When he was a small child, they were very poor,but had a rich landlord. He was always hungry. He got up at night, crawled into the landlord's chicken empire and stole an egg from the hen that sat under an old Singer sawing machine.
This is autobiographical flash back.
We lived in one room apartment, one yellow bulb hung through the dusty spider webs, scattered with fly carcasses , like Christhmas decorations. Whitewashed walls were painted in yellow strips by the rainwater that oozed through broken shingles. I slept on a piece of rattan covered with a a gray blanket and a sheet, under a broken window mended with brown paper. Wind rattled the ill-fit door, day and night. Everythig smelled chicken poop.Lice gave me the itch. A rooster woke me up withy his falsetto. Herr Kraut, the landlord shouted,
Gratchen!Gratchen, were bist du?"
"In die latrine meine Bube."Sprinkled with well water, my face came alive.I sneaked into Herr Kraut chicken empire, and under a rusted Singer sawing machine, found my daily egg.
Deputy Dave Jenkins sets out to find the murderer of the local high school principal, aided by a voice from the grave that is sometimes helpful and sometimes misleading.
"Murder isn't usually this funny."
Amazon reviewer
