Communication Exchange

Here's a short scene from my new cozy mystery FM For Murder which sets up the premise for the murder. Hope you like it and hope you visit other SampleSunday sites and taste the wares of other authors on the blogosphere. Please let me know what you think. FM For Murder is available on Amazon and Smashwords

“Did you have a nice time last night?” asked Pamela, sitting down on a kitchen stool.


“Yeah, fine,” responded Angela, focusing on the griddle.


“What time did you get in?” asked Rocky, stirring the mixture, and adding cinnamon and nutmeg.


“After midnight,” answered Angela. “Oh, and Mom, a weird thing happened.” Rocky paused scooping cupfuls of the mixture onto the griddle.


“Weird?” asked Rocky, “Weird how?” He peered at his daughter with a worried frown.


“On the radio,” said Angela. “Kent and I were at Pookie’s after the movie. We were just sitting there having slushies and listening to KRDN—this show that plays alternative music on Saturday night. The deejay was talking and introducing songs and stuff and somebody came into the studio and this whoever it was evidently had a gun and we heard a gunshot and then nothing.” She carefully flipped pancakes as she spoke.


“What?” bellowed her father. He had now proceeded to whipping up home made syrup and frying bacon.


“You heard a gunshot?” asked Pamela.


“Yeah, that’s what it sounded like,” said Angela. “We weren’t sure. After we heard the shot, there was no more talking. Then it sounded like the mike was turned off and that was it. We didn’t know what to think.”


“Oh my God,” said Pamela, leaning her elbows on the counter. “You must have been shocked.”


“You’re sure it was a gunshot? Maybe it was part of the music? I mean, some of that music is very strange.” Rocky questioned her, as he stirred his special syrup on the burner next to the griddle.


“No, Dad, believe me. It was a gunshot. Besides, the deejay said the person who came into the studio had a gun. I think the person came into the studio with a gun and shot the deejay.” Angela was bleery-eyed but still clear-headed enough to report the facts.


“Oh my God,” repeated Pamela. “This was a local station?”


“Yeah,” answered her daughter, “KRDN, FM 933. I always listen to that show late on Saturday because it has music they don’t play on any other station. Kent too.” She flipped a little brown circle on the skillet.


“So,” said Rocky, continuing to stir his syrup and staring at his daughter, “you heard this shot and then just nothing. Dead air?”


“And maybe a dead deejay,” responded Angela. She looked at her parents and shrugged.