If you're new to coffee and cases, welcome. If you are returning, we're so glad you're back.

As you all know, our world has been turned upside down, and as bad as Maggie and I hate it, our podcasting world has changed as well.

Sadly, Sleuthhounds, Maggie and I cannot be together during this time to record for you all.

So, for the foreseeable future, we are flying solo.

While we are being asked to keep our distance from others, to stay inside when possible, and to not gather in large groups,

we ask that you bear with us as our podcast changes a little as well.

We are keeping faith that all of this will end soon, I hope, and life will slowly start returning to normal.

We appreciate you Sleuth Hound so much and want to continue to provide you with cases.

After all, our goal is continued hope and closure for these cases, and especially

in times like these, we want to continue in our small way of helping these families to keep their

family member in our hearts and minds. Thank you for bearing with us and for understanding.

We care about you. Stay together, united in the human spirit, even if not physically, and stay safe. Now, on to this week's episode. It was 1986. As a seven-year-old child myself, I have two distinct memories, as do likely most Americans.

As a Girl Scout, I remember staying up late to catch for likely the only time in my lifetime.

Haley's Comet passed through the night sky, and I was so excited to earn my badge for staying up late enough to see it.

The second memory is much more tragic. I can recall my entire second grade classroom,

buzzing with excitement. We were about to watch a teacher go into outer space. At the time, we all wanted to be

astronauts and had dreams of the fun we would have had if our parents were only wealthy enough to

send us to space camp. The commercials of the anti-gravity machines were a dream of mine. And this, a teacher, going into the Great Beyond, was about as close as any of us would get.

When our own teacher wheeled the television in on the cart, we were all quiet. We counted down along with the CNN announcer at Kennedy Space Center. We

cheered at liftoff. Then, barely over a minute later, we saw in terror when that space shuttle

exploded and all seven aboard perished.

For those in the northwestern part of Kentucky, they would likely add another memory,

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