Clothes pins Stories

Part Two: Night of the Clippies A half hour later, Monroe was alert, bandaged and bruised, but sitting upright in the kitchen chair drinking a tall glass of orange juice. He borrowed the phone and called Sheriff Taylor at his home. “Hey boss. My apologies for calling you so late but –“ “No problem.” Monroe could tell he just woke him up. “What’s news?” “I’m up at the Baldwin residence. We’ve got ourselves a killer clothes...

The late October night sky was clear, full of stars with a gentle push of wind coming from the east. Margaret Braeburn, thoroughly entrenched in her sixties and sporting all the vivacious curves of a fire hydrant, strode outside carrying a huge laundry basket full of bed sheets. According to Margie, a nickname used only by her closest friends, the night air always seemed to make them smell fresher. Her late husband, Ralph...