I take a deep breath to steady myself before walking into the crime scene, metally preparing myself for the gruesome sight I am sure to see.
Then I whip out my notepad, tuck it under my arm, and look over at Wayne.
"Ready Freddy?" I ask, cheerfully, making light of the grim job.
He adjusts his thick framed, California style glasses, waggling his eyebrows at me, his blue eyes sparkling,
"Indeed," he says, faking seriousness and a British accent, he then offers his arm old-style, "My lady?"
I laugh quietly and link arms with him, then we duck under the orange tape.
Now you're probably wondering, who is "I", who is Wayne, and what is going on?
I guess I'd better explain myself...
One: My name is Julie Robber. I know, I know, funny name for a detective, right?
I'm a Private Investigator, Police Detective, Profiler, and Authoress in America.
And a Inspector, Baroness, and Poet in England.
I have bright, "Paramore red" hair which I keep cut short, just under my chin. It's eaiser to keep up with it that way.
I have large, gray-green eyes, and a small, ski-jump nose.
I am twenty-six years old, 5 ft. 2", and a legal genious. Not to be vain or anything. Ha, who am I kidding, I'm vain.
I enjoy long walks on the beach, admiring sunsets, yadda yadda yah.
Two: Wayne Marble (mar-bell, not marble like the small glass toy) is a Special Forces Marine, a Private Investigator, Police Detective, Special Tactics Expert, my partner in crime (both the doing and the solving thereof) and Poker Player in America.
And a.... Well, they don't like him much in England.
He is 6 ft. 4, has broad shoulders, a cracking sense of humor, light brown hair, kept pretty short (usualy fohawked), with a cowlick on the back on his head, slightly askew to the left... His face is perfectly semetrical with dark blue eyes, eyelashes so long it's unfair, a strong, square jaw, and completely kissable lips...
ANYways...
Three: We got a call to come and check out a crime scene. So we are.
Now then, back to reality.
He releases my arm and we explore the scene, him walking straight to the body/ies, me going slower and getting the small details.
As I'm taking pictures of the playground, picnic tables, and markings in the grass it crosses my mind how sick it is to bury a dead body in a sand pit at a public park. Yes, it's out of town so it's not used as frequently but... It's a park. Children play here!
