Tuesday Tales: From a Picture

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. This week, the ladies and i are writing to a picture prompt. As such, our posts are limited to 300 words. Here’s the picture I’ve chosen.

I’m continuing with The White Dahlia.

Al Foster. The guy was a little rough around the edges, but she liked him. He reminded her of Danny on Blue Bloods, one of her favorite television shows. It wasn’t realistic—crimes rarely got solved in an hour—but the stories weren’t as out of the realm of possibility as some others were.

Would Al ever know how lucky he’d been to escape being partnered with her? After the fiasco with Jack, she’d sworn-off men and hadn’t dated in months. Just as well. She was poison when it came to the men in her life, especially those she worked with.

“Hey, Sarge. Aren’t you going home?” Fisk asked, poking his head into the office. He was always the first one in for the day shift. “You look like you’ve had a hell of a night.”

“It wasn’t the best,” she admitted, realizing the bullpen was filling up while she’d been in la-la land. “You’ll probably hear about it at briefing. Hope you have a better day.”

The young detective saluted with his coffee cup. “Get some sleep. You’re off until Monday, right? They’re calling for rain Sunday. Hope the heat breaks before then.”

“So do I. There’s supposed to be a full moon that night. Isn’t that the first day of autumn, too? Maybe we’ll all get lucky.”

But Rachel Livingston and the nameless, faceless three before her hadn’t been lucky, and Rebecca Winston probably wouldn’t be either.

She grabbed her purse and the bag with her clothes, shut down her laptop, and headed to the elevator. The doors opened and Lieutenant Harris stepped off, his face beet-red, his jaw clenched. Who the hell had pissed in his corn flakes this morning?

“Reynolds, my office, now,” he barked.

Oh shit! I did. Here it comes. How did he find out so quickly?

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.