Let’s go with a piece of flash fiction for this post. Hope
you enjoy.
###
STERLING SILVER
SCISSORS
The sterling silver scissors reflected ambient light
as I circled the body. The six-inch tangs had penetrated Oliver Swinson’s torso
between the fourth and fifth ribs. Oliver, himself, lay sprawled across the
Persian carpet in his opulent study. A teak cabinet in the far corner was
filled with examples of good origami.
“The
vic’s a back-east financier who recently retired out here,” Sgt. Munroe said.
“His nephew, Binky, found him this morning. The only other people in the house
were William Halston, who’s visiting from back east; Mary Blane, the
housekeeper; and Joseph Blane, the butler.
“Okay,
let’s go talk to them.”
The four people gathered in the living room had
arranged themselves according to social status. Halston, a haughty,
thirties-something man, perched on the divan. The eighteen-year-old nephew
slouched in a recliner. A pile of reddish brown knitting yarn beside him
morphed into a shaggy dog. Mary Blane, as broad as she was tall, stood against
the back wall. Her husband, a cadaverous shadow, hovered at her elbow
“My name’s Detective Williams. The sergeant has taken
your statements, but I have a few questions.” I glanced down at the nephew. “Do
you use the study often? Nice origami, by the way.”
“Thanks. Uh-uh. The place was UO’s private reserve.”
The kid hovered somewhere between handsome and pretty, but a studied
nonchalance detracted from his image.
“UO?”
“Uncle Oliver.”
I asked a few innocuous questions of the Blanes before
returning to the nephew. “Hand me that ash tray on the coffee table, please.”
Managing to look bored, he passed over the Baccarat
crystal.
“Mr. Halston, what’s the purpose of your visit?”
“Purely social. Oliver and I go back a long way.”
I considered his voice and cadence a moment, after
which I dismissed everyone. The Blanes bustled off to the kitchen. Halston
headed for the stairway. Binky rose gracefully. The multi-hued dog plodded
along in his wake.
“That’s it?” Munroe asked.
“That’s all I need. I know what happened.”
The sergeant’s eyes widened.
“Did you notice the kid handed me this ash tray with
his left hand?”
“So?”
“Those scissors in Swinson’s chest are left-handed.”
“They have left-handed scissors?”
“Sure. Each scissor—and it takes two to make a pair—is
asymmetric. That’s because human hands are asymmetric. Left-handed scissors are
constructed to accommodate this phenomenon. I’ll wager that pair belongs to
Binky. He uses them to prepare paper for his origami art.”
“And from this you know he offed his uncle?”
“Binky probably wasn’t Swinson’s nephew. He was his
‘boy.’”
“And he just up and killed his sugar daddy?”
“He did after Uncle Oliver passed him over to Halston
last night. Halston was probably one of Swinson’s boys before he got too old.”
“You’ll play hell proving that.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Lean
on them the right way, and we’ll make the case.”
###
Hey, guys, thanks for taking the time to check out the
site and read my story. Hope it held you interest. You can always contact me at
markwildyr@aol.com. Be happy to hear
from you.
Again, thanks.
Mark
New posts are
published at the first of every month at 6:00 a.m.
