The ordinary kind of odd
Robyn Kenworthy She told her mother she wanted to come home. September 28, 1988 and 20 year old Robyn Kenworthy was once again trying to kick her heroin addiction. She needed to get off the Seattle streets and planned on taking a bus home from Aurora Avenue. Looking back on the conversation, Judy Kenworthy said …
Continue reading "King of Clubs: the Murder of Robyn Kenworthy"
The skin wasn’t perfect, by any means, but it was free. The edges of the hide were tougher than they should have been and Mortimer Dixie had already identified a dozen puncture marks. The buck had met the front end of a pickup about a week ago and the driver, who had always fancied the …
Snohomish country, sandwiched between Skagit and King county in evergreen Washington state, has over sixty pending cold cases. Some stretch all the way back to the sixties while others are less than a year old. Improvements in forensic analysis as well as unique approaches in building awareness have shed light on a handful of these …
Tracey Brazzel She was going to stay late to play an arcade game. In the early hours of May 27, 1995, Tracey Brazzel was in Everett at Kodiak Ron’s Pub. The 22 year old had reason to celebrate: she'd gotten back together with her ex-boyfriend and just two days prior she’d walked out on her …
Continue reading "Two of a Kind: The Murders of Tracey Brazzel and Patti Berry"
If you're anything like me (and I'm going to generalize and say you're exactly like me), you've probably struggled with impostor syndrome. It's this great feeling that others overestimate your ability and all of your accomplishments are unearned, even accidental. Three days ago in an interview with The Sunday Times, David Tennant, who has starred …
The peonies were a hand’s turn past perfection. Instead of the tight, round folds Holly had expected, the flowers flared outward like grandparent arms open for a hug. The petals had become papery as their veins dried out in the sun, and as they curled back, the canary pollen rods below were exposed. Even if …
I’m staring at a blank page and it’s staring back. The black cursor is blinking. Binary signals switching on and off like the waving of a traffic cop. Proceed. Move Forward. Do something. But the cursor doesn’t move and the blank page is open, oppressive in its potential. I should be writing. I should be …
