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light duty before I got some patients assigned to me.
    Besides trying to catch all the available gossip, I used this time to study policies and procedures. I really wanted to learn the important things about the company—like how many vacation days I got per year, how much sick time, personal days, all of the vital stuff.
    I wondered when B.H. would be back to question the rest of the staff. Marian Dougherty came by my office and asked me to join everyone in the kitchen, which doubled as the staff lounge. She introduced me to others I hadn’t met. In this office, most staff members were counselors, social workers, and psychologists. There were also a few nursing personnel. Most of my co-workers seemed friendly enough, and since I took charge yesterday, they all continued to ask me questions. I pretended I knew a lot more than I did.
    I used all my knowledge garnered from Bipolar Passion and Schizoid Revenge , my latest forays into reading psychological thrillers. Although my favorite books dealt primarily with the mental illness angle of murders, they also had incredible details about crime scenes and police procedures. Everyone seemed impressed with my knowledge, and I hoped that changed their minds about my bossy demeanor yesterday.
    When Gwen Schneider entered the room, a chill entered with her. Earlier Marian told me Gwen worked for Dr. Burns for almost the entire time he was in practice. I knew there was more to her than met the eye, but vowed to let it drop. Or at least I vowed to try to let it drop. Being nosy is a genetic disorder I inherited from my mother. There is no cure.
    I tried to observe my surroundings instead of staring at Gwen. This kitchen was huge. Most of the appliances were ultra modern but were in muted tones that blended in well with the Victorian surroundings. We all sat around a butcher-block table that was large enough to seat my whole family. I wondered idly how they moved it to clean. Three of the walls were covered in a yellow washed paper. The fourth wall was natural red brick. Homey and inviting.
    No matter how I tried not to look, my glance kept moving to Gwen when I thought no one would notice. She was antsy, unable to sit still, but I didn’t feel the same amount of animosity as earlier. Her energy was really disorganized. Almost chaotic. Even though I noticed things like this, I didn’t know what to make of it. My gut told me that Gwen Schneider was in major hot water. Or maybe not. Maybe she was mentally ill. There I went again. I decided to go with my feelings that she was in big trouble. Of course, anybody who knew she spent last night being questioned by the cops would know she was in trouble. Nothing like going for the obvious, Sam.

FIVE
    O kay, perhaps I’m not the most tactful individual, and grace is not my strong suit, but you’d think I’d be able to ask people questions without them thinking I’m trying to dig up some dirt. Apparently not.
    So, armed with good intentions and gut instinct, I began my quest for the villain. I decided to hang out in the kitchen because sooner or later everyone passed through there. Also it was close to the scene of the crime, and I knew that curiosity would get the better of everyone eventually. They would all feel the need to get close to where it happened. Burns’ office itself was taped off with the yellow pre-printed crime scene tape. For some reason, that surprised me. I almost expected generic masking tape, on which someone might have written, “Do not enter. Crime scene.” I guess the QPD had more professionalism than I thought.
    Even so, murders were rare, and part of the reason I moved home. The last murder I recalled happened when I was a teenager. “Old Lady” Tippins beat the hell out of “Old Man” Tippins one too many times and he died. Immediately upon being notified of his death, she also died. Which just goes to show you that love comes in a lot of varieties, and there is no age limit to the Romeo and Juliet