The Glass Is Always Greener Read Online Free PDF Page A

and summer sausages, and who knows all what—it’s not like I took inventory. But everyone knows that a basement freezer in the South usually contains some part of a deer, some barbecue, and ice cream .
    However, the first thing I noticed when I opened that damn freezer was poor Aunt Jerry. She’d been crammed in there in a fetal position, on her back, her face turned away from the door, so that only a shelf or two had to be removed. Sure enough, above her was a shelf of packages wrapped in white butcher paper and clearly labeled “dear steaks.” I can only hope that Ben was a bad speller, and not in the custom of freezing women. But back to Aunt Jerry, I am eternally grateful that I never saw her face; it was her outfit I recognized, the gorgeous mustard-colored sari. At this point she was minus the paper crown from Burger King, but the orange and purple faux leis still hung from her neck, for when the freezer door opened they spilled forth, adding to the drama. Again, was it any wonder that I screamed?
    But try getting any sympathy from homicide detectives Krupp and Wimbler. They were polite enough, but I needed more than politeness; what I needed was a hug from my husband, Greg. At the very least I needed to have him talk to them—but these two detectives didn’t care two ripe figs that I was married to a former member of their department. They couldn’t even be bothered to call him to verify my claim.
    Using the one-way glass wall of the interrogation room as a mirror, Detective Krupp scratched a bit of crusted makeup from the corner of her mouth with her pinkie fingernail before speaking. “So what were you doing in the basement, Mrs. Timberlake?”
    “My answer is the same as the last time you asked,” I said, trying to both express my exasperation yet not be too antagonistic. “It was hot. I was bored. The basement door was unlocked.”
    Detective Wimbler was a small man who seemed delighted by the fact that I was even much smaller than he. This went unsaid, but I had a strong hunch that if we’d met under other circumstances, and if I wasn’t married (he wasn’t wearing a ring), he would have asked me out.
    “Mrs. Timberlake, were you aware that there was a large watermelon on a tub of ice in the kitchen?”
    “Yes—sir. But I was a bit upset, and when I get upset, my metabolism speeds up—never mind. I guess I was operating on automatic when I cut myself a slice of watermelon.” How stupid was that, telling him I was upset? I may as well have painted a bull’s-eye on my forehead in neon orange!
    “I hear you. Being smaller means we have to eat more often; it’s not something the rest can understand.”
    “Give me a break,” Detective Krupp muttered, as she gouged the crud from the other side of her mouth. “Ma’am, how did you manage to sneak the knife downstairs? Did you hide it under your clothing?”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “The one you used to stab the victim—before she was dumped in the freezer.”
    “Your prints are all over the handle,” Detective Wimbler said.
    “You mean the watermelon knife?” I asked. “ That was the murder weapon?”
    “No, it was the candlestick in the drawing room,” Detective Krupp said. “Give us a break, Mrs. Timberlake. For someone who is supposedly married to a former detective, you ought to know that playing coy will get you nowhere.”
    “Not just supposedly ,” I said hotly. “Greg was on this force. And he was one of the best, unlike some—”
    “Small people like us have a hard time catching a break sometimes, don’t we, Mrs. Timberlake?” Detective Wimbler had placed a miniature man’s hand on my shoulder in an effort to calm me. Whatever the department height requirements were, he had to have been fully extended— on a good day —in order to meet them.
    “Oh shut up with that tiny crap,” Detective Krupp said. “Five dollars and a stepladder will still buy you a cup of coffee at Starbucks— if they notice you.” She