but wasn’t ready to go to bed with him. He went to his cabin and she went to hers.
The following day they spent the day trying to get to know one another, had snowball battles, and made a snowman. They ate at the Seacrest once more. They decided to go dancing.
Mrs. Day forgot her cellular phone had been switched off. She checked her messages. Mr. Sousa had phoned twenty times. The last call he informed her he was coming up because he was worried because she wouldn’t answer her phone. The remainder of the messages was intimidating words from Mrs. Day’s stepchildren-and her mother called too. She called Mr. Sousa but got a voicemail.
Three days pasted and she didn’t see Mr. Parmly. She glided by his cabin. There was a snowman having a long carrot stuck out. Mrs. Day’s lip curled in disgust, she thought that was way out of his character.
Mrs. Day was worried. She searched the vicinity for a couple of hours. She'd no luck. She called the sheriff. A few miles away from her cabin, they identified Mr. Sousa’s frozen body in the snow. He had been strangled to death.
“Oh, my Lord,” she cried sharply.
The sheriff held her in his arms.
“We better get back to the cabin,” he said strongly and they started off together.
“What about Mr. Parmly?” she stated sharply.
“Girl, I’ll take you back to your cabin,” he said strongly. “Then, I’ll go look for your friend. You take this.”
“Dog, I’m afraid of guns,” she stated strongly, gazing at it with fascinated horror.
“Mamita, it’s for your protection,” he insisted strongly. “The Shoestring Killer is very dangerous dude. Bruh, I’m telling you girl this dude means business. You hear what I’m saying?”
“Ok,” she snapped.
Mrs. Day fixed herself a chicken salad sandwich, but couldn’t eat. She had been still frightened and kept watching out her window every five minutes. She paced back and forth concerned about Mr. Parmly and spasms of nausea from grief over Mr. Sousa. The snow began to come down some more. It was 8:32, four hours later on and the sheriff still hadn’t comeback.
It had become 10:05, when the sheriff came through the door.
“Did you found Mr. Parmly?” Mrs. Day inquired dramatically.
“No!” he stated sadly. “Maybe he went back home, bro-bro.”
She shook her head. “Why would he leave without saying good-bye?” Mrs. Day snapped.
The sheriff shook his head and shrugged.
“There is a bright side to this story,” he said strongly with a laugh. “Dog, I identified the Shoestring Killer at the bottom of a cliff. The slime-poop was dead.”
“How did that psycho die?” she snapped still with a worried gaze.
“Mr. Evans was strangled,” he said sharply, smiling.
“Are you positive?” she said strongly.
“Hell, yeh!” he snapped.
“But who killed him?” she asked.
“Probably would be a victim giving that crazy cat a taste of his own medicine,” he said firmly.
“All right,” she said.
“The coroner is certain. You’re safe right now Miss. Mamacita, I got to go if you need anything you know where to find me. Have a great night!” he said strongly with a firm smile.
He opened up the door and strolled out, closing it behind. Mrs. Day made sure it was locked.
Late in the next evening, Mrs. Day was packing her luggage. Next, there was a knock on the door. Once she opened the door, Mr. Parmly was standing there covered in snow. She stepped back and he brushed off the snow and came in. He appeared to be a train accident. He'd a couple of days of facial hair.
“Dog, you look just like slime, baby,” Mrs. Day said sharply with a smile.
“Lord, I feel like it, girl,” Mr. Parmly said happily with a laugh.
“The sheriff and I were searching for you,” she said strongly, zipping her tote. “Dog, we had been concerned about you. Boy, you understand the shoestring killer has made is way out here. But he’s dead now.”
“So that psycho-slime’s dead?” he snapped.
“Hell, yeh,” she said sharply.
“I’m sorry that I put y’all and everybody in a tense situation. Man, I had taken a stroll and I got lost that’s all,” he said firmly.
“Well, I’m glad to see you’re all right,” she said strongly, taking out her cellular phone. “Yo, I better let the sheriff know you’re all right, dog.”
Mr. Parmly snapped up her arm and squeezed until she let go of the phone and pushed her against the wall.
“What the hell is a matter with you, bruh? Why are you looking at me like this?” she stated sharply with fear.
Mr. Parmly had taken out a shoestring. “Girl, you remind me of my mother,” he said harshly, raising the string to her throat. Her brown eyes grew to be saucers. “That evil woman was so mean to me. She loved to beat my butt on a regular basis. She made me eat her and our cat’s doo-doo! Locked me up in the bathroom with a smelly goat. And that evil woman tortured me all the time! Embarrassed me in front of relatives and buddies. She looked pretty just like you.”
“You murdered Delmar and the shoestring killer,” she said sharply as her eyes broaden in alarm.
“That’s right, baby. I killed that gay dude too,” he stated strongly as he laughed loudly. “Bruh, I killed the other broads too. That smelly-brain sheriff too. All of you women are fronting slime balls and must die. Just the way my idol the shoestring killer said. I grew up loving this dude. I thought the cat was so awesome. It’s good, eh? Nobody would certainly ever expect a black man to be a serial killer. You Dig?”
“Please-please,” Mrs. Day said strongly, looking for the gun. But the gun was in her room. “Don’t kill me, dog!”
“Please don’t beg, boo-boo,” he stated sharply as he wrapped the string around her neck and began to squeeze and squeeze. “Don’t worry baby it will likely be over in a few seconds.”
Sadly, for James Parmly his reign since the shoestring killer would certainly end quickly after he broke-in a young woman’s cabin and made an effort to strangle her. She turned out to be the deputy sheriff.
The Situation of Dancer Joel Luis
Mr. Keith Jackson heard a scream---sounding just like it came from Joel Luis’s outdoor tent. The dude leaped up from the grass and flew over to the tent, the wind blowing off his sombrero. Once Mr. Keith Jackson gotten to the outdoor tent, Maria Gomez had been standing there screaming.
“Luis---please wake up! Luis...talk to me, baby!” Miss Gomez cried loudly.
Inside the tent, Joel Luis rest on his stomach, a butcher knife stuck in his back. He was not moving. This cat was surely dead.
“Dog, don't touch anything! Dial 911 and let Reno’s finest deal with this stuff,” Mr. Jackson said dramatically to Maria Gomez.
“Who could do this?” Maria stated harshly.
“I don’t know, baby,” Jackson snapped.
Marisa made her way over to the outdoor tent. “What happen? Is he dead?” she said franticly.
“Hell, yeh! You see that thing sticking out of his back,” Jackson said bluntly.
“What type of monster would do this?” Marisa asked sharply.
“A hella scandalous punk!” Jackson snapped.
Marisa had been his associate on several cases one of the best. And his part-time lover. Her hourglass figure fit perfectly in her Spanish dress; several Mexican males’ eyes were on her all of the time.
Security shoved their way through, hoping to be of some support and Sgt. Mark Newsham turned up with the fire department, coroner, and paramedics, Nevada Highway Patrol, sheriff Dept. and News 4, 3, and 1.
“Hey! Folks step your asses back, there’s nothing more here to see,” Sgt. Newsham yelled harshly.
Folks shifted back.
“Keith, what is your butt doing here?” Sgt. Newsham requested fiercely.
“I like to get my party-on too,” Keith said sharply with a laugh.
“So what happened?” Newsham state
d strongly lighting a cigarette.
“Some psycho-brain got pissed-off,” Jackson stated snugly as he lit a joint. “And killed my friend.”
“Who is this dead scum?” Newsham asked bitterly blowing smoke.
“Joel Luis,” Marisa said firmly.
“What is he?” Newsham asked sharply shaking his head.
“Hey, dude, a dancer dude,” Jackson snapped. “Haven’t you seen a dancer before dog? He and Miss Gomez were part of the Cinco De Mayo fiesta.”
“What’s this man doing in here? The celebration is out there in the street,” Newsham said firmly.
“The cat’s got to take a break some time. You feel me?” Jackson said sharply.
“Who’s this broad?” Sgt. Newsham asked hotly.
“Maria Gomez. She dances with him,” Jackson said strongly. “And she’s hella cool peoples.”
“Did you see anything?” Newsham asked calmly.
“No,” Miss Gomez said strongly as she continued to cry. “I just came in here to check on my dance partner and I found him like this.”
“Did you touch stuff,” Newsham asked firmly.
“Hell no!” Gomez snapped.
“Nobody touched anything sergeant,” Marisa said sharply.
“Well after the music and grooving stopped, Joel Luis returned to his outdoor tent for a break,” Jackson explained strongly, blowing smoke out of his nose. “After the break had been over, once the music group had been back on the stage, I noticed Luis didn’t come back. Miss Gomez went to see what was keeping him. Then I heard her scream. So I went to see what was popping-off and found Mr. Luis bent over the table with a knife in his back.”
“Did you observe anybody follow Mr. Luis back to the tent?” Sgt. Newsham asked firmly.
“Hell no!” Jackson said
Crimes Of Murder Page 3
