Free Cuts Like a Knife: A Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 1) by M.K. Gilroy

tells me in a loud whisper when she loses interest in big people talk, too.
    “Knock knock.”
    “Who’s there?”
    “Canoe.”
    “Canoe who?”
    “Canoe come out and play?”
    I laugh enthusiastically and interrupt something Jimmy was saying for just a second, but he soldiers on. I do fear Kendra has inherited the same gene I got for joke telling. Hopefully she’ll have a better left foot in soccer than I ever did.
    Kaylen and James return—and I’m glad my nephew looks no worse for the wear—as Jimmy tells everyone about Kendra’s three goals. She beams. I beam. James is ready for some attention and insists that he plays soccer, too.
    When no one pays attention he yells, “I scored a thousand,” tired of his sister hogging the limelight.
    I know how he feels about the limelight. When you have two beautiful sisters that have legs and smiles to stop traffic at the Indianapolis Brickyard on race day, you feel a little ignored sometimes. Klarissa is a princess’s princess. And Kaylen is married to Jimmy King—Dad used to call him King James—so that makes her a queen. I guess I’m the court jester. But today I want to stay in the shadows.
    I look around at my yammering clamoring family. We’ve had a tough couple of years and took another punch in the gut in the past month. There’s an empty space at the table and maybe in each of our hearts. Not sure any of us feel whole right now. But we’re strong enough to laugh together—and fight together. And maybe that’s as good as it ever gets.
    My mind moves to Sandra Reed and the family she left behind—a mom and dad in Columbus, Ohio, a brother in San Clemente, California, and a sister out in Lake County. Only one thing might help them a little over time . . . to know the monster who murdered their loved one is off the streets.
    God, help us . . . help me tell them we caught her killer.

13
    “SO YOU’RE TELLING me you did not push the back of the suspect’s head toward the ground with force sufficient enough to cause multiple abrasions and bruising to his facial area?” “No, sir, that’s not what I said.”
    It’s Monday morning and I wasn’t in the greatest mood to start with. I’m not a Monday morning groaner as a rule. I don’t go out partying over the weekend as a few of my colleagues are wont to do—and it shows on their faces on Monday mornings. I wasn’t in a sour mood because I don’t like my job. In fact, I love my job.
    This particular Monday morning just started wrong. First of all, after not enough sleep on Saturday night and church and Sunday dinner with my family, I spent the rest of Sunday afternoon and early evening in the situation room back at the precinct. Ever since the advent of CNN and around-the-clock cable news, plus a new generation of cop shows, you have to name things with a little more flair. It’s not good enough to go to a conference room. It’s got be something dramatic, as in, a situation room.
    I got home at eight, ready to do a light workout with my home exercise equipment, which consists of a floor, gravity, and the weight of my body. Then I was going to relax with my favorite TV show and get to bed early. But I procrastinated and by the time I was poised to do a set of one-legged squats, Dell stopped by to talk things out. What things? It was quarter to nine. He knows that at quarter to nine there are only fifteen minutes until the only show I watch every week comes on. I am the only person in America who doesn’t know how to schedule a show on TiVo for the whole season and I’m not sure I pushed the record button for this week, so I probably won’t get to see it later. He also knows I need some alone time after a typical Sunday with my family. I really needed some alone time last night.
    I knew from his loud knocking and the way he entered my apartment that he was mad and going to vent. I’d never seen him mad before. And vent he did. Hey, I never pledged undying love and devotion. I never even gave a