A Murderer Sits Amongst You
Someone at this table is not who they say they are. Indeed, someone here is a murderer.
Is it the young ingénue? Did she tire of the attention from her adoring public? Did she long for a thrill greater than the glare of the footlights? Could it be she who planted the blood-stained gloves in the grandfather clock?
Or, was it the gardener? He had access to the library where the victim was found strangled. Just hours before, he was heard arguing with Lord Whimple about the size of begonias. Was that enough to incite murder?
Or, could it be the escaped lunatic, on the loose from the nearby mental institution? He had the motive of already being a serial murderer. After the crime, he was found outside the library wearing the earl’s cracked glasses. What did he stand to gain, besides sating his unending bloodlust?
Could it have been the handsome tennis pro? Rumor has it, he had been seen spooning young Honoria, the earl’s sole heir. Did he plan to hasten her inheritance? Or, could the tennis pro have gotten a taste for blood when the escaped lunatic stabbed him in the leg with a serving fork?
What about Lady Whimple? She’d often argued with the earl over his refusal hire a new cook. Also, she had killed and eaten all of the family pets. No wait, that was the escaped lunatic who did that. Sorry, my notes are a shambles.
Could the murderer be Rupert Pepper, the earl’s personal secretary? He certainly knew his way around the castle library. He had every opportunity to commit murder, what with the entire household searching the grounds for the escaped lunatic.
Speaking of the escaped lunatic, can someone please tighten the ropes binding him to his chair? He’s tried to bite me several times during my speech. Thank you.
Could the murderer have been the bishop? Bishop Dunsberry was no fan of…
The Case of the Blue Bedspread
Alright, Pearl, find a duvet cover, and let’s get outta here. This store smells like a cinnamon candle farted in my face. Why are we redoing the guestroom, anyway? The grandkids won’t look up from their phones long enough to notice.
Yeah, sure, that one looks good. Let’s go. No no, I’m not just saying that to leave. You’re right, that is the perfect duvet for our guestroom. It's the same blue as the drapes. It's got the same pink as the guest towels. And, the flowers on it are mums—just like the lamp. It's almost as if it was made for the room.
Although … huh. Wait just a minute. It’s perfect alright—a little too perfect.
Pearl, I am not being paranoid! You don't spend forty-seven years on the Jacksonville Police Force without learning when something smells fishy. This here's fishy. We go out looking for a bedspread, and BLAM! The first one we find is perfect. You learn to question these things.
Listen to me, something's not right here. You wouldn't believe the number of times Baker and I would go out on a call, and it would be just like this—set up to seem like everything had fallen into our laps. But, there was always someone behind it, pulling the strings.
Yes, Pearl, of course I want the kids to visit. This isn’t about dragging my feet on the guestroom. It’s about my detective instincts. I should have never retired, with these things still as sharp as they are.
So, with the bedspread, what do we have to go on? You were right about the colors being an exact match. Then, who has access to our guestroom to know its colors? Only your friend Dorothy. No, Dorothy's not smart enough for this kind of thing. Besides, I ran a background check on her after the cow creamer went missing.
Follow the money. Nine times out of ten, it’s about money. So, where does the money go? Who owns this store? Of course! Crazy Lenny. It’s the perfect cover for a criminal mastermind—everyone thinks he’s crazy. More like, Crazy-Like-a-Fox Lenny!
Pearl, where are you coming back from? What?! You bought the duvet cover? But, it’s trap, Pearl! You’ve put us right where they wanted us. And, matching pillows? Noooooo!!
Fine, but this means I get to buy that mini fridge for the den.