Hello Friends, I am back!
Sorry there haven’t been any entries in February, well, until now, that is.
There’s some very odd thing called Family, that has kept me preoccupied for a week or two, but while I have a moment or two to my self, I thought I would spend them with you. Hope this post finds you all happy and healthy.
Heres just a wee snippet of something I have been working on, any feedback/words of wisdom you could impart would be most welcome.
THE MURDERER DID IT (A Working Title) By Cliff Lewis
“It’s murder”, he declared boldly.
“What are you talking about?”
Private Investigator, and retired police detective, Dave Cribbs, had a crazed expression painted across his, chiselled visage.
“Murder!”, he repeated emphatically.
“Are you reading one of your silly stories?” Enquired the woman seated to his left in the restaurant booth.
“What? No, don’t you see, it’s as plain as the nose on your face!”
“Well now that’s a lovely thing! My nose is perfectly proportioned for my face shape, thank you very much!”
“No”, said Dave, ignoring the look of indignation on the woman’s face, “look at this!” He waved a rumpled newspaper. The gleam in his eyes was intensifying with every passing second.
“Potatoes 45 cents a pound?”
“No, no the other side.” He wrenched the newspaper from his wife’s tenuous grip and flipped it over.
Suzanne Cribbs scanned the article with an expression of polite disinterest on her petite, some would say, pretty face.
“Yes”’ she said, I see that you have an overblown imagination.
The article in question, outlined the story of a 68 year old multimillionaire recluse Henry S. Davison, who’s naked, body had been discovered cold and inanimate in the bathtub of the locked, ensuite bathroom of his West Vancouver Mansion. A primary investigation had suggested his death was by natural causes. The Police are awaiting results of the Medical examiner’s report, but have found no suspicious circumstances.
Mrs. Cribbs sighed.
“I know we’ve been without a case for a week or two, but this is ridiculous. You might not be aware of local statutes, dear, but you cannot, possibly, be suggesting we investigate death by natural causes?”
Dave Cribbs stabbed the article emphatically
“Except it’s not natural causes, read the fine print.”
“How ‘bout just saving me the trouble, and outlining it for me?”
“OK.” The great detective cleared his throat with exaggerated gusto.
“Multi Million dollar mogul publicly announces he’s severing ties with his money-grubbing family, aka cuts them all out of the will, adopts the life of a hermit, then two years later, is found dead in his bathtub.”
He pounded on the table, with such a force, that the salt cellar toppled, causing a diner at an adjacent table to drop her fork. She snorted, glared in his direction for a full second, then stormed out.
“I’ve been on the job long enough to know a murder when I smell one, Suzanne, take my word for it, this,” he tapped the paper again, “is definitely one.”
His wife held her tongue, but a fleeting smile crossed her lips.
There was no denying her husbands uncanny powers of deduction though.
Cribbs scowled, but withheld comment. After all, despite his keen senses, he had nothing concrete to go on, yet.
They finished lunch, and strolled casually down the block to the offices of Cribbs & Cribbs Investigation.
Several days later, Private Investigator David Cribbs was proved right.
.>>>>> To Be Continued <<<<<