Not Again...
Aimee Caine snorted, then laughed.
The thought of having both a husband and boyfriend was hilarious.
One man was enough to handle.
That and she always told people that off the job Horatio was like a third child—and often the worst one. Horatio was able to get home an hour after the family usually ate dinner so Aimee had decided to wait for him. Now her husband kept an eye on the turkey patties in the pan while she made potato salad, adding fresh peas and corn— and lots of mayonnaise .
A favorite of both hers and Faith's.
"Speed and Lorelei got another rescue," Horatio told Aimee. "This one's only an eight-week-old. A Yorky, I think he said. Lorelei wants to adopt it but Speed says 'no' because Chewy as he is called is too yappy. Not to mention he 'looks like a like rat.'"
An eight-week-old anything is adorable. And Aimee were a dog lover herself. In this case though she had to agree with Tim. A cousin of hers had not one, not two but three Yorkies Aimee didn't know how she didn't strangle them with all the barking they did. It was like barking in stereo at that house.
"How much do you wanna bet that Tim will cave because Lorelei says so?" Aimee said as she put the plates on the table.
"Oh, I don't know," Horatio replied, "if they have over two dogs, they wouldn't be licensed to take in any more rescues."
Rescuing strays and abused or abandoned animals was a huge passion for Lorelei Rogers. Originally she and Tim were only supposed to take care of Charlie and Chloe temporarily but both had become too attached to the each dog and couldn't part with either one of them.
"Ah. Maybe they'll have to let Chewy be adopted by someone else then."
"Who's Chewy? Why is he bein' 'dopted?"
Their conversation was interrupted by Kyle who entered the kitchen. He was going to tell his parents he was hungry.
"Remember I told you that Uncle Speed and Lorelei take care of dogs who don't have homes?" Horatio asked.
Kyle nodded.
"Well, Chewy is a dog who came to live with them yesterday. But Uncle Speed thinks he'll be happier somewhere else."
"Oh. I'm hungry. When's dinner gonna be ready?"
Horatio and Aimee laughed. Leave it to their son to drop one topic for another, especially if one of the topics was food.
Horatio's phone rang at 1:00am. There was a murder that appeared to be another attack by the "butcher." This time it was slightly different, however. The victim was a social worker specializing in the adoption of special needs children who were considered "hard to place.". She didn't have children and wasn't involved with anybody. She lived with a roommate was blind. The social worker named Greta Williams had survived the attack initially, able to tell first officers on the scene there the attacker was a large male who had a had a snake tattoo. Those were her last words before she lapsed into unconsciousness. Greta Williams would be pronounced dead in the emergency room. Her roommate Jen, who also had the last name Williams but was unrelated, told them tearfully that the only thing she could tell them was the attacker gave off a sweet, fruity odor. Jen was attacked in the hallway. When she had heard her friend screaming in the kitchen. She had "played dead." till the attacker was gone.
At the hospital, while Horatio spoke to the doctor, emts and first officer on the scene about Greta Williams, Tim interviewed Jen. He assured the wounded woman that while she believed what she was telling the police was nothing, the little information she had would be helpful.
He also told her "playing dead" saved her life.
The "fruity" odor could mean the attacker was a diabetic who hadn't taken his insulin. This was something to narrow down the field of suspects. The E.R. doctor told Horatio that Greta bleed out from her carotid artery being "nicked." The bleeding was slower and why she lived for minutes verus seconds. The physician confirmed to Horatio Greta very likely could have been lucid enough to tell the emts and officers something about the intruder. The only thing that could be done at this moment was to process the physical evidence. Under heavy guard, Jen Williams was left to rest. They would ask her more questions later.
As he pulled into the lane that led to his home at 4:50a.m. a horrifying text message flashed on his phone.
I hadn't decided when or even if I will, but you might want to find me before I get to your family. They call me the butcher.
A smiley face followed.
Horatio went pale.