“Not this time,” he thought.

Had this been a television crime drama, there were enough hardware receipts in the top drawer to convict him of several unsolved “life ending events.” Rope. Duct tape. Utility knives. Caustic chemicals. There are always receipts, and the items are always paid with a traceable card, never cash. Always…right?

The book had folder-type sections where his grandmother sorted recipe clippings, cooking tips, and anything else of interest. You might say it had been a 1960′s version of blogging. You might not say it was where he now kept anything sinister. It was much too whimsical for that.