A Missing Body

100 words

A Detective Story

For The Roseneath Writers Circle

“Where is the body?” asked the Detective”

“There was a body here. I saw it with my own eyes,” replied Billy Boone.

“You lost a body?” The police searched to no avail.

“Not lost,” Billy cried. “It’s just gone. Not really sure.”

The detective eyed Billy with growing suspicion.

The next day the detective arrived. “I see you found a body.”

“I was a day early,” Billy responded quickly.

“You are a little too eager,” the detective stated, noting  the cherry-red coloration of the skin, and the wide open windows. “You committed murder. By carbon monoxide poisoning. You’re under arrest.”

November Challenge—"A Detective Story"

I refer to it as my first apartment. In fact, it was only an attic room. I shared the space in Mrs. Lipstick’s house with a girl named Grace. We called our landlady Mrs. Lipstick, and it didn’t seem to bother her—though it was actually spelled Liptschtik. Grace  lived there first and wasn’t pleased when I moved in. My mother had heard good things about Mrs. Lipstick from mutual acquaintances and only agreed to let me leave home if I boarded with the old lady.

So Grace and I shared the small room in the attic and quickly became good friends. Directly below us was Mrs. Lipstick’s room, and next to that a small bathroom the three of us shared. The floor below held a narrow kitchen, a dining room, and a rather large sitting room we rarely used, with an electric heater that was never turned on. 

The house was always cold.

Thanksgiving

 For the last Thanksgiving, the two sisters sat across from each other at the old oak dining table.  Lavinia opened the envelope and withdrew the single piece of lined paper.  She read it quickly, blinking away tears.  Finished, she handed it to Beryl without comment.  Beryl read even faster before tossing it on the table with a noise of disgust.

            “Nothing surprising, then,” Beryl said, “No need to read the will, the favourite child gets it all.”

            “She didn’t mean it like that.”  Lavinia said softly, pleadingly.  Beryl stood up.

            “Enjoy the house,” she said coldly, and left.

 

            Lavinia spent the rest of the evening putting away the fall decorations.  She didn’t want to be reminded of Thanksgiving anymore.  Instead, she pulled out the Christmas bin and began sorting through her mother’s beloved tchotchkes.  Reverently, she arranged the hand-painted nativity scene, smiling as she remembered her mother carefully touching up the paint.  She sifted through the shoebox of ornaments, including some rather garish pieces that she and her sister had made.  Nevertheless, her mother had hung them up every year.

            By the time all of the decorations were up, the house was bright and merry.  Lavinia sat down and looked around the house that held all of her warm and loving memories and would hold her as long as she needed it.

 

            Beryl came home to her husband in a dither.

            “Candace has been crying for you all evening,” he explained.  Beryl hurried upstairs to her daughter’s room.  She pulled Candace into her arms, stroking her hair.

            “I don’t like it when you go away, mommy,” Candace murmured.

            “I try not to, honey.  And you know I’ll always make sure you’re taken care of when I’m gone.  Derek too.”  As though he had heard his name from across the hall, Beryl heard her son’s voice calling for her.  Beryl started to move, but Candace’s grip tightened on her.

            “I have to go, I promised Derek I’d read him the train book tonight.  Love you, my sweet Candy.”  Reluctantly, Candace disengaged herself.  Beryl gave her one last kiss before heading to Derek’s room.

            Derek was fully awake with the train book on his lap.  Beryl sat next to him and started reading, looking at her son rather than the book as she knew it by heart.  Even after dozens of repetitions, the silly rhymes still made Derek beam.  Beryl beamed back.