A Murder Romance

“What sort of short story would it take for you to enjoy my writing?” I asked my wife.
“You know what sort of books I like to read,” she answered.
“Murder romance?” I said.
“Yup,” she said.

Homicide Detective Taylor arrived on the scene at 7:38 in the morning.

“What do we have?” he asked.

“Looks like a suicide,” the lead police officer said.

Inside the home, the back bedroom, he saw the body, face down on the floor, arms tucked beneath his chest, a dark red-black hole penetrating his right temple. Once the coroner arrived and they were allowed to move the man’s body, they found a 38-special under him.

“Yeah, looks like a suicide, but I’ll know for sure once I get him on the table,” the doc said.

Hours later the scene was released to the family, namely the man’s estranged wife, Naomi Miller. Taylor was the last to leave the scene.

“I did it okay, then?” she asked, with a smile.

“Perfect,” Taylor whispered in her ear as he held her in his arms.

His cellphone rang, “Taylor,” a long pause, “I see.”

He hung up and looked at Naomi, “Problem?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Taylor answered, “No gun-shot residue on his right hand.”

“Damn it!” Naomi growled.

Her anger turned Taylor on. He’d worry about the evidence, or the lack thereof, in the morning.

Right now, Taylor had his murderous girlfriend to comfort all night long.

One thought on “A Murder Romance”

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