The cutlery was silver, just like the dame’s hair. Only thing was, you couldn’t see the silver for the blood. Forks and knives stuck out of her like bristles on a hedgehog—very painful bristles.
Detective Zack Martinez walked around the ransacked dining room, peering suspiciously at pristinely clean dishes and untouched table settings. The dinner guests huddled in the parlor under the watchful eyes of the police, still unaware of what had happened.
All but one, according to the butler. He had seen someone in the room with Mrs. Van Arsenal only moments before the murder.
And had he done nothing? Oh, no, it was not his duty to interrupt Madame’s conversation without cause.
Now, Mrs. Van Arsenal was pincushioned with silverware. At least he could rule out little Granny Rose.
Granny Rose was a Republican. Republicans shoot. Democrats slash or poison.
“You'd think she'd have been shot with a name like that,” said Martinez.
“Her last name?” said the butler.
“No, her first name, _Mrs_. Husbands shoot. Wives, burn, dismember, field dress, vivisection--”
“You're a bitter man,” said the butler.
“Anywho, you can leave out the husband. Who'd you see with Mrs. Van Pincushion?"
"I'm not sure. I didn't see him...her!...him or her. Could've been a leprechaun for all I know," said the butler.
Martinez peeked into the parlor and returned his attention to the butler. Was he, she or it taller or shorter than, say, you?"
"Light- or dark-complexion?"
"Panted or skirted."
"Panted, no, skirted."
"Light or dark blouse or shirt?"
"Why'd she deserve to die?"
"She a b-- Um, couldn't say. Ask the killer."
"You've eliminated everyone with your descriptions, except for you...if I take the opposite of all your answers."
The butler crumbled. "She wanted me to rub her feet."
"Hell, you say?" said Martinez. "I'd have bumped her off too! But I didn't. You did. Walk with me."
Opening: _*Rachel*_.....Continuation: William Highsmith