Prologue

“Candice, I declare this is the finest afghan I’ve ever seen,” a perfect voice for an old lady was heard.

“Oh go on with you. That old thing. I made it twenty years ago when my dear husband felt the chill upon him,” she replied in a likewise creaky voice of her eighty plus years.

“I know dear,” as she fingered the material, “but such design and color.”

“I’m glad you like it and I would like to give it to you for a present.”

“No, I couldn't accept such a fine gift and it was your husbands. I don’t want to take something you can remember him by,” she said with an eye on his victim.

He was dressed like an old woman. A perfect disguise as it was his profession. Now he had his sights on ending Candice’s life. She was too old and time for her to move on. Under his long dress in a special holster on one leg, a Marlin spike lay ready to end her life. On the other leg a hammer in another holster waited for use against the head of the Marlin spike. Now it was time to put it to use.

Candice said, “I insist you take it. I know you are moving to Redding and I’ve no need for it here in Barstow.”

Changing the subject he said, while rubbing his neck, “I have been having trouble with my neck muscles lately and the doctor suggested a neck rub would do a person good. Do you ever have a stiff neck Candice?”

“Oh my yes, even now I feel a tightness there.”

“Let me show you how the doctor showed me to rub the stiffness out,” as he slowly rose up and moved behind her. From his dress pocket he took out a bottle of Efficascent Oil. He showed her the bottle and said, “This is camphor plus menthol and it feels wonderful on the skin and relaxes the muscles.”

Candice looked at the bottle and smelled the contents as she removed the lid. “My, this is nice and I love the smell. Do you mind putting some on my neck?”

“Not at all but could you unbutton a few of your buttons so I can reach your neck easier? Candice did as she requested and soon he had a nice view of her neck and where the spinal cord entered the skull. “Please lean you neck forward a little dreary so I can better rub your tired old muscles.” He began to slowly rub the oil on her skin and soon the room smelled like camphor.

“My, that is nice and feels so warm. Already I feel better.”

“This only takes a few minutes,” he said as he reached for the spike with one hand and quickly grabbed the hammer with the other as Candice gave off little moans of delight. He had the spike by the sharp end and was rubbing with the heel of his hand while placing the sharp end next to the entry hole to the brain. He practiced this many times on a mannequin and gave the blunt end of the spike a blow sending the tip straight up into her brain. In one second she was dead. The oil fell from her hand to the old rug. He wiped off the spike on her old dress and returned it to the leg holster as well as the hammer. He picked up the bottle of oil and placed it in his bag; walked to the door of the tiny house and looked back once at the former Candice from Barstow, California. She was leaned over in her rocker with arms hanging down. She never knew what hit her.

Walking with a cane he closed the door quietly and slowly walked down the street to his old non - descript car. He didn’t care if someone saw him, he was just another old lady in a world that was fast becoming aged and he meant to whittle the old folks down a little. Like in his favorite book, “Sherlock Holmes” says to Watson: “The game is afoot.”