Collins’ captain complimented him on the killer’s collar. “Congrats on the capture, Collins! Go home and grab a cold one from your cooler.”
But as soon as he closed the door, Collins was confronted by his wife Karen with one of his unclean shirts. “What’s this candy pink lipstick on your collar?” she queried. “Have you been canoodling with Kelly?”
“‘Course not,” Collins countered, cruising to the fridge.
“I’m crushed, you cad!” Karen cried.
“Calm yourself,” he caviled. “That’s Kathy’s color.”
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