mystery
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Myrtle stood quietly in the CSI office. The sleek gray walls were bare. Storage pods sat unopened. On a bare stainless steel table, there were a satchel. Myrtle turned to the lab tech, a 2000 Sutton model.“May I be of assistance, Chief TwoAxes?”“What’s your name?”“I am a Sutton forensic trained tech—““Please, what do you call
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With a thin cigar between her lips, Klara sank back in her rocking chair. Ruefully she glanced over at her long neglected knitting basket. Carols her angora winked at her and rolled over in the basket. Klara returned to her tablet. The world was going to hell in a hand basket. In her realm the
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“You do know what a weekend is?” Myrtle said through her screen door.The android detective tossed her a comical confused look. “Does not compute,” Hacthet said. Then he started do the Funky Robot dance on Myrtle’s front porch. Myrtle opened the door and pulled him through.“I have neighbors.”“You wouldn’t think so from that outfit,” Hatchet
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“Hold on, hold on get this then the sailor said, ‘I should have never,” the officer started guffawing at his own joke.“Officer.” Myrtle’s voice was a whip the group of police froze and melted away. She approached the jokester. Myrtle focused on the thin aquamarine horizon line that marked the cool blue white of the