One Too Many

A cloud of anger ticked away at the fast-paced room, filled with people running in and out. A spider crept slowly up a strong bit of its web, a creature meow-ed in urgent hunger, a bird flew into the too-clean glass window again, and a man lay dead on the floor.

There was one too many huddled around the body, thought the woman of the house, but the inspector had insisted. The woman thought her lovely house looked more and more like a ghastly circus but allowed the inspector to go about his business – even if she included a disagreeable mumble or two.

The inspector, a veteran of sorts, let his underling inspect the scene first, before the inspector added some notable remarks for him to hastily jot down.

It took two hours, but as usual, the inspector thought smugly, people are stupid. Enough so that the murderer had disposed of the means at the crime scene. The edge of a light fitting had traces of blood. The metal was unusually sharp and matched the mark on the victim’s neck.

A questioning period took place where the lady of the house was informed that none of her staff should be dismissed as they were all suspects.

Perhaps the inspector should have told the woman that she, herself, was not to leave either. It was the inspector’s belief that the woman of the house carted over sixteen-million pounds aboard a train. No one heard from her. Nearly everyone in town was abuzz with rumours of her. Some said she changed her appearance by means of going under the knife. Some said she took leave to live abroad with a lover. Some say her husband treated her badly so he deserved it, but none too much said that. It was most agreeable that what she had done made her vermin. Some say they swear they spotted her in town.

None were correct of course, for she too was killed and put on a train while the cook, maid, and the husband’s phycologist made off with the rather large family fortune a few months later when everyone’s noses were still glued to finding the lady of the house.

When a body was found in the train’s engine, it was seared so badly that the person’s identity was unrecognizable.

~ Written by Stephanie Kentepozidis

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