The Body in the Pool Chapter 41

The Body in the Pool

Book One of the Dismember Killer Series

 

Chapter Forty One

Spence typed the name of the country club into his GPS and had to laugh.
“What’s funny?”
“Mountain Springs Country Club is on Mountain Springs Road in the adorable hamlet of Mountain Springs.”
Melanie laughed. “Sometimes you gotta wonder about people with money.”
Spence put the car in reverse and they pulled away from Casey Jackson’s home. Their destination was back through Shadow Valley, a minuscule blip of a town that could almost be missed if you blinked too long. The country club was the exception.
A long curving drive wound its way between golf greens. A palatial building contrasted heavily with their last stop. Lights glittered in the evergreens spaced evenly on either side of the walk from the parking lot to the club itself. Twelve foot high wooden slat double doors greeted them.
Spence whispered to Melanie, “We ain’t in Kansas anymore.”
“And I thought the Academy was money,” she responded.
“They will want a warrant.”
“Oh yeah.”
Spence grabbed a hold of the four-foot long wrought iron door pull. The door swung much easier than he anticipated causing him to stumble back a step.
Melanie bit her lip to keep from laughing.
The moment they crossed the threshold a young woman dressed in a dove gray suit approached them. “May I help you?”
Spence smiled and subtly flashed his identification. “We have a couple of quick questions.”
“Of course. Please follow me.” She escorted them away from the bar and dining room which were visible through a large arch and down a long hallway to a small seating alcove with fantastic full height glass windows looking out over the lit golf course. “If you’ll wait here, I will fetch the manager.”
She moved away quickly, her two inch kittens heels making almost no sound on the marble floor.
“This place is giving me a complex, even her voice sounded rich,” Melanie groused.
“And she works here. Imagine the members.” Spence shook his head.
The manager did not keep them waiting long. “I understand you are members of our fine sheriff’s office. How may I assist you?”
“I have a few questions for you which may sound odd but I am not at liberty to ask directly what I need to know.”
“We must go round about things. I understand perfectly.”
Spence smiled. This place. “If someone who was not a member wanted to gain access to the facilities, how might they go about it?”
“I suppose anyone could walk in our front door, as you did this evening. However, as you observed this evening, they would immediately be greeted by a member of our staff.”
Melanie stifled the urge to giggle and asked, “I know clubs that offer single day use passes for purchase.”
“We do not offer that option. This club is for the use of our members and their guests.”
“Do guests need to register?”
“Of course.”
“If I gave you a name, could you confirm if this person is a member or has ever attended your club as a guest?”
“It would be against our policies to reveal the private business of our members and their guests.”
Spence sighed. “It is a matter of life and death. Someone will get away with murder if we can’t find a way to stop her.”
“And knowing if she has attended this club will assist you in that endeavor?” The manager sounded skeptical.
“It’s a matter of knowing if she was here to receive delivery of certain goods we know came into this country club on certain days.”
There was a long minute of silence before the manager said, “Very well. What is the name?”
“Arlene Paulson.”
“I shall return shortly. Please continue to wait here.”
Spence nodded.
Melanie pursed her lips and released a long exhale. “I might need to change my mind about the rich. I thought he would stonewall.”
“I think he has brains capable of actual thought,” Spence answered.
Melanie’s phone chirped. “Incoming text from dispatch.” She read. “They found Casey Jackson. He’s being brought back to the office. He’ll be waiting for us in interrogation when we get back.”
“Nice. Once we clear this end up, we can see why he thought it prudent to run.”
“Prudent?” Melanie asked with a laugh.
“I think this place is rubbing off on me.”
“Excuse me, detectives?” The same young woman in dove gray stood behind them, her hands clasped behind her back. “Our manager asked me to pass a message onto you. The name you gave him is not in our system.”
“And if it’s not in your system, she’s never been here.”
“That is correct. Can I do anything else for you?”
“No, thank you. We’ll show ourselves out.” Spence was even more eager to talk to Casey now that their other viable option had been eliminated.

Book Review: 2k to 10k

My son bought me this book for my birthday but I wasn’t able to get to it until my August vaca. 2k to 10K: Writing Faster, Writing Better, and Writing More of What you Love by Rachel Aaron was a quick and easy read I enjoyed with an umbrella drink. Luckily, I was reading on my kindle and so could highlight lots of bits as they appealed to me.

Basic Summary (Courtesy of Amazon):

“Have you ever wanted to double your daily word counts? Do you feel like you’re crawling through your story, struggling for each paragraph? Would you like to get more words every day without increasing the time you spend writing or sacrificing quality? It’s not impossible, it’s not even that hard. This is the story of how, with a few simple changes, I boosted my daily writing from 2000 words to over 10k a day, and how you can, too.”

Expanding on her highly successful process for doubling daily word counts, this book–a combination of reworked blog posts and new material–offers practical writing advice for anyone who’s ever longed to increase their daily writing output. In addition to updated information for Rachel’s popular 2k to 10k writing efficiency process, 5 step plotting method, and easy editing tips, this new book includes chapters on creating characters that write their own stories, story structure, and learning to love your daily writing. Full of easy to follow, practical advice from a commercial author who doesn’t eat if she doesn’t produce good books on a regular basis, 2k to 10k focuses not just on writing faster, but writing better, and having more fun while you do it.

My thoughts:

I did highlight rather a lot but honestly much of her advice is the same ole, same ole you hear from everyone who speaks on writing.

Example: You can up your word average by eliminating the days you don’t write.

In other words, write every day. LOL. Ground breaking.

Her big secret to writing 10K a day — write for 6 hours a day. She gets her best numbers at the end of the 6 hour session often writing 1500 words that hour.

Ahhhhh….and that too seems super obvious. If only I had 6 hours a day.

The book is inexpensive on Amazon kindle. And she does a good job of correlating lots of advice you might have heard other places and using relevant examples.

The Body in the Pool Chapter 40

The Body in the Pool

Book One of the Dismember Killer Series

 

Chapter Forty

He met Melanie in the garage and they took an unmarked car out to the Rusty Porpoise using lights and sirens to part the late commute traffic.
“Why are we forced to do all this without a warrant?” asked Melanie.
“Because Narco is building a case against the dealer and they don’t want to tip her off early.”
“We don’t have evidentiary support? Great,” Melanie grumbled.
“Maybe this will finally be the one piece of good luck we get in this case and the bar will give up the guy and he’ll actually be who we need to nail Paulson.”
“That’s a lot luck you’re asking for.”
“We need it. In 19 hours Arlene Paulson gets on a plane to Grand Cayman island. Bye bye. She ain’t coming back.”
“You don’t have to remind me.”

The Rusty Porpoise was doing brisk business on a Thank God It’s Almost Friday, Thursday night. Dive bar or not, the parking lot was full with a wide variety of vehicles. Motorcycles, jalopies, and Beamers sat next to each other. Spence killed the lights and sirens before they drove in.
Spence and Melanie hit the doors and the noise inside hit them back. Spence mouthed, “Manager,” at Melanie and she nodded. They wiggled and worked their way past the three-deep bar patrons and the fully occupied tables towards the rear of the venue. Before they reached the kitchen an open door revealed the office. No one was in it. Melanie gestured to the swinging door and Spence nodded. She pushed through with her left arm extended holding open the door, her jacket away from her body. “Hey,” she called.
The dishwasher looked up from the plastic rack he was loading, saw Melanie, saw Spence, and bolted out the back door.
Without losing a beat Spence took off after him. He slipped and slid across the wet floor, keeping his footing but slower than the young guy used to working on that kind of slip and slide.
Spence hit the parking lot. The kid was nowhere to be seen. He rounded the corner of the building in time to see the dishwasher, still in his full body rubber apron, leaving the parking lot on a scooter. Spence raced to his car. The kid had too much of a lead, chasing after the scooter wasn’t really feasible. He cursed a bit and then went back inside.
Melanie had tracked down the manager and cornered him in his own office.
“The dishwasher, what’s his name? Address? Was he working November fifth after six in the evening?”
Spence touched Melanie’s shoulder. “He got away.” To the manager he added, “I need a name.”
“What is it you think he did?” the manager asked, overwhelmed by the detectives.
“We only want to ask him a few questions. He sprinted the second he saw my partner’s badge,” answered Spence.
“I can see how that looks bad to you. Casey is a good kid.”
“Casey what?”
“Casey Jackson. Give me a second and I can pull his file for you.” The manager spun in his chair and opened the file cabinet behind him, thumbing through manila folders until he found Jackson, Casey. “Here you go.”
Melanie grabbed the file and flipped it open. “Got an address. I’ll call the office on the APB, you GPS it.”
Spence nodded. “Casey was working on the fifth right? At the dish machine in the back.”
“Yeah. He works most nights. I told you though, he’s a good kid.”
“Good kids don’t run when they see the police. Thanks though.”
Spence met Melanie outside.
“The all points is on the air. Where’s the house?”
“You really think he’ll go home?” Spence asked.
“If he’s a good kid in over his head, like the manager said, then yeah, there’s a good chance he’ll run home.”
“GPS says 20 minutes. Let’s see if we can cut that in half.”
Lights flashing, sirens blaring, and not waiting for red lights, shaved the time down considerably. Casey Jackson lived in a small neighborhood that had seen better days. Lawns were overgrown with patches of moss. Leaves littered yards and piled in the drainage ditches along the streets. Large dogs barked from the front yards of most houses, that wasn’t unusual. The chains and chain link that held them there were. No money in this neighborhood for frequency based fences.
Number 834 was a weathered gray cottage with a sagging front porch. Someone had raked the leaves from the front yard which could be considered an improvement over the neighborhood standard. Spence parked in the driveway. He left the headlights on to illuminate the yard. The scooter wasn’t in sight. Spence headed for the front door while Melanie walked cautiously around to the back. No lights seemed to be on in the house. He knocked loudly and shouted, “This is the police, Casey Jackson, open the front door and come out with your hands up.”
Nearby a dog started to bark.
Spence banged again and called out, “Casey Jackson.”
From the right the sound of a door banging echoed. Spence spun with his hand on his side arm.
A woman in a bathrobe, leaning heavily on her walker, stood on the front porch of the house next door, a barking pit bull at her side. She squinted at Spence. “Who’s asking?”
“Sheriff’s Office, ma’am.” Spence held up his badge.
“Well they ain’t home.” She put her hand on her dog’s head and it stopped barking.
Spence left the Jackson front porch and jogged to the fence separating the two yards. “We’re looking for Casey Jackson.”
“What’s the boy done?”
“We have a few questions for him,” Spence tried to be as evasive as possible.
“Did you try his work? He washes dishes over at the Rusty Porpoise.”
“Yes, ma’am. We’ve been there already. Do you know when his parents might be home?”
“His mama’s dead. His daddy works one of them fishing boats. Hasn’t been home in months.”
Spence sighed.
“He’s a good kid, officer. Rakes my leaves for me. Walks Brutus here for me every day before he goes to school.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll keep that in mind.” Spence walked back towards the car.
Melanie was leaning against the side waiting. “The back is closed up tight.”
“Yeah. He ain’t here.”
“Looks like I led us wrong,” Melanie commented.
“You might have been right, if the kid had a home to come to.”
“I heard.”
“You want to drive out to that country club while we wait on the APB?” Spence asked.
“Let’s do that,” Melanie agreed.

The Body in the Pool Chapter 39

The Body in the Pool

Book One of the Dismember Killer Series

 
Chapter Thirty Nine

By the time he drove back the building was in that golden period between when the day shift guys have gone home and before the night shift insanity kicks in. The building was almost quiet, or as close to quiet as it ever got. He badged in through the front desk and ran the stairs up to the third floor. The narco bullpen was deserted. A steaming cup of coffee rested on Detective Hooper Amudenson’s desk. Spence pulled up a chair and sat down to wait.
Hooper returned a short time later, munching on a snack. “Hey man, how’s it going?”
“It’s good, but it would be better if you had something for me?”
“Just came from your office. I heard there were blueberry muffins.” He held one up.
Spence nodded. “Wife brought them in.”
“Nice. I’ll get down to business. If you’re sure your suspect wouldn’t have gone urban for her material it cuts your list way down. There are only a couple of suburban end user suppliers.” Hooper made a few clicks on his computer. “This is Marcus Grady. He runs a crew of little shitheads that supply all the local raves and house parties.”
“Seems unlikely. This woman doesn’t have kids.”
“Another possibility then is Sweet Sarah Snow.”
“Seriously?”
Hooper laughed. “They call her that. Her real name is Sarah Barker. She’s currently supplying all the boys and girls at several local area high schools. And I do mean supplying. Word is Sweet Sarah can get you anything you want from drugs, to tests, to under age prostitutes.”
“A one woman supermarket of illegal products.”
“I’d think twice about the woman moniker. Check the date of birth on that one.”
“February 28, 2002. She’s 16 years old. Now I’ve seen everything.”
“Yep. Coming up on her 17th birthday in a few months. Rumor also has it she’s a shoo-in for early admissions to MIT.”
Spence laughed. “This is a joke, right? You’re winding me up.”
“Wish I was. She runs her whole operation online. Underground website. Once you access it, you can order up anything you like delivered to your door. She’s as good as it gets, two days or less.”
“How have you not shut her down?”
“We’re working on a little more information. Want to see who her suppliers are, where she gets her materials.”
“Tell me you are wiretapping her site.”
“I am wiretapping her site.” Hooper said straight.
“Don’t fuck with me.” Spence was nearly jumping out of his skin.
“I’m not,” he replied with a smile.
“How many people bought roofies or GHB since October first?”
“Do you know how many people you are talking about?” Hooper sounded highly disgruntled.
Spence shrugged. “Sooner you bring it up the sooner I’ll know how many people.”
He groaned and dove into his keyboard. “All orders from October first to when? When was the murder?”
“Last Thursday night.”
“I don’t have an entry for that. I need a date. Where’s my damn calendar?” He fussed a bit on the desk and then found it. “Okay. November 17th.” He clicked enter and sat back. “I’m warning you, this is going to be a huge list. Halloween is a damn party day.”
It took only a few minutes to get the results. “We’re looking at 92 orders for GHB or roofies, using a keyword search. I assume we can exclude some of these orders based on other criteria.”
“Like what? What can you sort on?”
“Other materials ordered? I assume your killer won’t be looking for the answers to the chem midterm.”
Spence laughed. “Touche. Maybe also filter for people who are looking for large quantities, over say twenty doses, and people ordering other drugs as well.”
Hooper nodded and continued to click and sort, sort and click. “We’re down to 11 orders in the month-and-a-half before the murder.”
“They don’t use their actual names, I’m sure.” Spence paused while his brain turned. “What about delivery addresses?”
He nodded. “Smart. I think it would be easiest at this point to look at the transcript of each order, narrow them down that way.”
“Let’s do it.”
Hooper read from the screen. “Order number one was for a double order of liquid GHB on October 15th for delivery to locker 219, Shadow Valley High.” His voice lost all interest at the end.
“Yeah. That’s not it.”
Hooper read on. “Order number two was for five ounces of GHB, ordered on the 11th of October, delivery to the coffee drive through at Mountain Springs Road and 195th Avenue NE.”
“That could be a possibility, I guess.”
“Alright, I flagged that one. Next is a half an ounce, ordered on the 30th for delivery to the high school library during fifth period.” Hooper shook his head. “Seriously. We need to bust this girl. I hope that was a student accepting delivery.”
“Fifth period pretty much guarantees it was a student. Keep going.”
“Next, two ounces, ordered on the seventh of October, for delivery to the Mountain Spring Country Club on the tenth. It’s very specific about leaving the drugs in the BBQ on the side patio.”
“That is a good possibility. The whole BBQ connection. I’ll pull the club surveillance for the tenth, see who picked up the package.”
“Next one is for two ounces, man that’s a popular amount, delivery to a locker at the high school again.”
“Keep going.” Spence pulled out his cell phone and texted Melanie. Are you in the office? Can you contact the Mountain Springs Country Club and see if they will share their security video without a warrant for October 10th, specifically who picked up a package from the BBQ on the side patio.
“Next order, three ounces, for delivery on the 30th of October to locker 514 at the junior high.”
“You have got to pull this girl in and take her out of business.”
“We will, we will. Next order, three ounces, for delivery on the 20th of October at the country club again. This one to be hidden in the women’s locker room in locker 51. It includes the combination to the locker and says cash payment will be in the locker.”
“Sweet Sarah takes COD?”
“She does.”
“Aww, such a kind hearted entrepreneur.” Spence texted Witlow again. Need footage from the country club for the 20th as well, specifically women’s locker room.
Melanie responded almost immediately this time. Where are you? You better not be snogging Tess as you give orders.
In the Narco bull pen. Working with Hooper. Arlene Paulson had to get the roofies somewhere, Spence responded via text.
Was this Tess’s idea? Your wife is flipping awesome, Melanie texted back.
In a round about way it was her idea, Spence responded via text. Tess told him to talk to Tom, it was her good idea that produced the results. To Hooper he nodded. “Keep going.”
“Order for delivery on the second of October of five ounces to the school library during seventh period this time.”
Spence snorted and shook his head. “Keep going.”
“An order of three ounces for delivery to an address this time.”
This peaked Spence’s interest. Arlene wouldn’t be that stupid would she?
“On the twenty sixth of October. The notes on this one.” Hooper shook his head. “‘Please don’t come by until after eight thirty when I should be able to have the kids I am babysitting in bed and asleep, the parents never come home until after midnight so it will be cool.’”
“Make a note of that one. You need to let those parents know what their sitter is up to.”
“Right, cause that wouldn’t tip off Sweet Sarah too much.”
“After you bust Sweet Sarah, you can let the parents know.”
“I hear rumors from the upstairs folks that they’re planning on running a full breakdown in the paper, outing every kid they can name.”
“They’ll never do it.” Spence shook his head. Publicity was anathema to brass unless it was positive publicity. Busting a minor running drugs and prostitution in local high schools would not be positive publicity, no matter how you spun it.
“Two more orders for delivery to lockers at the high school and one to the junior high again. Finally, one more for delivery on the fifth of November to the Rusty Porpoise.”
“That dive bar in Shadow Valley?” asked Spence.
“Yup. Says deliver to the back door of the Rusty Porpoise after six on the fifth of the November.”
Spence pulled out his phone and texted Melanie again. Can you reach out to the Rusty Porpoise and find out who was working back of house on 5 of November? Again, no warrant.
“Anything more I can do for you?” Hooper asked.
“Is there anyone else selling in the area?”
“Not really. Not on a large enough scale to be on our radar. Which means probably not on a large enough scale for your suburban housewife to know about them.”
“Thanks man. I’ll give you an honorable mention if we manage to catch this woman.” Spence clapped Hooper on the arm. His phone buzzed and he pulled it back out to read a text from Melanie. Left message at country club for manager. Front desk says not in until morning. Did you say the Rusty Porpoise?
I’ll go there in person.
Want backup? still upstairs.
Let’s do it.
Spence hightailed it back down the stairs.

Book Review: Take Your Pants Off!

Get your mind out of the gutter. Take Your Pants Off! by Libby Hawker is not smut. It’s writing book.

Basic Summary (Courtesy of Amazon):

When it comes to writing books, are you a “plotter” or a “pantser”? Is one method really better than the other? In this instructional book, author Libbie Hawker explains the benefits and technique of planning a story before you begin to write. She’ll show you how to develop a foolproof character arc and plot, how to pace any book for a can’t-put-down reading experience, and how to ensure that your stories are complete and satisfying without wasting any time or words. Hawker’s outlining technique works no matter what genre you write, and no matter the age of your audience. If you want to improve writing speed, increase your backlist, and ensure a quality book before you even write the first word, this is the how-to book for you. Take off your pants! It’s time to start outlining.

My thoughts:

I did take rather a lot of notes while reading this. I don’t want to give away Hawker’s plotting device as that would defeat the purpose of her book. But I will say this, she makes a good arguement for using her method and presents it in a logical step by step way.

I haven’t started using her method and probably won’t. Perhaps my books are just destined to be lower quality. But her method involves character, that’s all I’ll give away, and my characters spring fully formed and let me know where they are going. That is never my problem when writing.

I think however there were a number of good strategies I will broach with my creative writing class this year.

The Body in the Pool Chapter 38

The Body in the Pool

Book One of the Dismember Killer Series

 

Chapter Thirty Eight

“So there’s no usable forensics in the wheelbarrow. Smart.”
“Worse, even if there was I don’t think we can get a warrant for it.”
“What about the knife?” Tom followed up.
“She probably washed it and returned it to her kitchen. And there’s no way we’re getting a warrant for that either. It wouldn’t be probative if we did. She could explain any blood evidence by saying the husband cut himself in the past.”
Tom nodded and took a drink of his own beer. “Your shot.”
Spence swallowed his irritation and studied the table.
“What was the definitive cause of death?” Tom asked as Spence was lining up a shot.
Spence smiled and sunk the three ball anyway. “She smothered him.”
Tom chewed a bite of burger thoroughly. “He just laid there and let her cover his face with a pillow.”
Spence missed his shot on the four ball and the cue ball ended up nowhere near the rail.
“She drugged him with Rohypnol or GHB, something that breaks down similarly.” Spence slapped himself in the forehead.
“Where’d she get the roofie or GHB or whatever she used?”
“Damn I miss you.”
Tom nodded. “Me too.”
“Where does a suburban housewife get illegal drugs?” Spence asked before digging into his own burger.
“Don’t you have Narcotics for that?”
“It was a rhetorical question. Give me a minute.” Spence stepped away from the table to call the office. “Hooper, hey, how’s it?”
“It is. What’s on your mind.”
“I need to know who’s moving Rohypnol out in the burbs. Shadow Brook or Shadow Valley to be specific.”
“How soon do you need it?”
“Tonight. Now.”
“Give me a couple of hours. I’ll have something for you.”
“Thanks, man.” Spence hung up and moved back to the table to finish his meal with Tom.
“Narco have anything for you?”
“In a couple of hours. Any word from the Lieutenant?”
“Investigation is pending. Disciplinary action to come.”
“I tried to go to bat for you. Sell her on the idea you didn’t know Stephanie was a reporter.”
“She buy it from you? Cause she wasn’t having it from me.”
“I don’t know.”
Tom shook his head. “It’s not gonna go my way. I’m not pushing them to wrap things up. I interviewed yesterday in the private sector.”
“For who?”
“Private Military Contractor.”
Spence shook his head. “No way man. You can’t do that.”
“Yeah I can. My options are burned to the ground here. No one is going to hire me after I get fired for cause. I have that solid military background. It might as well be good for something.” Tom chuffed. “Other than meeting you.”
“Do you know how many of those guys don’t come home again?”
Tom shrugged. “It’s all a roll of the dice. Depends on where I get deployed right?”
“Oh man. Don’t. We can work it out here.”
“Work out what. You know what’s coming.”
“At least give me a little time. I’ll wrap up this case. Try to convince the brass.”
Tom laughed. “I appreciate the love.”
“I want you to be around when Junior is born. Literally and figuratively.”
“What if you have a girl?”
“Oh god. Then I need you around to help me move a dead body or two when she’s a teenager.”
When the meal was finished Spence left Tom with a quick back-thumping hug and headed back to the office to see what Hooper might have dug up for him. With twenty-odd hours left to find enough evidence to bring in Arlene Paulson, he couldn’t afford to wait until morning. Nighttime was when the majority of the dealers were active. If he could get a line on her possible dealer, he could set up a buy tonight and roll the dealer for testimony on Arlene by morning.

I’ve been thinking Thursday: Supportive

I try to only be positive about my hubs in public. It’s one of those things I think is important to the health of your marriage. Praise in public, critique in private.

I’ve occasionally deviated from this. Once, fed up with his leaving his oatmeal bowl on the counter with oatmeal in it until it dried into a crusty nastiness of epic proportions, I wrote a post about secondary characters. Giving them a life of their own, rather than leaving them to serve the main character.  One of my examples was about a time traveling journalist who kept leaving his oatmeal bowl for his wife to clean. LOL

But today I want to talk about one of those ways, he is amazing.

I can not spell. And despite teaching writing, compositional and creative, at the coop, my use of grammar is fractured to say the least. But the hubs…oh man….the hubs…

When I was working on my bachelors and the hubs was getting his masters, we both had to take this lame ass writing exam. Two parts, 75 multiple choice and then an essay. Timed.  Essay was scored on a scale of 1-12.

The scoring was weird though. The better you did on the multiple choice the less well you had to do on the essay to pass, which got you into 100W, required by all majors on campus. Then there was a pass plus which got you out of 100W. And of course fail.

The hubs got a perfect score on the multiple choice, which was all grammar and sentence structure, but scored so low on the essay he had to take 100W.

I got the lowest passing score possible on the multiple choice, but scored so high on the essay I qualified to waive 100W.

Why do I tell this story? Because my husband painstakingly edits my novels, multiple times. Sure I could pay someone to do this for me, but they wouldn’t know when they came across an error, what I really meant. And he always does. He knows when I write a long string of gobble-gook that I meant to say something profound and will ask, then tell me where to put the commas or suggest alternate arrangements that make the significance clear.  You can’t pay for that.

And why does he do this? Certainly not because he has too much time on his hands and nothing to do.  bwahahaha

He does it cause he supports my writing and he shows it by giving me the help I need to make it happen.

Sorry ladies, no brothers. LOL.