Chapter 2
What Is Wrong With Me?
The familiar scene, the dead body, the murder weapon (Poison.), and the motive. It brings back memories, and my longing to solve this crime.
This wealthy business man owned a successful line of constructors. Nearly every building in this dark and worn town was built by his crew.
And now, he's been poisoned. Poisoned and robbed, the safe is open.
And yet, no fingerprints, no hair samples, not a clue as to who it could have been.
Unless...
The elderly man was slumped over his desk, his eyes open in pain and hand frozen in a clutch, as if he were grasping his stomach in pain as he died. A dark wine-bottle, possibly laced with poison of some sort. I'm very talented in poisons, however, so I will be the judge of that. But now here, not yet. Not until I'm alone. There is a wineglass, empty, in the victim's hand. It looks... Crystal? Indeed so, it would seem. Very expensive, as well as the wine.
Why would such a successful man be drinking such expensive wine on his own? This is the sort of wine you'd have while discussing a deal with someone of great importance, not something you'd regularly drink any old time.
Len, however, is saying otherwise to the broken daughter of the wealthy man, the servants, chef, and policemen. "It's obvious he was poisoned. The wine was a gift from the chef, was it not?" He demands, pointing a finger at the dumb-struck chef.
"N- No! I mean, yes, I gave him the wine, but I didn't poison him! What motive could I possibly have?" He asks, looking fearful at the accusation. When people lie, it's a fact that they become defensive, and in turn become angry. He looks frightened, but not angry, nor guilty.
"But it's obvious he was drinking this wine, and died shortly after from poisoning, yes?"
"Well... Yes, it is, but-"
As they continue, I find myself looking around. No one is watching.
I pick up the wine bottle, sniffing it quickly before laying it back down. No trace of poison... Odd... But over here, this area... I certainly smell something off. Something not right. And it isn't the vomit in the floor.
It's something else. Because I came prepared, wearing gloves, I carefully uncurl his fingers from the glass he's holding.
I raise it to my noes. That's it... It smells... Like Oleander. Oleander is a spicy-smelling flower, and it's hard to miss... But it's lacing the glass, not the bottle or I'd smell it on there too.
Oleander is a highly toxic plant, even the nectar would kill a man.
I gently curl his fingers around it once more, taking care to put them where the smudges are.
He was drinking out of a poisoned laced cup...
I frown, moving to tell Len, when he begins to explain some more.
"I spoke with him recently, and he had sent me a letter. He received a death threat on his desk not too long ago, stating that he must hand over his daughter or face the consequences. He refused to let you two be together, right?" Len demands, a tone of knowing in his voice.
"Yes, but-"
"And because of this, you sent him the letter, then gave him a poisoned bottle of wine to kill him, so that you and her could be together! Arrest this man!" Len commands the police, and they grab the chef by each arm.
"I did not! I would never kill him, I swear it wasn't me!" He pleads, jerking around to try and free himself.
I pause, noticing three, bright red dots on the chair across from the victim. It's got to be the wine... I touch it, then bring it to my noes. It's not traced with the poison.
That means it was the glass, and it also means someone else was here. But where's the other wineglass?
"Len, sir. Where is the death threat?" I ask quietly, keeping my voice so no one else can hear.
"I don't know where he put it." He replies, waving me away.
'I spoke with him recently'. When was this? And where was he last night, when I'd gone back home?
"Where does he keep his wealth?" Len asks the horror-struck daughter of the victim.
Poor girl, having lost both a lover and a father. "I- In t... The cellar..." She stammers, and I move to her side.
I lay a hand on her arm, smiling sympathetically.
She nods her head, understanding that I'm trying to comfort her.
Once the chef has been taken from the room, the servants leave.
"Lead us to the cellar." Len commands the girl, and she nods.
I let go of her, and she turns around.
We follow her for a while, and finally stop in the middle of the hallway. "It's somewhere over here... I'm not sure where, I never did go in there. I'm going to bed..." She states, spinning around and slowly walking away, disappearing behind a corner and leaving only me and Len.
"Shall we split up and search for it?" I ask, and he shakes his head.
"Over here." He motions, and I follow curiously. He pushes open a door, revealing stairs leading to the cellar. How did he know this was it? I ask myself, keeping my face blank, but watching him closely.
"You said you spoke with the man, Mr. Burns, yes?" I ask, and he nods, not even looking at me. "When did you speak with him?"
"Yesterday, he received the letter the morning before."
"And you spoke to him that evening, and he died at nightfall." I clarify, and he nods, still not looking at me.
I follow him further, and when we reach the end of the stairs I'm surprised at how much seems to be missing from here.
"This is where he kept his money, he showed me. There's too much missing for it to have been him, the Chef probably has somewhere where he hid it. Unless he confesses, searching would be pointless." He states, seeming all-to-interested in a certain vase.
He circles it, keeping his eyes focused directly on it as he speaks.
"Searching for fingerprints?" I ask, and he tears his eyes away.
He approaches me, shaking his head. "The culprit has been found, there's no use anymore."
And yet, he somehow seems overly-satisfied with this. "Indeed." I reply, following him to the stairs again. "I suppose we should leave, then? It would probably be best not to linger."
He nods, and I follow him to the stairs once more.
Later, we arrive back at his large, mansion of a house. It's just as dark and run-down as the rest of the town. On the outside. The difference between the town and his home is the inside, it's not dark and... Well, creepy. It's lovely and breathtaking.
Sitting in his den, trying to warm ourselves with the warm fireplace. The snow seems never-ending, and though I love the beautiful softness of it it's tiring.
"It's very difficult to reach you before a case, with you living so far away. If this remains a problem, I may have to fire you." He says suddenly, looking at me.
I meet his eyes, keeping my expression blank. My poker face is grand, not to brag... I practiced it often before, and to be honest it's probably saved me quite a few times. "I understand, but I cannot move closer, my family wouldn't be willing and I have no money yet." I point out, crossing my legs.
"You could live here." He replies. "It would cut down on travel, and it would make things much, much easier."
"You wouldn't mind having an extra around all of the time?" I ask, pretending that I'm not ready to beg him to let me. This would be a wonderful chance to investigate his home, look for clues, etc.
"Not at all, you're very quiet company, and it would be useful to have you around." He states, and I almost frown.
Useful to have me around? Everything is pointing towards him as the murderer, and I'm the only one who sees it! The only useful thing I'm doing is betraying him. His kindness, letting me live here with him, paying me so much for so little. All I've done so far is suspect him of being a murderer and thief, and follow him around.
I nod. "Then shall I leave, and return with my things? I don't have many, so it won't take long."
"I'll see you in a bit, then." He replies, and I rise.
Walking back to my home through the snow to retrieve my things, to move in with the man I suspect to be a cold-blooded killer.
What is wrong with me?
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