8:45 p.m.
Monday, June 7
IT HAD BEEN one of those days that made him doubt his
decision to become a cop. Where were the opportunities to
make a difference?
Where was the excitement? Where were all those heroic
reasons his dad had felt were worth dying for?
Surely it wasn't in the stack of paperwork he had spent
the past three hours working on, or the petty theft cases
a preschooler could solve. And it sure as hell wasn't in
the courtrooms where perp after perp got off because they
were so and so's second cousin removed.
Mitch Burns exhaled slowly and ran his hand through his
hair. One thing was for certain. Now was not the time to
spend soul-searching. His head was throbbing and the only
thing that could stop it was a plate of food. A huge plate.
Fortunately for him, the answer was just a few steps away.
Mia's Chinese Food could cure just about anything,
including the Monday blahs. In fact, he found it funny how
his stride quickened at the same spot every week.
The string of bells above the door jingled as Mitch pushed
his way into the dimly lit restaurant. His head was
starting to feel better already.
"Hi, Mia, how ya doin' this evening?" He leaned across the
register and kissed the woman's gently lined forehead. A
hint of soy sauce on her skin made him smile. No matter
how long the day had been, somehow it always seemed
insignificant when he stepped inside her restaurant. Maybe
it was the inviting smells or the genuine smile she always
had for him. Maybe it was the knowledge that despite a
hard life, she was always positive and upbeat. Or maybe
she was one of the angels on earth Aunt Betty always spoke
about.
He squeezed Mia's hand and smiled.
Her dark eyes searched his face closely. "I am fine, but
you look tired, Mitch."
And she could read him like a book. "I am. It's been crazy
around the department the past few weeks." He leaned his
weight against the counter and traced a faint crack along
the muted gold Formica with his index finger. "The chief's
a bit on edge these days with a new boss to answer to. And
when the chief is on edge...look out."
"I take care of you, Mitch. Cashew chicken, white rice and
egg roll?"
"Predictability probably isn't such a great personality
trait for a detective, huh?"
"You good detective. I just know your favorites."
"That you do. Thanks, Mia."
There was something comforting about living in a town
where people knew you. Your likes, your dislikes. Now if
only a few available women would move in, Aunt Betty would
be thrilled. And frankly, so would he.
A copy of the latest Ocean Point Weekly waited for him on
his usual table. He sat down, draped his leg across an
adjacent chair, and unfolded the newspaper with casual
interest. The front page was fairly predictable; an
article on the new mayor, a photograph of Dave and Pat's
kid with another spelling bee trophy, and...
His shoe hit the ground with a thump as he sat up straight
in his chair. The headline was a dead giveaway. Johnson
and Associates was at it again. Although his eyes read the
words in front of him, Mitch's head practically wrote the
story. And it was the same old thing it had been last
year. And the year before that. Good old Danny boy Johnson
was trying once again to win support for his proposed
luxury condominium complex.
The thought of more vacationers squeezing into Ocean
Point, New Jersey, each summer was not Mitch's idea of
fun. More tourists meant more problems, and more problems
meant more work for him and everyone else in the
department.
As he turned the page, Mitch's eyes fell on the small
headshot of an attractive young woman. Wishing the
photograph was in color, he found himself eagerly reading
the brief biography that accompanied it.
Elise Jenkins, 22, has joined the editorial staff of the
Ocean Point Weekly. Jenkins graduated this spring with a
Bachelor's Degree in Journalism from the University of
Missouri. Jenkins will be covering both news and feature
stories in and around the Ocean Point community.
Aunt Betty's prayer group must have been praying hard
lately.
He looked again at the young girl in the picture. Wavy
dark hair, high cheekbones, beautiful lips and a killer
smile.
"She pretty, Mitch."
Damn it! Apparently hearing wasn't one of his strong
points either. He turned the page quickly. Slowly, he
raised his head and looked up at Mia, furrowing his brows
as convincingly as possible.
"Who's pretty?"
"Now Mitch, I see you look at picture of new reporter. It
be our little secret, no?"
So much for his acting debut. He prayed silently for the
ground to open up and swallow him whole. Barring that, he
would simply settle for his face to return to its normal
shade.
"Now don't go being shy. You need someone special in your
life."
"You've been talking to my aunt, haven't you?" he said,
knowing full well there was no sense in arguing. Aunt
Betty was always after him to "find a nice girl". It was
best just to nod stupidly.
He cleared his throat and pointed at the plate of food the
woman held. "That looks great, Mia."
"You can change subject, but you know I right," she said
quietly. She carefully set his plate on the table in front
of him and then headed back to the kitchen.
Trouble was he did know she was right.
With a determined sigh, Mitch reached for the chopsticks
Mia had placed beside his plate. Carefully crossing the
bottom portion of the wooden sticks, he triumphantly
picked up a small piece of cashew chicken. As he moved the
food toward his mouth, small tremors vibrated his fingers,
wrist. And like clockwork, the chicken fell into his lap.
Too hungry to try anymore, he reached for the fork Mia
always left for him "just in case."
It didn't take long for the food to work its magic. The
headache that only 30 minutes ago had seemed like it would
never go away was disappearing almost as quickly as the
food on his plate.
And, like any good medicine, it cleared his thoughts of
all things bothersome. Including paperwork.
The crackle of his radio snapped his attention back to
reality.
"D-1, do you copy?"
He grabbed the radio from its holder and held it to his
mouth. "D-1. Go ahead."
"We've got a human J-4 at 115 Sea Wave Drive. Suspicious
circumstances, please respond immediately."
"D-1 in route," he answered quickly.
Mitch Burns stuffed the last bite of egg roll into his
mouth and leapt to his feet. His heart pounded in his
chest. A suspicious death in Ocean Point? It was almost
too hard to believe.
"Gotta go, Mia. Duty calls."
9:55 p.m.
NOTHING AT THE academy could have prepared him for this
moment.
Sure, he had seen dead bodies before, but in Ocean Point
they usually belonged to 80-year-old nursing home
patients. Not young women in their mid-twenties.
He made a mental note of the victim's fully clothed body.
Not a rape. Her car keys were still clutched in her left
hand, her hair matted with blood. A botched burglary?
He bent down and studied the woman's body, his eyes
stopping on her right hand. The index finger was fully
extended.
How odd, he thought. "She must have been nagging some poor
guy when she bought it, huh?"
Mitch turned to see Troy, the department's rookie,
standing behind him.
"What are ya talking about?" Mitch asked, his voice
dripping with irritation as he once again turned back
toward the victim.
"Her finger. My wife shakes her finger at me like that all
the time when she's nagging me about something. But then
again, you're not married, so you haven't had the pleasure
yet, have you?"
It was amazing how there always seemed to be enough
females around for a loser like Troy.
"Any sign of forced entry?" Mitch knew his question was
biting in tone, but he had little use for guys like Troy.
They were so used to their cocky frat-boy attitude getting
them places in life. But it wasn't going to fly with him.
"Nope. Looks like the perp walked through the front door
just like your average Joe."
Mitch reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a tiny
recording device and stood up. He walked around the body
and knelt beside the woman once again. A tiny sliver of
wood near the woman's head wound caught his attention. He
pushed the record button and began speaking.
"Female victim. Mid-twenties. Body discovered by a
neighbor. Face down. Looks like she was hit with some sort
of wooden object to the back of her head."
He looked around at the small apartment. "Victim found in
her kitchen. No sign of a struggle."
An open door at the end of the hallway obviously led to
the woman's bedroom. He stood and walked the short
distance to the neatly kept room. A wooden jewelry box
stood on the dresser to the left of the bed, several
necklaces visible through its small glass opening. A bank
envelope nearby contained a withdrawal slip and ten crisp
twenty dollar bills.
Mitch raised the recorder to his mouth once again and
spoke slowly and clearly.
"Money, jewelry, possessions seem to be untouched. Robbery
does not appear to be the motive."
When he walked back into the kitchen he was relieved to
see that the officers assigned to fingerprint and
photography detail had arrived.
"Hey, guys, thanks for getting here so quickly. And,
Sorelli, make sure to get lots of shots of the victim from
every conceivable angle. Thanks."
© 2003-2026