Fur is Murder
As loved as we were by the Boschmann’s, we were still a negro family and had to live in the negro part of town. This part of town was not Officer Sweeney’s beat. He being at our door to arrest my Ronnie was strictly a courtesy. At some point during all the celebration, Mr. Stanley had been murdered. Stabbed in the throat three times. Another four times in the chest and seventeen times in his crotch. I nearly dropped Caroline as Officer Sweeney gave us more details while the other cops escorted Ronnie back to our bedroom so he could get dressed before they slapped cuffs on him.
When Ali, Casey, and I were in college down in central Illinois, we lived in this great place just a block off campus. It was situated at the top of a hill overlooking the town smack dab in the middle of Greek Row, snuggled between the Beta and SAE houses—a modest, three-bedroom house with a front porch and back patio, and yard that made it ideal for barbecues and other themed or not themed parties.