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Dear Diary:January 10th

I know I’m not supposed to feel this way, but I can’t help it. I’m glad the evil witch is dead. She was my mother and I loved her for that. But she was not a good person. Not to me, not to almost everyone, especially my Dad, who did not deserve it. Sorry, but because of that and what she did to me, I simply did not like the type of person she was.

Funny thing, the night she died, the night before me and Claudia found her, I have no memory of what I did that night. It’s too weird. I have tried very hard to remember what I did that night but I can’t remember anything.

It will be another couple of days before the autopsy is finished. The preliminary (I hope I spelled that right) autopsy indicates she was smothered. Probably with the pillow found on the floor next to her bed. That is what the detective, Lucy Compton, told me. The same two detectives from the Minneapolis police who handled my rape case are handling Priscilla’s case.

In the morning, I have to call my Dad about a funeral for her. He told me he knows what to do.

The three days before Priscilla’s funeral, the temperature barely rose above zero. The weather people had predicted mid-twenties for the day of the event. Fortunately, they were right.

Robbie had spoken at the service in a local Lutheran church. They were occasional members and Priscilla donated five thousand dollars every year. According to Blake, she took ten thousand as a deduction on her taxes for the church donation. How would God view lying about how much someone donated every year? Priscilla may be finding out.

The graveside part of the service was mercifully short. Even with the warmer weather, it was still January and this was still Minnesota. The cosmetic company where Priscilla was executive V.P. was closed in her honor. There was a nice crowd of employees in attendance. Of course, Priscilla’s lunch, dinner and drinking buddies were also there. One in particular was genuinely upset. Robbie could not remember her name.

Following the service, both Blake and Robbie made the rounds of the crowd. Each shook as many hands and thanked as many people as possible for coming. Hugs with Priscilla’s friends.

At one point, Blake wandered away from the departing crowd with another man. Robbie saw them and wondered who the man was. A few minutes later, Blake rejoined her.

“Who was that?” Robbie asked.

“Priscilla’s boss, Ray Davies. Did you know Priscilla had an ownership interest in the company?”

“No, I don’t think she ever mentioned it,” Robbie said .

“I knew she did but I had no idea what it might be worth,” Blake said.

“Why? What?” Robbie asked.

“They have an insurance policy on her. A key-man life insurance policy,” Blake answered.

“How much?” Robbie asked.

“Five million.”

“Holy shit!” Robbie said a little too loudly.

“And, he asked if we had finalized the divorce.”

“Did you?”

“No, we hadn’t even started it,” Blake replied.

“So, I don’t understand,” Robbie said.

“It’s a buyout policy. The money is to be paid to Priscilla’s beneficiaries, her heirs, to buy out her interest in the company. Of course, she named the business as primary beneficiaries to use the money to pay us off. Now that I think about it, she did mention something about this, I don’t know, maybe four or five years ago, but I forgot about it.

“We have other life insurance, too. I think it’s another two million,” Blake said.

“Jesus, Dad, you’re rich. We should’ve killed the old bitch years ago,” Robbie said.

When she said that, Blake noticed the minister. He turned his head toward them with raised eyebrows.

“Come on,” Blake whispered and led Robbie away.

Late that same night Alice Griebler was just about ready to call it a day and head for home. Except for the custodian, she was the last one to leave the building. As the school nurse, it was part of her job to stay until all athletic events were done. The girls’ volleyball team was hosting an eight team tournament of middle school girls’ volleyball.

They were fortunate tonight. Three of the teams had trans boys on their team. One of them was over six feet tall and weighed a hundred seventy pounds. Alice was totally in favor of allowing this, but she did worry about injuries .

Weather outside required a warm winter overcoat. She retrieved the coat from the coat rack in the corner of her office. She slipped into it while looking at her desk. Specifically, the lower right-hand drawer where she kept her brandy bottle hidden.

One more? she thought to herself. The desk was locked, the key in the bottom of her purse. It could wait until she got home.

Alice was literally counting the days in the school year. As she shuffled along the hallway toward the parking lot exit, she thought about it again. Forty years this spring. She had turned sixty-five in the fall and would max out her pension in the spring. Almost a million dollars’ worth. Forty years as the school nurse for Margaret Sanger Middle School.

In the beginning, when Alice was young and enthusiastic, she loved her job. Of course, middle school kids back then were more respectful. If they got out of line a phone call to a home where normally two parents still resided, would put a stop to it. Now, if they acted up, which they were much worse about doing, the parents or, more likely parent, would take the side of their precious little angel.

Alice went through the exterior door and noticed the heavy snowflakes coming down. January in Minnesota. Snow and cold, real winter was hardly unusual.

Sandra Harding was a very happy girl. Twenty-three, a new job, a career she really loved, always jump started her day early. Today was no exception.

As she drove toward Sanger Middle School, Sandy thought about her as yet unscheduled upcoming wedding day. There was three to four inches of new snow on the streets. Being a Minnesota girl, blue-eyed blonde of course, driving in snow was no problem.

Sandy could feel the engagement ring on her left-hand. He had proposed a week ago but today was the first day she wore the ring. Time to show it off. She smiled at the thought of her mother already planning the wedding. Best of all, Jason was a fully employed fiancée. Life was good for Sandra Harding, soon to be Dixon.

When Sandy drove into the parking lot of Sanger, she noticed a car parked by itself. It was completely covered with fresh snow. She realized that someone must have either spent the night or left the car. As usual, Sandy was the first one to arrive. A few minutes before six o’clock, it was still quite dark.

She parked as close to the door as she could. Exiting her car, she hurried through the snow toward the sidewalk. As she did, a city snowplow entered the parking lot to clear it of snow.

Walking toward the building, Sandy could see something on the sidewalk by the light above the door. A large lump of something completely covered by the snow. She stopped and stared for a moment then cautiously walked toward it.

Sergeant Stanley Argent of the MPD was almost at the end of his shift when the call came. He answered, listened then replied, “On my way,” while thinking, great just what I need . That was two hours ago and he was still hanging around the parking lot of the school.

When Argent arrived, the first on the scene, he found a terrified, pretty young woman waiting. She directed him toward the sidewalk leading up to the entrance door. Argent walked toward what he knew was a body. As he did, he used his shoulder mic to call it in.

He knelt down by the body as carefully as he could. The first thing he noticed were the holes in the top of the skull. At least six of them. Blood, brain matter and brain fluid had matted the hair. The woman was obviously quite dead.

Now, two hours later, Stanley Argent was accruing overtime standing guard at the parking lot entrance. He was chasing cars away, school employees who parked in the lot, to preserve the crime scene. With him were two other patrol cops.

As teachers, staff and students continued to arrive, these cops directed them to the front of the building. Inside there were more police keeping gawkers away from the door to the lot.

“Hey, Stan, been a while,” a tall, black man driving an unmarked department car turned into the school lot, stopped and said. “Still on midnight to morning?” The man in the car, Lt. Owen Jefferson, homicide supervisor, asked.

“Hey Owen. Yeah, still on mids so one of us is always home for the kids.”

“How many are you up to? An even dozen?” Jefferson asked.

“Could be, I’m losing track. The last number I got was seven, maybe eight,” Argent replied while shaking Jefferson’s hand through his open window.

“You do know how to prevent that, right?” Jefferson asked.

“I don’t even know how it keeps happening.”

“Ah. That might be the problem. What do we have?” Jefferson asked, referring to the crime scene.

“Alice Griebler. School nurse. Dr Benny thinks she was struck multiple times with the claws of a claw hammer, on the top of her head.”

“Ouch. Messy?” Jefferson asked.

“Not really. Benny thinks she died quickly and the bleeding stopped right away,” Argent replied.

“I’ll go take a look. Why don’t you go home? We have plenty of people on hand.”

“I was just about to. Good to see you again, Owen. I’ll have my report for you first thing tomorrow morning.”