Lesley Ferguson learns whodunit
| Lesley watched the smoke curl from the weapon. Although the perp was perplexing, the victim posed no mystery. Mr. Patterson lay motionless on the stone-cold floor. Lesley’d been first to arrive at the scene. Quickly, though, the guests amassed in the drawing room, forming a wide circle around the body. |
Cliched, the crime was almost amusing to Miss Lesley Ferguson, the young detective. She scanned the stunned crowd. Her eyes met Miss Sarah Polk’s. Yeah, she sure seemed capable of the crime. Rumor had it she carried a gun. But what motive? None Lesley could think of. On to the next suspects. Surely it couldn’t be Peter Lennox or Bailey, an eight year old and a dog respectively. How about Julie Callison? She’d probably ax an ex for cash but Mr. Patterson was a) too old and b) too poor to interest her.
Motive, motive. Elizabeth Simones? Even though she’d lived in town for twenty five years, no one really knew anything about her. A possibility. Rebecca Kincaid, the owner of the inn? Well, if she wanted to scare up business, murdering a guest on the opening night of the place was not a brilliant strategy. But wait. Could be a red herring to match her red hair. Again, why? Althea Spiros? Another one with a mysterious past but again no apparent motive. Noah Haverson? Instinctively Lesley said no to Noah. That left…
Kate Black, who blurted, “Thank you. I needed help getting past a difficulty: toward the end of my novel, I'd experienced a killer writer’s block, so I decided to 'off' Mr. Patterson. Now my demon has been exorcised; I know how to end it.”
The crowd gasped as, miraculously, Mr. Patterson sat up. Very much alive, he grinned. Lesley learned a valuable lesson: check for a pulse.