We retired here 15 years ago, thinking that we were dwindled down and our golden years, and that we would get calmer and more peaceful and settle into life.

We didn’t. This town is so boring. It’s killing me.

My husband and I are retired federal marshals. We didn’t expect for everyone from the office to just forget about us after I retired, and he retired, but that was a long time ago. We still remember everything. The old skills come back.

The line between cop and criminal disappears after awhile. What you’re left with, after everyone forgets you, and you get so old that no one even looks at you anymore, is a lifetime of experience and nothing to do with it.

I know exactly how to steal. You can see where the cameras point when you go in the store, and go up to the counter. Wherever the blind spots are, the merchandise is free. I can stuff a lot of costume jewelry and liquor into my old lady bag. I don’t even do anything with it. I just dump it in my closet, behind the cleaning supplies.

Then I started setting fires. Just small ones, outdoor trash cans. It takes the edge off. I bring around my big purse. It has lighter fluid and three lighters, and a book matches. When people aren’t paying attention to me, I like to go to a trashcan, spray it with lighter fluid, and drop in a match. It gets attention real quick.

When I got done with the the petty theft and the fires, I started planning bigger. What would it take to kill someone? No one I know, of course. That’s how they track you.

My husband would never notice. He doesn’t put in his hearing aids. He doesn’t talk to me or look at me. I try talking to him about the good old days, but it’s like talking to a brick wall.

So I started making my way up and down the street every day, looking for targets. I couldn’t do it to a kid, or a mother. I’m not that cold hearted. But these young guys, the loudmouth obnoxious punks… I wouldn’t have a problem with it.

There’s a busy intersection near the bus stop where a lot of the local hooligans gather. I watched them from the bench down the street, and when they came my way, I approached them with my walker. It’s the one walking closest to the street I tripped with front of my walker, and he fell right into traffic. There were horns and a crush of glass and metal, followed by screams and shouting. I kept making my way down the street, chuckling to myself.

I pulled this off three or four more times before I got caught. I came home to flashing red and blue sirens in my driveway. My husband put the pieces together. Still a cop, after all these years.

I’m pretty excited for the trial. I have all my answers planned out already. This will be my turn in the spotlight.