My author asked me to step in here and give you a taste of what a real homicide investigation looks like. I thought a quick scene from the book might show you what I'm up against when amateurs get involved. Dr. Maxwell's giving away a signed hardover copy of the book to one commenter here, today, too.
“Pappas, what a surprise. I’ve been waiting for Cam in the car. Is she…” William, rain plastering his thin hair to his head, peered around Pete. “What a relief. There she is, and my wife, too.” He gave a goofy wave. “What’s going on, Detective?”
Pete sighed. “You can’t come in. It’s a possible crime scene.”
“You don’t say.” William’s eyes went wide.
“There was a death in the house,” Pete said. “We’re going to need to question all these folks. Ivan wants to do it down at the station but it’s going to be a few minutes. Why don’t you go on home, sir. I’ll call you to pick up Cam and Dr. Flaherty when we’re through.”
“A death? Who died?” William looked at Cam and then at Deb.
Pete had opened his mouth to speak but Deb beat him to it. “That man we saw in the restaurant last week. Carlos Griffith.”
“How did he die?” William asked.
“That’s yet to be determined,” Pete said. “Please, sir. Let me ask the questions. Did you see anyone go into or come out of this house this morning?”
“Can’t say that I did. Only this one trying to run down a few dozen parade watchers in his fancy red convertible an hour or so ago.” He pointed to Rudin.
Rudin folded his arms and examined the corner where two walls met the ceiling. Pete gazed at him.
“Ruth witnessed that, too, Pete,” Cam said. “She made him go back into the parking lot. She’ll know what time it happened. Daddy, you didn’t see the detectives and the EMTs go into the house?” Wouldn’t he have? Why hadn’t he come looking for her earlier?
“No, I stayed on the other side of the street yakking with Albert and Marilyn in their car. She has some fascinating stories about growing up in the San Francisco area. I told her they’d be late for their lunch but she just kept talking. I didn’t cross over to this side until a couple of minutes ago.”
“All right.” Pete gestured toward the outside. “I’d like you to leave and go back to Cam’s, sir. We’ll call you later.”
"I suppose,” William said. “I’m sure my wife and daughter had nothing to do with this death, though, Detective.”
“Thank you.” Pete’s face was getting tenser by the minute.
“See you, girls.” William gave a little wave.
Pete, here. See what I mean? You'll have to read the book to get the whole story. Suffice it to say, despite how much I care for Cameron and that she occasionally gets lucky figuring out who a killer is, your average citizen has no business getting involved. Please people, leave it to the professionals.
Who is your favorite fictional detective? Remember, one commenter gets a signed copy of the new book.
Maxwell is President of Sisters in Crime New England. She lives north of Boston with her beau and three cats, and blogs here, with the other Wicked Cozy Authors, and with the Midnight Ink Writers. You can find her on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, and at her web site, edithmaxwell.com.