"Look, Linda! Tiger cheated!" exclaimed Richard as he pointed to the grocery store tabloids next to the checkout stand.
"On his taxes?" replied the cashier with a big wink.
"His wife didn't want to get him out of the car. She wanted to beat him up and the golf club was the closest weapon," added the girl bagging our groceries. "He must have a garage full of them."
"She hit the window and then he crashed into the fire hydrant." I added. "Not the other way around."
"We sure don't need a police report to figure that out," came from the cashier.
I chatted and laughed with the women over poor Tiger Woods while Richard calmly packed the shopping cart. We were about to leave the store, Richard turned waving good bye to the two women. "Case solved. I'm glad I stopped at the grocery store detective agency!"
"Next time the police need help have them ask us first!" as the laughing workers waved back.
We got in the car and headed toward home.
"Glad you didn't have to spend money on a copy of the National Enquirer this week aren't ya?" I asked.
"I think I'll cancel my subscription all together now. If I want the scoop I'll just ask the cashier. She's a detective."
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