The Murder of Mr. Body

The daylight hours, ragged and drenched with persistent drizzle, trudged away with no discernible pause in the gray. As night quickly ate up the land, the storm that had sludged lethargically throughout the day reached an angry crescendo of titanic thunder and bone-white lightning. It was certainly not ideal weather for a birthday party, and as such, most celebrations were undoubtedly postponed until the skies cleared. However, a little storm could not deter an optimistic person like Mrs. Edith Morrow, widow and spectacle of eccentricity. She had determined that the weather could only enhance the celebration of the birth of her dear cocker spaniel Ruggles, for if the deluge reached flood stage, she and her guests might pile into the old, battered, and possibly unsailable canoe her husband had left in the backyard before his death and glide around the house singing folk songs. This was a very astute idea on her part with only two great problems: the house was on a hill and could not flood, and she did not have nor had she ever had a dear cocker spaniel named Ruggles. But these were no real impediments to Mrs. Morrow; she had pets enough to aid in the festivities.

If Mrs. Morrow had been an ordinary widow, doubtless, her guests would have used her birthday invitations as stuffing for their garbage disposals, but Mrs. Morrow was no ordinary widow. Instead she was a wealthy widow with no children to leave her sizable fortune. Thus, her guests felt no qualm in honoring her quirky demands in hopes that they might someday devour her green dough. So there they gathered promptly at seven o'clock with warm smiles and cold pocketbooks.

The gothicity of the Morrow mansion was finely magnified by the inclement weather crashing all about. The thunder rattled the house's aging timbers, making them shriek and moan, and the lightning cracked shadows across the edifice, causing the upper windows to leer and the front door to gape wildly. The ninth guest presented himself at the wide oak door at five after the hour, a gargoyle grinning at him behind his back, and he was promptly greeted by a tall gaunt figure. Gerald Wilhelm, the butler, had favored the bearers of the previous five invitations not at all, but the sixth invitation taken into his hand induced a sudden kindling of warmth in the noble man's face. As he took the slip of elegant paper, Wilhelm's thin lips relaxed into a state that in anyone else would have seemed pain, but in the face of Wilhelm was actually an expression of unencumbered delight. "Mr. Fleming! Mrs. Morrow will be glad to see you," he said in a tone that wavered not even minutely.

Detective Arthur Fleming smiled at Wilhelm's customary reserve and bowed his head slightly in response. Mrs. Morrow was one of his dear friends as were both her servants Wilhelm and Magsie. Both the butler and the maid had been of great help to him on a previous case which the detective had titled "The Missing Cane Maker." To further his involvement with the trio, Mrs. Morrow had often lent him the resources of her family library and even allowed

him to reenact the events of a murder on her grounds, which he had labeled "To Morrow's Garden Corpse." Fleming stepped into the foyer, and as Wilhelm politely took his coat, the detective wiped the excess moisture from his mustache.

Into the parlor he followed the butler. As they entered, Wilhelm announced to the assembled party, "Mr. Arthur Fleming, detective with the county police force." Service complete, the butler removed himself.

"Detective Fleming! How glad I am to see you!" Mrs. Morrow approached, and he took her two outstretched hands and kissed her on the cheek. Separating, he noticed a tuft of feather laced in her eyebrow and motley colored and textured hairs enhancing the otherwise plain decor of her matronly blue dress. "My dear lady, you are a sight!"

She giggled prettily and withdrawing her hands, waved one to stop him. "Oh, isn't it lovely weather for a banquet. If the rain holds, we may go sailing later."