The stream flowed from one end of the wood to the other, rushing over rocks, slowing down in a few areas where it widened to allow a little black fish to swim around. They floated in one place and then darted back and forth. Some crayfish hid under the rocks. The cops had wading boots on and smoked cigarettes which they tossed directly into the stream when the butts became too short to smoke any more. The cops were looking for something in the stream-bed, poking around in the water with long sticks with hooks on the end. After several hours of not finding anything except a brassiere and a condom, both unrelated to the case, they stood and sat on the bank, smoking, and Martin passed a flask of whiskey around. “What day you say the wedding was?” Martin asked Pike. “September 30th,” Pike answered.

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Marla stood in front of the mirror, combing her hair. She had no makeup on but her lips stained slightly in the corners when she sipped her wine. Her cell phone rang. “I’m still up here,” she said into the phone. “Give me one second.” She set down the brush on the dresser and watched herself sip the red wine in the mirror. She pulled open a drawer in the dresser. There were two strange, curved daggers hidden under her lingerie and she took these out. They fit in her purse with the handles sticking out.

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The refrigerator door was open in the brightly lit kitchen. Milk spilled on the linoleum tiles. A toddler stared at the milk draining from the carton. “Miwk,” the toddler said, and put his hand in it. Then he scampered across the room avoiding most of the cockroaches but crushing on one or two as they shot over to where the milk was spilled.

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