Annals of Dentistry
The other day our favorite dentist was found dead in the very chair where so many of us had had our cavities filled, shot seven times with what forensics have identified as a .357 Magnum.
"The entry wound's the size of a dime," the coroner told us. "The exit hole is about the same diameter as a basketball."
In effect, there was almost nothing left to identify of our old family friend and gum scraper, Dr. Conklin. We were deeply perplexed by the senseless killing and shocked by the loss of this dedicated and some say godly man. He was the choirmaster of our local Methodist church as well as the Treasurer of the Rotary Club, and a tireless booster of our home town of Strumpetville, California.
Needless to say, we were wholly unprepared for the revelations that have emerged in recent days concerning Dr. Conklin's private life, some of which were reported in rather veiled language in the Strumpetville Daily World.
None of us could have anticipated the shocking affidavit given to police by Sabrina Wilcox, a cocktail hostess at the Strumpetville Ramada Inn's Swive and Drive Lounge:
If you ask me this was bound to happen sooner or later. About five years ago I had a gold filling come loose and you know what happens when a tooth or a nerve or what have you becomes sensitive to sugar or cold or other things. Sometimes I'd have to go off my shift early the pain was so bad.
One of our waitresses, Shirley, told me about a dentist who "gave discounts to working girls." I assumed she meant, you know, girls who worked for a living. It sounds naïve but here in Strumpetville that's what anybody would assume--we're not the big city types who have all sorts of code words and phrases and so forth.
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