Detective Dan Withers sat in the sweltering Arizona sun, outside of the home, of what he hoped was the innocent spouse of the remains found in a shallow grave, no more than half an hour from where he sat in this Prescott, AZ neighborhood. He sat watching his fellow detectives and various police agency busy bees, comb over the Crames residence, asking questions, rifling through the grieving husband's sss personal life.

He sat eating his third peanut butter and jelly sandwich that day. He didn't know exactly when this love affair with the sandwich came about, he did know he was addicted to them, he also knew that they were not helping his now portly figure. Oh well, it could be worse, he could still be addicted to the bottle of whiskey. That earned him his divorce from wife number two, for none other than his whiskey habit.

It was not that he was a violent or abusive drunk, no, he tended to disappear on benders, and have to get picked up, or bailed out, of odd scenarios. Not too many women view that as their prince charming. Rolling up the window, he slowly made his way to the home. Some of the other detectives were milling about the yard and inside, he spotted Alvarez. Detective, smoking hot ass fuck Alvarez. She was already with the husband, interviewing him. Slowly strolling up, making eye contact with Alvarez, nodding at, Deonte Cramer. Nothing at all seemed odd about Deonte Cramer. He stood about six feet, unremarkably muscular, short hair, and black. That part was odd. Prescott AZ, was for lack of a better term, extremely white. If anything was odd, it was that.

Forty-five days ago, if you go by the media reports, Jennifer or Jenny Cramer disappeared from the home I stood in now. Deonte Cramer has been descended upon by any camera-toting human in the area. We've even had some folks from Glendale, AZ, and CNN come to speak to Deonte. Jenny Cramer was a local sweetheart, practically the cities daughter. Her family owned several of the grocery stores throughout Prescott. When I say a few, I mean all of them. Deonte, for the most part, has appeared distraught, a model husband, and father.

Yes, Lydia Cramer. Toddler, and when they say, "good looking kid," they mean it for Lydia. Part of the reason this story has gained so much traction is this child. Everyone wanted to know, who would take this child's mother. Approaching Deonte, "hello I know how tough today must be." Deonte nods at me, I found that response odd. The nod given was the type of nod you might give a stranger, as you pass each other in a shop. Who am I to judge though, the man is just learning, his wife's dead remains have been...