Thursday, April 23, 2009
Include the Description of a Room
I preferred mood lighting the first time I wooed a man before killing him. I always have the room arranged, but you can imagine that I took special care. The walls I had done in a light pea, a dresser placed in burgundy; it was not my actual dresser, nor would I do this in my own room – can you imagine? wouldn’t that seem…false? The bed was sleek, refined, modern, something to suggest the arousal of the loose generation; white sheets, white sheets; I procured a tall backed chair for the throwing on of coats and clothes, amidst smiling and laughing. And this, this was the coup de grace: a sword hanging on hooks beside the great hanging mirror that overlooked the bed; when he saw it, what could have gone through his mind?
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Nice Adam! I had a very similar idea. But I must apologize, I went over the 30 minute allocation: I had to find out who done it . . .
ReplyDeleteI’ve been in big homes like this before, but none with a dead body on the floor. The rich always think they are special, that they deserve special favor, that their problems are uniquely their own. Well, I suppose a dead body is a little unusual, but I wasn’t about to take my shoes off just to cross a few Persian carpets. That’s why they have door mats. To wipe your shoes.
As I came through the butler's pantry I could see the body; a male probably in his sixties, dressed in a yellow dinner jacket, lying wedged against a large rectangular preparation counter in the center of the room. The counter top was rock, slate or something, and was still stacked with dirty china waiting to be washed. Overhead was a hanging rack half filled with tarnished copper pots and heavy cast iron skillets. Other pans rested on the big black stove. The room was still warm with cooking and smelled faintly of gas, fowl, and the sweat of frantic cooks.
The polished stone floor where the body lie was grimy with the residue of grease worked deep into cracks by the hard soles of scullery maids. A pool of blood lay by the poor fellow’s head. A blunt object most likely. Not a knife. Or a gun. Or even a fry pan. But something found nearby. I walked over to the ice box, swiveled the handle and opened the wide door. The cool air flowing over the large block was refreshing, but I could see nothing of interest.
Then I noticed it. Water. Underneath a deep steel sink that was standing alone against a faded wall of chipped tile. The slanted drip board was clear of glasses and was dry to the touch. I reached under the sink and felt the pipes. Water was dripping freely from a loose U joint. Clever. Someone very smart.
I rely on my wits, but sometimes I am dealt a lucky hand. Tonight it was a little of both. I summoned the nervous guests into the living room and told them their little game was over, I had my murderer.
It was done by Professor Plum, in the kitchen, with a lead pipe.