t. You’re going be working there for the next three weeks. Augie Augustine has decided it’s time to get some help before another lost weekend. He’s checked himself into Hazelden.”

  “I’m here for three weeks?”

  “It’s a good place for you. Maybe you won’t be able to try to get yourself killed for three weeks.”

  “What about my story from last night?”

  “You can write about last night’s craziness from there. Oh, and go talk to homicide and get a statement. Your play director/square dancer buddy was picked up this morning in Duluth.”

  “In Duluth? How’d they find him there?”

  “The knucklehead ran a red light with a squad car sitting on the other side of the intersection. You’d think a guy would drive a little more careful when there’s an APB out on him.”

  I almost blurted out “carefully,” but I remembered it was Don, who could do no wrong grammatically. “Yes, you’d think so,” I said.

  “What was that all about?” Al asked when the call ended.

  “It was Don with the final piece of the pie,” I said. “The killer is in custody, the crazy woman is in a padded cell, Sherlock Holmes is safe in our new home, and all’s right with the world.”

  The End