2002. No stone unturned

Fleur had been murdered on her maid’s day off. She had been stabbed four times in the chest. Ironically, she wrote and published murder mysteries. Perhaps a key to her murderer’s identity lay in Fleur’s unfinished manuscript. In the unfinished novel the murdered victim was named Pamela. The description of her bore a remarkable resemblance to Fleur. Perhaps it was a cry for help. The manuscript must be examined minutely, for as the detective said, “We shall leave no stone unturned”.

The first suspect was Olwyn, the teenage student who came to mow Pamela’s lawn every Wednesday after school. It can’t have been her because she was currently away at a school camp.

There was the handsome soldier who “passed by”. His name was unknown, but Pamela referred to him as “My handsome soldier man”. It can’t have been him because he’d been gone a good week when the murder was done.

Perhaps it was Floyd the postman. He delivered mail three times a week: Monday’s, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Except, the postal workers were on strike at the time of Fleur’s murder.

Finally, could it have been Elric, the president of the local Amateur Society’s Glee Club? Not a chance! The Glee Club was away in the big city preparing for their Christmas pantomime production.

What stood out as to why one of these possible assassins of Pamela might also be the murderer of Fleur, was that Fleur, just like her protagonist, had a lawn-mowing teen come every Wednesday. She had a handsome soldier pass by. She had a thrice-a-week-delivering postman. She was super-friendly with the president of the local Amateur Society’s Glee Club. Was this a case of fiction imitating life?

Fleur had been brutally stabbed in the chest four times, as has been pointed out. This caused untold confusion, because Fleur had been stabbed four times in the abdomen, but her body was found in a chest in the attic. So what exactly was meant when the novel said she had been stabbed four times in the chest?

And then Fleur’s notes for her novel were discovered in the chest itself. It pointed to the murderer being Lillian. Not only had Lillian not made an appearance thus far in the manuscript, but there was no indication of who she was or what she did. Obviously Lillian was the one who had done the murder, but her identity was anyone’s guess.

Clearly the unfinished manuscript of Fleur’s murder mystery was of no help whatsoever. Much to the relief of Gillian, the maid.

1744. Toast for breakfast

Archie’s morning was always the same. It’s not that his life was regimented; it’s just that anything prior to nine in the morning, roughly the time when he awoke from his post-rising stupor, was done by rote. He would get out of bed; get partially dressed; turn on the coffee machine; feed the cat; check the news on his laptop; pour the coffee; put on some toast; and begin to have breakfast.

While he was eating his toast, always with raspberry jam, he would read the blogs he followed. There was one blogger who annoyed the hell out of him. The blogger was always killing people off. Every day it would be another story and another dead person. Sometimes death by poisoning, sometimes strangulation. Why couldn’t he write a happy story for a change? Nonetheless, Archie couldn’t help but sneak a peek every morning as he ate his toast. Possibly Archie, every morning, was hoping for something happy to happen in one of the stories. And would you believe…?

This day was sheer happiness! Freddy had fallen in love with Leonie at the school picnic. They were teachers at the school, not pupils. They had dated for several months and then Freddy proposed to Leonie. It was quite out of the blue.

“Yes! Yes!” said Leonie, beside herself with gladness. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” They kissed! They planned their wedding day! Oh happy day! Oh happy, happy day!

Archie, having breakfast, was beside himself with excitement. A cheerful story! For once something jubilant happens in this blog he followed daily! Oh happy day! Oh happy day indeed! To celebrate, Archie took a great big bite of the slice of toast he was eating.

He choked on it, and now he’s dead.