Seventeen
Bright morning sunlight illuminated the kitchen and the forest outside the window, but Ben paid little attention to it. He took three coffee mugs out of the cupboard, grabbed the coffee pot and joined Pat and Aaron at the kitchen table. At the moment, they were frowning over Mike Thompson’s suicide note, so he poured for them. He sat back, sipped his coffee, and listened to their discussion.
“So, June is pretty sure this isn’t Mike’s handwriting?” Aaron asked.
“She’s been grading his papers for four years,” Pat said. “Heard anything about the second print on the g*n yet?”
“No match.”
“What’s the ruling on his death?” Ben asked.
“Everyone seems inclined to believe it’s a suicide. Am I looking for something that isn’t there because seeing him with a hole in his chest reminded
