It is possible that the day Freda was murdered was probably not the best day of her life. Her day had started so well. Being a famous novelist had its perks; one could work from home at an unflustered pace; one could (especially with money from best-sellers) spend a little on luxuries here and there.
Freda had looked forward to this day for a while. It was the day she was intending to introduce the murderer into her murder mystery. There’s no hurry to do these things; a murderer should be saved and savoured. The murderer was to be a male with flaxen hair; fairly young and athletic; pleasant to the nth degree. It was a ridiculous assumption that inexperienced writers held, to turn their evil characters into wizened, ugly people with a hunched back, and drooling or dribbling at the mouth. How more dramatic it is to have the handsome hero turn out to be the wicked one!
The first thing Freda did (after sleeping in a little late) was to go out for brunch. The guy in the bakery where she purchased her Danish pastry was called Blondie. He was such a pleasant fellow.
“Have a nice day, Blondie,” Freda said.
“You too, Freda,” said Blondie cheerfully.
Freda devoured her purchase as she ambled along the street to the coffee shop. The guy in the coffee shop where she ordered her takeaway coffee was called Snow. He was such a pleasant fellow.
“Have a nice day, Snow,” Freda said.
“You too, Freda,” said Snow cheerfully.
On such a delightful sunny late morning Freda thought she would walk home the long way. There was no hurry. Perhaps she would call her murderer Blondie or Snow. And how best to do the murder? Perhaps the two of them were in league! Now, that was a good idea! And what would be the motive?
Freda arrived home and sat down to write; for the last time, I might add.