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Weekly Contest #364
My name is Splinker. D.H. Splinker. I’m a private eye. I wanted to be a piano player, but that’s another story. A better story. It was a dark and stormy night when I arrived at the Northern Bates hunting lodge. Later, the rain would let up, and a fog would roll in. A fog full of mist and mystery. The kind of fog that made it hard to see. But by the time that happened, someone would be dead.The lodge was built in the late sixties by an eccentric banker who was obsessed with Alfred Hitchock and and old-fashioned corsets. The obsession with Hit...
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