From New York to the Smokies: A Collection of Sam Jenkins Mysteries by Wayne Zurl

of his white Dodge Stratus from the Department of Safety files and sent two cops out to canvas residents in the proximity of the murders to see if the car sounded familiar. I took Toler’s driver’s license photo and vehicle information to Rosanna Perry’s three ex-lovers. Neither Skinner nor Sweet recognized Anson Toler. Parker Knowles said, “I recognize him from someplace, but I’m not sure where.” “Does he deliver propane to your house?” “We have an all electric home.” “Sure you know him and not someone who looks like him? The bald head and goatee are a common style.” Knowles nodded. “It’s him. I wish I knew from where.” “Do you know other people who use propane?” He thought for a moment. “Sure, I guess. But it’s not a general topic of conversation. My in-laws do. My father-in-law calls the gas tank his little white submarine.” “Since we first spoke, you’ve spent time turning this thing over in your mind,” I said. “Have you thought of anyone who would kill you because of the affair with Rosanna?” He shook his head and shrugged at the same time. “If she ever found out, my wife would rather collect alimony than harm me.” “Big life insurance policy?” “Hundred thousand.” “Not that much nowadays.” Knowles shrugged. “Someone seems to know about Rosanna’s love life and objects to it. You’re sure no one knows you had someone on the side?” “I made sure we were discreet. But who knows? I never met any of Rosanna’s previous men friends, but I guess someone might be jealous.” “I think we’