“What do you mean, you met Death Angel?” Ald demanded upon entering the kitchen via the mudroom. Dressed in light gray crosshatch shorts and a navy polo shirt, a light gray linen flat cap suspended at an odd angel from his head, he looked like he’d been headed to the golf club and had taken an unexpected detour. “It was my day off, but what the hell? What’s up?” He leaned into the doorframe.
met I’d called him on the drive home from Foodland with a quickly blurted, “Get to the house pronto! I just met Death Angel!” Not wanting to provide details on the phone, I’d disconnected.
“I saw Ald’s car, then Ald slipping around—”
Sach’s shouting stopped when he collided with the detective as he raced into the kitchen from the living room. Evidently, he’d entered via the front door, which I’d lef
