Red and pink candy hearts mottled the tabletop like a nasty rash, spilled from an overturned jar. The police photographer snapped a photo of the candy rash with disassociated amusement.
"Should've gotten her flowers, dude," he wasn't able to stop the thought.
He turned to take more pictures of the bloody mess. Flowers wouldn't have made a difference except that the photographer would have been making a different mental joke. The candy was less of a mess to clean up anyway. Even though he had seen hundreds of dead bodies, the photographer still cringed at the sight of one so mangled. Who knew a kitchen appliance could do so much damage?
The figure on the tile floor was male, though it wasn't possible to tell by looking at the head. But since his pants were down around his ankles, there was no mistaking it. Strewn next to him was a dented, heavy duty, stainless steel toaster with extra wide slots for bagels. It had bits of skull and brain matter crusted to it. The camera flashed as the photographer took a closeup of the toaster. He took a few more shots around the room then let the camera drop to his side as he scanned the kitchen with his eyes one last time. He made a slight satisfied nod and turned to walk out of the room, carefully stepping over the toaster.
He had to walk through the dining room in order to leave through the front door. Sitting on one side of a large dining room table were two cops. Investigators. Across from them was a woman, the wife. She looked relaxed, poised, even sexy with one leg pulled up on the chair. Her arm draped around her knee, a blood stained hand held a lit cigarette. Flecks of dried blood freckled her flushed face.
She exhaled through pale lips and said to no one in particular, "I think I'm going to take up smoking."
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