Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Of course, I had my person, my husband, to depend on in all things. I love that after all these years; I still give him heart palpitations every now and then. At our age, that may or may not be a good thing! I’m so happy to have you all along in this journey with me
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
JANUARY 2023
Hello, all! Welcome to He Said, he said for January 2023. It’s probably going to take me well into February to get 2023 drilled in, but at least I won’t mess up any when I write checks, since I barely write those anymore.
My husband came home on Friday to find Hannah loading clothes into the washing machine, pizza on the counter, and a young man he’d never seen in his life carrying boxes up and down the stairs.
“Who are you?”
“Adrian Pomeroy, sir,” he said, stopping to offer Sam his hand. “I lost five consecutive games of rock-paper-scissors to Hannah, so that’s why I’m schlepping stuff from the dorm up and down the stairs. My buddy Mario, we used his truck. He lost too.”
Sam nodded, shook the young man’s hand, and then watched him go up the stairs. The next young man, a bit taller, stockier, offered Sam his hand as he walked by with a laundry basket full of clothes and more clothes on hangers draped over the top.
“Hello, sir, Mario Armello, no relation,” he said seriously.
Sam shook his head and then tipped it to the stairs.
“No relation?” I asked Sam, who flopped down on the couch, not going upstairs to shed his suit or his gun but just taking a seat.
“Sal Armello runs the Girona crime family,” he answered. “In Boston, not here.”
“But he figures you know the name.”
“Which he should. That was smart of him.”
“Okay,” I said, moving over next to the couch and staring down at him. “How do you think Hannah won consecutive games?”
“You always double paper in the middle, you know that,” he muttered. “You’re the one who taught me.”
I had. I was the rock-paper-scissor king. “What’s with you?”
After a moment, he looked up at me. “You know, I don’t give you enough credit.”
This was news. “For what?”
“For never, ever, repeating anything I tell you in confidence. Like I’ve never heard you say, even to Duncan, something that I’ve said to you.”
“Well, no, of course not.”
He groaned.
“Oh,” I said, getting it. “Who told what to who?”
“One of the transfers—Cowen—nice guy, we all liked him––”
“Liked?”
Sam shook his head.
“You fired him for whatever it was he did?”
“He’s transferred, but…when it happens like that and you’re busted down, your career has a new trajectory, right?”
“I understand,” I assured him. “Sorry to interrupt, go on.”
“Well, so he got caught talking to Rosa Oliveros. She’s a reporter on that show––”
“Tale of the Tape,” I volunteered. I, like many, loved crime documentaries, and that one, on Netflix, didn’t annoy me. So many could tell the story in one hour but stretched it to three or, dear God in heaven, six. And they left each episode on cliffhangers. I knew it was a thing, but it was a lame thing. I liked the reporting where they filled up every second and nothing was wasted. Tale of the Tape was pretty good, and there wasn’t fluffy reporting, and they never did shows on crimes that weren’t solved. I liked that too. The important part of watching shows on serial killers was knowing that law enforcement caught the bad guy. Sometimes it took a long time, sometimes law enforcement missed things because back in the seventies not a lot of different police precincts talked to one another, and without DNA…but that was a rant for another day. But I liked things that ended with “and he’s now in jail for the rest of his life.” I was a big fan of justice.
“Yeah, that’s the one,” he agreed.
“So Cowen is talking to Rosa and she asks him about what?”
“She gets him talking about Miro and Craig Hartley, and thank God he didn’t know about the key and the watch that Miro got or that would be on the next episode as well.”
“Sam, I’m so sorry,” I soothed him, taking a seat beside him on the couch.
“But now people are hounding Miro all over again.”
“Well, Ian will put a stop to that,” I reminded my husband.
“That’s true,” he agreed. “But on top of that, Aberdeen, who’s brand new, came up from CPD, was at a club in the loop last night, and when it was robbed, he didn’t do anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he huddled on the floor with everybody else.”
“Huddled? Really?”
“Fine. You prefer cowered?”
“I doubt it was either,” I chided him. “He probably just sat there, and you can’t fault him for that, can you?”
He turned to look at me. “What?”
“I mean, he’s there, off duty I assume, and the place gets robbed.”
“What’s your point?”
“Was he alone?”
“Yeah, but––”
“Sam,” I said, squinting at him, “he was by himself, and yes, he’s got his gun, but what is he supposed to do all by himself?”
“Jory––”
“How many guys were robbing the club?”
“Two.”
“And it was fast, right, in and out?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, so the club was robbed, hopefully they’re insured, and they’ll up their security measures. I’m guessing no one was hurt, right?”