Free Blue Stew (Second Edition) by Nathaniel Woodland

it.”
    “Have you been online lately? Even before all this happened, I wouldn’t have been too surprised to learn of a crazed, masochistic suicide cult on there, somewhere in the depths of the wild-wild-web . . .”
    “I suppose we should run full background checks once we ID all the victims—see if any of them have known suicidal tendencies . . . interview friends and family, too.”
    “Yes. And let’s check their cars for drugs.”
    “ Hm ,” said Eugene, pursing his lips. “Some heavy narcotics could go a long way to sway me of what you’re saying . . .”
    “Hah. Speaking of, guess who Melisa invited over for dinner tonight?”
     
    •   •   •
     
    Walter caught a ride back to Nigel’s after work. He showered there, and then called Melisa, worried that she might’ve already called his home phone to no avail. She hadn’t, and after reminding her of his car situation (or lack thereof), Melisa offered to pick him up at Nigel’s around six.
    “That’s so weird that you’re going to have dinner at Tom Corey’s,” Nigel muttered when Walter set the phone in its charger.
    Walter laughed, “I think it was more of a token offer. I don’t know if she expected me to accept.”
    “Why did you?”
    “I thought it’d be funny.”
    It was the kind of thing that Nigel had grown to expect Walter to say. It was becoming less and less true, here, though: Walter was eager to ask Officer Corey about the investigation.
    Melisa pulled in at ten-past.
    They said hello after Walter hopped into the front seat. As Melisa pulled away, she asked him how his day had been, Walter said it’d been fine, and then the rest of the drive was comprised of large blocks of awkward silence. Even Walter—usually immune to such social awkwardness—felt the faint tingling of real discomfort, and he found himself often focusing on the pleasant, clean smell of Melisa’s nice, new car.
    The Corey’s house had been completed only five years ago—an infant in the scheme of the old town—but it was trying it’s hardest to fit in, fashioned to mimic an old colonial New England house. It was big, white, and boxy, with tall windows allowing light into tall rooms, and large doors leading out onto a wraparound porch.
    Melisa pulled into the horseshoe driveway. They walked in silence along a neat stone walkway, between an assortment of well-groomed bushes around the house’s parameter, and up through the front door.
    As Walter, per instruction, turned and slipped off his shoes near the door, Officer Corey’s voice greeted him from behind.
    “Good, you’re here. We can eat. I’m starving .”
    Walter turned back just in time to catch Officer Corey’s outstretched hand and shake it.
    “Good to see you again, Mister Corey.”
    “Yes, and much better circumstances this time, I’ll say.”
    “Definitely.”
    Tom Corey gestured for Walter to follow him into the house, in the direction Melisa had just gone, towards a scrumptious, savory smell. Walter, walking behind Officer Corey, idly marveled at how much more personable someone can seem when not in uniform.
    “Melisa has got her signature meatloaf keeping warm in the oven, all ready to go.”
    “Smells amazing,” said Walter as they went through a wide entranceway into a spacious—if somewhat barren—dining room.
    “Here, sit,” said Officer Corey, pulling out a chair near one of the tall windows, which were enabling the light of a low sun to warm the room.
    Walter sat and then so did Officer Corey. Moments later, Melisa came in and filled their plates with large, steaming servings of meatloaf and potatoes and gravy.
    “Wow. If I knew this is how I’d be punished for ignoring a police officer’s instructions and sneaking off after him as he corners a homicidal lunatic, I’d have done it years ago.”
    Melisa, taking her seat across from Walter, chuckled uncomfortably. Walter wished he hadn’t said anything.
    “This is not about that,” Officer Corey said. “I’m