2753. Only one murderer © Bruce Goodman 13 June 2023

Who would have thought that Cassandra was capable of murder? She was such a sweet thing. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. And yet, there was the body on the floor – her husband reduced to the potency of matter with a pair of knitting needles sticking out of his chest. It had been a quiet evening. Norbert was sitting in his usual armchair watching cricket on television; Cassandra was sitting in her usual armchair knitting a pair of socks. “Could you stop clacking the needles,” said Norbert. “I’m trying to watch the cricket.” “You’d think after forty-two years you’d be used to it by now,” said Cassandra. “I’ve never got used to it,” said Norbert. “I’ve learnt to be patient.” “I’ll make us a cup of tea.” Cassandra left the room and went to the kitchen. When she returned her husband was lying dead on the floor. Cassandra got such a fright she dropped the two cups of tea she was carrying. Immediately she called the police. And hurry! There must be someone in the house. But there was no one in the house. All the doors and windows were shut tight. There could be only one murderer and that was Cassandra. Impossible. Utterly impossible. She wouldn’t have the strength in the first place. No one was arrested. No one was found guilty. Later, Cassandra thanked Clovis from up the road for his help. “And to think I almost forgot to lock the kitchen door after you’d gone.” Contact Author Back to Index Next Story Previous Story