This Old Homicide: A Fixer Upper Mystery Book Excerpt - Chapter 1
There was no reaction. The man could sleep like the dead, I thought. The way he’d torn his home apart, I had to wonder if he was simply exhausted. Old people could do some weird things sometimes. I recalled my grandmother going off on all sorts of oddball tangents before she’d died, once tearing up a scrapbook filled with old photographs, and another time bingeing on jars of jalapeño pickles.
I studied Jesse’s face and wondered if maybe he was sick after all, because he looked pale, almost gray.
“Jesse?” I knelt down beside the couch and touched his forehead to make sure he wasn’t feverish.
On the contrary, his skin was cool. And no wonder, since the poor guy was wearing a pair of tidy white cotton boxer shorts and nothing else.
“Come on, Jesse, wake up.” I reached for the afghan draped over the back of the couch and covered him up to give him a little dignity. I lifted his arm onto the couch and tucked the edges of the blanket under him to warm him up.
“Jesse,” I said softly, shaking his shoulder lightly. “Can I get you some soup or something?”
His arm slid off the couch again. And I suddenly realized why.
“Oh, jeez!” I scooted backward, away from him, scrambling to my feet as I shouted his name over and over again. “Jesse! Oh my God! Jesse!”
It didn’t do any good. He wasn’t going to wake up. Jesse Hennessey was dead.
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