The book club of St John's Church were an odd collection; they varied in age and background with a lot to divide them. Apparently though, a good book could override so much.
They met every Saturday at 9am (though there are always those that are a little late). There was tea and coffee and never scares of biscuits. They were all avid readers and held no prejudice to any kind of book. Each week they each put their own book choice in a hat and blindly pulled the next one out.
Despite reading so much, they so naturally always ended up reading either a detective or a romance novel.
And like good little readers; they truly knew how to let their imaginations run away from them.
Gibbs and McGee rode in silence. The elder agent was currently speeding down the highway, shades protecting him from the bright sun, as well as hiding his lack of sleep. His youngest agent stat in passenger, head in a book with a title too long for Gibbs to comprehend; he guessed something computer related.
A retired admiral was murdered in a small town just outside of DC. They were unsure on the case; it seemed basic enough. Stabbed in the back in his own home, lived alone with no living relatives. The admiral belonged to a book club and thus was most likely a friend, as suggested by the stabbing to the back.
However, Gibbs had never had a small-town police department beg them to come and take over a case.
Sliding off the highway, a quick glance at a passing sigh that read 'Welcome To Bluffridge'. The name likely to become all too literal to some of its occupants.
It was only another 20 minuets to the victim's house, a quaint bungalow in a little cluster of them in the centre of the town; apparently it was home to a fair few retired folk and being central made it easier for public transport to whichever side of town they needed to get to.
"What are you thinking, boss?" McGee asked, putting his book into his backpack. Outside the house waiting for them as they arrived was the sheriff. Logan Decks was a short man with a beer gut and a moustache that belong to the 80s; which was around the later part of that decade when he had become the sheriff.
"I think i'm either going to really hate this guy or really respect him with absolutely no middle ground." He spoke before throwing himself out of the car, McGee slowly in tail.
"Agent Gibbs, I presume?" Sheriff Decks said, extending a hand. The pair shook, both solid handshakes.
"Sheriff Decks – this is my agent, McGee," he introduced. McGee shook the sheriff's hand too.
"Thank you for meeting me here. I thought getting a look at the crime scene would be a good start for you boys, instead of just seeing the inside of my office," he chuckled. "And probably a good way for you to get to see why I asked you down."
"If I can be frank Sheriff, you did make it seem desperate. One of our own is down, we were coming anyway."
"I know, I know. It looks bad, I've been the sheriff for… God, too long some days it feels, and I feel it on this case; we haven't had a murder for the past 12 or so years now."
"Still doesn't explain why you so badly needed us," McGee noted taking in the view. The deceased's house was semidetached to a neighbours. It was a good size with a small, grassed porch and a similar size garden out the back. It was certainly interesting to note that the admiral's death with the first in over a decade that had happened in foul play; or was this more down to a flaw in character for Sheriff Decks?
"Because -"
"Cooo, coooeee sheriff," a high-pitched squeal echoed out from begin the agents. The trio turned to watch a woman in her 70s, glammed in a yellow sundress barge her way out of the neighbouring bungalow as if she was the star of her own Hollywood production. Following shyly in tow was younger woman in her 20s clinging to a violet tablet that nearly matched the short lavender hair that hid beneath a bucket hat.
"Caroline," the sheriff nodded, body becoming tense underneath his beaming smile. "Willow," he acknowledged the younger. "Allow me to introduce the agents from NCIS. This is Agent Gibbs and Agent McGee."
"I am so thrilled you are here to look to look into poor Smuggle's death." There was a hint of a Southern drawl in her voice that slipped out.
"Smuggle?" McGee couldn't hide his confusion.
"Oh sorry, that's why we called the admiral… Always smuggling biscuits out after book club ended."
"Book club?" Gibbs muttered to the sheriff.
"Yah, book club," he grimaced the reply.
"Willow here his getting us on insta sheriff," Caroline continued. "You should tweet us."
"Follow us. Tweeting is Twitter." The shy girl muttered, staying half a meter back, seemingly reluctant to be part of the conversation. An observer.
"Will you need to interview us all, agent?" Caroline battered a pair of doe eyes in McGee's direction with a small grip to his biceps. Unfortunately for McGee, the surprise attention sent a blush straight to his face.
"Um…"
"Yes ma'am," Gibbs interjected, shuffling his way between them. "I will need to interview all of you, in the book club." Caroline looked directly from McGee to Gibbs' stern glance. She glanced him up and down before a quaint smile darted on her lips.
"Yes Sir. I'm the one who lives next door, so please, come by anytime. The rest you can find us tomorrow morning at St Johns Church, 9am."
"Don't worry Caroline, I'll be sending them your way," Sheriff interjected, a sting of detachment in his tone.
The two women bid a good day, one sauntering away and the other scurrying, both with purpose. After they were gone, Sheriff Decks pulled the keys to the bungalow out of his jean pocket and started to walk them up to the front door.
"I'm going out on a limb here to say 'book club' is part of your issues here?" Gibbs mocked, not taking his eyes away from the two fingers poking out of the curtains of next door; they were older and bonier and thus from a third guest in the home that they were yet to meet.
"They are all well meaning members of society agent Gibbs," he spoke whilst placing he key in the lock and opening the door. He indicated for the agents to enter first. As they entered and he closed the door he continued with: "But they are all a batshit in their own right too."
"Sound like my Ex-wives."
"Oh my God," Caroline boomed, stuffing a cupcake into her mouth. "Did you see the older one? He's so good-looking."
"Protective of the other one," Willow murmured, typing as she sat cross legged on an arm chair.
"He was cute too, but I think I'm at an age to preferring silver... Still younger though," Caroline barely said with a cupcake lodged in her mouth.
"I wonder if he's sleeping with the other one," Willow murmured from her laptop, huddled up on the sofa.
"That's hot."
"Did you hear him introduce him?"
"My agent. Swoon."
"They way he stood between you two when you flirted?"
"Damnit Willow," she smacked her hand on the counter top. "I need you to do your little writing thingy. Like now."
"You mean fanfiction."
"Book club is going to love it. Write it and send an email."
"We have to meet them first," an older woman's voice croaked. Janette sat in another armchair, delicately picking apart a muffin. With the departure of the admiral, she was now the oldest member of the book club, moreover, the only founding member left.
"You're right... Source material is required," Caroline sighed. "Oh, they'll be down at the book club tomorrow! I can bet my limited-edition Stephen King that Decks will have them down to interview us all in our 'natural environment'."
"This is serious though dear." Janette's voice was stern. "It is most likely one of us, one of us is a killer." She turned to Willow. "I would love to read your little writing thingy though. Don't forget to update that one you have online for the Bones show, I always leave a little comment to let know my support."
"I know Janette… you sign it off like an email." Willow murmured, the realisation of what the elder had prior said dawning on her. One of them was a murderer and that stuck to her soul with a sense of dread… and to her heart like good a good dose of muse for her writing.
Hope you enjoyed and please leave a review :)