For the Greater Good || Tom Riddle ||

Chapter Thirty-five: The Murders

Gwen's eyelids fluttered opened as she yawned and stretched where she lay. She could just make out the faint chirping of birds while in her state of in-between. Sunshine caressed her face, stinging her eyes slightly, making her stir. Her mind slowly awakened and opened like a dew-covered Morning Glory, unfurling its petals toward the sun.

She rubbed her drowsy eyes as she slowly sat up. Her mind registered that the room was very quiet, perhaps too quiet. Coming to her full senses, Gwen scanned the room for Tom, but he was nowhere in sight. Her heart dropped in her chest.

It was then that a knock came from behind the door. Gwen hastily threw her housecoat on over her nightdress, her toes curling when they came into contact with the cold wooden floor. She grabbed her wand, and, taking a sweeping glance around the room, tidied up the mess of crumbled papers that littered the floor.

Gwen turned back to answer the door, swinging it open without magic.

"Good morning!" the inn keeper smiled. "I have some breakfast for you. Everyone else is running around like chickens without their heads, but I figured you would like something to eat."

Gwen's eyes landed on the small, rickety trolley carrying puffs of all kinds, Danishes, rolls, and other breakfast sweets. She thought of Simon for a split second before looking back up at the old women.

"Thank you, but you didn't have to do that." She gave the lady a small smile as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "And what do you mean?" She quirked a brow. "Did something happen?"

The little old lady leaned forward, her eyes big and wide, as her lips formed words Gwen could barely register. "There's been three murders."

Gwen nearly felt her heart stop. She was sure the organ dangled by a narrow thread inside of her chest. Her light blue eyes gleamed with confusion, wide and glazed with surprised. She bit her lip and shifted her weight to one foot as she placed a gentle hand on the wooden threshold to stable herself.

It seemed like Little Hangleton was a place where death hung like a Christmas wreath, right upon your door.

First Gran and now three murders...

Gwen's mind raced. "Who?" she choked out.

"The Riddle family. They've lived here for years, inside that great big 'ol house on the hill! No one really liked them much, a bunch of snobs if you ask me, but still! I'd never wish death on anyone," the woman chirped solemnly. Gwen could tell that her grief was very superficial. This was fun gossip for her. She continued. "I couldn't believe it when the milk man, Charles, came by this morning. He said that the police found three bodies lying on the floor of the drawing room. One of the neighbors from down below, I'm sure it was Lawrence since he stays up so late, reported a green flash of light early this morning. No one thought much of it until the maid came running out into the town square this morning, screaming that there had been a murder!"

Gwen's breath caught in her throat in disbelief. "Riddle?" she croaked out. "Did you say Riddle?"

The old lady nodded fervently. "Thomas, Mary, and their son Tom! The maid found them slumped over with not a speck of blood on them!"

Gwen stared blankly at the floor, completely shell-shocked. The woman noticed her dismay and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "It's sad, I know it. But don't feel too bad. In all honesty, I'm not wasting my breath pretending to feel very sad about the Riddles! They were very unpopular here, always acting like they were better than everybody. I'm a firm believer in "What goes around, comes around," you see. It seems like they finally treated the wrong person with disrespect," the woman nodded affirmatively. Then, with a wicked twinkle in her eye, she leaned in toward Gwen and whispered, "I think the gardener did it, but you didn't hear that from me!" She laughed and handed Gwen some of the breakfast pastries.