Starting at the End

“Buck and Penny’ve owned the Dollar Diner for longer than most of us can remember.” Mavis Higgins crossed her arms over her voluptuous bosom with a humph. “Who would do such a thing?”

“That’s for us to uncover, ma’am,” Hutch said patiently, silently mourning the couple himself. “Could you provide your address and phone number…” He patted his jacket pocket, but per usual, had left the squadroom sans any writing utensils. “Starsk?” he called.

Starsky dug into his tight jeans, fingers scrabbling under denim for a moment before he pulled out what he always called his spare. Flicking a finger, he tossed the short pencil end over end.

Hutch caught it in mid-air, handling it to Mavis to provide her particulars on his open notepad. While he waited, he glanced up at the iconic diner. He’d actually eaten there the first night he’d ever spent in Venice, the day after Vanessa threw him out of their shared apartment. With very little money, he’d wandered inside to discover that a cup of coffee and a piece of pie were within his budget.

That the wonderful couple, Penny with her deep brown eyes and gorgeous skin the color of chocolate sauce, and Buck, who fit his name to a T—tall, rangy, and blue eyed, with pale blond wisps of blond hair on his bald head, would be murdered was unthinkable.

“It’s that Cotton boy,” Mavis said with utter conviction.

“Cotton?” Starsky came over from watching the morgue crew load the bodies onto their vehicle.

“Jimmy,” Mavis’ companion, a woman as tall and skinny as Mavis was short and round, spoke up. “I saw him this morning.”

“In or around the diner?” Hutch asked hopefully.

“Walking by our house,” she said. “Down a block from here.”

“You live with Ms. Higgins?” Hutch scribbled the information on his pad.

“Marva—total coincidence that our names match, but when we met, we…” Marva glanced at Mavis and stopped as if putting on the brakes. “Anyway, he’s robbed them more than once. They never had more’n a few hundred in the till.”

“They were so nice, they’d never press charges. They figured the boy needed a free meal and some cash,” Mavis added. “Now…”

“Did he own a gun?” Starsky asked, edging closer to Hutch.

“Not that I know of,” Marva said, shrugging. She tugged on one of Mavis’ long black braids. “We should tell the neighborhood, set up a memorial.”

Mavis nodded sadly, taking Marva’s hand to walk away.

And Hutch knew. Knew why they lived together as clearly as he knew he loved Starsky.

“They a couple?” Starsky asked.

“Imagine so,” Hutch agreed. “You ever eat here?”

“Sure—when you didn’t have anything decent in your place!” Starsky laughed. “Damn shame. Where d’you want to start to find their killers?”

“Jimmy Cotton’s the first stop,” Hutch vowed. He might not be able to hold Starsky’s hand while on the job, but he could walk so close that their hands touched with every other step.

FIN