PDA

View Full Version : Who did in the Cook?



Riptide
March 1st, 2014, 05:45 AM
Was this some sort of game? Clue turned real life? No,of course not, that didn't happen to normal people. But it was oddMrs. White had just vanished into the night. Why would she do that?

A boom of thunder warped me out of my thoughts. Thebody still laid there bleeding to dea- ha, never mind. The note stillpoorly written next to the dead man's corpse, and that knife stilljutting out of his fatty back. I'm surprised the fat covering didn'tact like a shield for the poor fella.

“Who do you think did it, doc?” asked the fidgetyyoung cook apprentice. He had gotten into the habit of calling medoc, when all I really was, was a veterinarian, and a lousy one atthat.

“I don't know.” I ran my long, slender fingersthrough my shaggy black hair.

“Is it Mrs. White?”

“Why would she kill her husband?”

“Isn't that how it works?”

“ I don't know. Do I look like I write mysteries?”This brat.

“Sorry...” he cast his muck brown eyes down to thefloor.

“Come on, let's get away from the body. We don'twant to disturb his peace, now do we?”

The kid and I walked out of that murder scene into amore hectic front room. The whole damn family was here, waiting on myverdict.

“He's gone,” I said.

“Murdered?” asked the daughter of the mansionhead. She was on the low spectrum of intelligence.

“No, that jagged knife piercing his body wasactually nothing. Yes, he's dead! Sheesh...people.”

She growled at me, and backed away in tears. Like sheeven knew the guy.

The father, or head of the mansion, took her spot. Hewas firm, and stern. His suit not wrinkled by the occasion. “Was ithis wife? I heard they hated each other.”

“Hey, I don't know. That's what the note said.”They all think I'm the expert here, but what am I really, but asimple vet?

The old man nodded his head somberly. “Where isshe?”

“Heck if I know. If I were her, I'd be already outtatown.”

“Was that blood on the note?” asked the boy.

“You didn't check?”

“No...” The boy nodded no towards the floor.

“Dammit! That would've been good to do! Come on! Wehave to go check now,” I said as I grabbed the cuff of the boy'scolor and dragged him back into dining room where he murder tookplace.

“You've gotta be kidding me,” I muttered as Idropped the boy's collar. “Where'd he go?” The puddle of bloodwas still there, but nothing else. Where'd that fat guy get to? “Comeon, we have to find him.”

The boy stood star struck, looking at the spot thebody once was. “Ah... where- where's- the body?”

“That's what we're trying to find. Now, help melook!” I checked around every damn corner in that tight space of adining room. You would've spotted his big body anywhere, and itwasn't here. “He just upped and left. Where could he've gone?”

“Here?” The boy nodded towards a door that washalf obscured by a huge Chinese dishware collection. It was skewedout of the way, as if someone fumble on by it in a rush. Several ofthe dished were cracked off their hook.

“Maybe.” The boy and I pushed the block of woodout of the way to reveal a true to God door. “Well, I don'tremember this being in the tour.”

The boy eyed me carefully and stepped behind me,motioning me to open the door. “Scared?” I laughed. “Ha! I gotthis!”

I turned the knob and swung the door open. Out floppedMrs. White in all her magnificence... just instead of white, she wasglittering red. Her face was clawed with knife marks, but cleaned toshow her face. Her white hair hung loose and dyed a nice bloodyscarlet color. She was most definitely dead, but wasn't the body Iwas looking for.

“Dang it, not the cook, but the wife. Now we canmark her off the list of suspects. Ah, well, went down not a murder.”I faced the boy, and received a whack to the face, blood squirtingfrom the icepick protruding out of my cheek. “What the...?” Myhands immediately went to the pick, as another penetrated my thigh,and I fell to my knees.

The boy stood above me, a nasty grin across his face.“I never liked you, doc.”

Damn... this sucks. “Why'd you do it?” Could I buysome time, maybe?

“You wouldn't know, but I'm their son,”the boy said. His smile never deviating from his face. “I justreally hated my parent.” He jabbed another pick through my arm.This kid was a lunatic!

“And me?” I ground my teeth to stop fromcussing the boy out

“You're just for fun.” The boy was inches awayfrom stabbing me through the eye with his last pick, but it neverfinished.

A blast sounded behind him, and his head splatter allover my newly tailored suit. His brain matter spewing out into myopen mouth. The body went limp, and convulsed where he landed, like adecapitated chicken.

“Well, thanks. Couldn't have gone a little faster,though?” I said, standing, while pulling out the weapon in my leg,arm, and cheek, wincing during the process.

“Sorry, I had to hear his motive first.” The cookstood behind the now dead boy. He shed off his outfit and out steppedMs.- soon to be Mrs- Scarlet. “Good work, honey.”

“You found the money?” That cook owed us our sharethe of pie for some time now, well... He owed our parents, and sincethey're dead, the cash goes to us.

“Yep, of course I did. This belly of a man made ittoo easy. Do you have the crayon?” Any man would be easy forScarlet, hell, I was easy for Scarlet.

“Yeah,” I said, taking the red crayon from mypocket, along with a white note. I scrawled, in the boys handwriting,his suicide letter and confession. What a deranged boy, thinking hehad killed his dad, which made my life a whole lot of a hell easieras he oust his mom for us. “All done, let's go. Someone will findthem all sooner or later. Where'd you hide the cook?”

My wife smiled, pointing up. How she managed that, I'dnever know. “This was easier than I suspected. We only had to killthe cook,” she said.

“Yeah, I guess the fat man was still moving when youjabbed the knife in, and when the boy came in, I guess he couldn'tresist. He must've been in some kind of shock for not reading thenote and connecting the dots that he walked on an attempted murder.”

“Some people aren't like us.”

We grinned a tooth grin, flashing all of our straight,pearly whites.

My wife and I left through the back window and away inout getaway car hand in hand.

Olly Buckle
March 1st, 2014, 10:12 AM
It felt a bit as though you scrabbled through the ending, things were not laid out clearly enough, or tied up neatly enough, giving your killers a motive for example, I know 'money', but what money? or why the boy thought he had done it? Start to flesh it out and it will probably become more obvious what you need. It may show this won't quite work, but in the process you might also discover something that works better.

The actual writing is not bad, but remember the reader is not in your head, you need to lay things out explicitly.

Riptide
March 1st, 2014, 05:16 PM
Yeah, that's actually what I thought myself.