“I’ve never seen a crime scene contaminated by muffins before.”“Next time I discover a body, I’ll try not to trip over it, okay?”
The cop snorted. He’d already tried for ironic humor by commenting that a shop with the name Bloody Murder was the perfect place to have one. I was not amused. Instead of the busy, productive morning I had planned, I had a painfully sprained ankle, a hysterical partner and now a fifty-something weather-beaten homicide dick, stress on the ultimate word, from the First Precinct trying to be funny. To top it off, I was bruised and covered with blood. Not my own, but it was making me nauseous and lightheaded. I felt like I might faint again. No, amused was nowhere near my vocabulary right now.
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