Murder on the Hill (A terrible title)

There are times that all I do is stand completely motionless waiting for that nitwit to write something. If you’ve never been a character in someone’s book you wouldn’t understand. And if you have, then I feel for you. Sometimes it’s incredible and the story flows out of him onto the page and his words are purposeful and almost good. Other times I move through his world one slow step at a time and often backup as fast as the backspace key can be pressed. I’ve even seen entire chapters disappear all at once, we call that a Complete Chapter Kill; or a CCK for short.

Today I’ve been standing motionless now for almost an hour. I’m holding my notebook and pen, something he’s stated is always in my hand so why would now be different. The rest of the scene around me is blank; completely unwritten, literally a blank page. This is the time of day when he usually sits to write. I’m experiencing what we call character block, that’s when you stand here blocked from moving forward by an inactive author.

It’s been a good story so far, but it’s supposed to be the great climaxing scene and so far it’s blank, at least I assume it’s the climaxing scene as it’s titled, The Climax. I’m the inspector perched at the precipice of the grand culmination of everything before it, the conclusion of a murder mystery. Even as the inspector, I’m left wondering what comes next. It’s a mystery to me, to anyone, and it seems, especially to the author. He hasn’t said who the killer is in The Murder on the Hill—it’s a terrible title; I’ve told him to change it several times. He doesn’t embrace my advice regularly. Although the other day I suggested he give me a pet, a dog, to come home to at the end of the day. Something to ground my character beyond this Sherlock Holmes hat he insisted upon. I might dress like Sherlock, but I have no Watson. Well, he did give me a pet, but it’s an annoying Parrot that likes to call out my catch phrases, as if me saying them from time to time wasn’t already too much, “Voila, and there’s an important detail.” It’s bad, I know.

Then it comes, a flurry of words.

Inside the town library inspector Kincade has gathered all the suspects he’s interrogated and interviewed to date. One of those gathered today is the killer and Kincade will let them know how Kincade’s pieced it all together. It’s a room filled with suspense…”

Wait, you can’t tell them it’s a room filled with suspense, you need to create the suspense. And how many times do you need to use my name? The name I’ve already mentioned needs to be changed.

There are those gathered that have something to hide and you can see it in their nervous ticks. Others, the folks that are often nervous for no reason, have beads of sweat rolling down their foreheads. And there are even some that have no idea what’s going on or why they are here at all. But there is one among them who stands calm, cool, and collected.

That’s a little cliché wouldn’t you think?

After a bit of backspacing the new sentence appears.

But there is one among them that knows exactly who they are, the killer, and they show no signs of remorse, fear, or guilt. It’s that person who knows what they did and expects to get away with murder.

Much better.

I’m just glad he’s writing again, perhaps we’ll finally get a conclusion out of this rambling tale. Maybe I’ll finally learn what I’ve been writing in this damn notebook all this time. And, if we are all lucky he will never write a murder mystery again.

Inspector Kincade surveys the suspects, eyeing each one beneath the brim of his herringbone deerstalker hat.

Every time, every time you mention the hat you tell us what type of hat it is. It’s just a stupid hat, move on!

Once again, after some backspacing he retypes.

…beneath the rim of his inspector hat…

Hat, just say HAT!

Everyone here is guilty in their own way. Some are guilty for their inappropriate relationships. Others for what they knew and didn’t share, finally there is the killer. That’s the name that all lines point to and that all paths cross over. Somewhere in the group is the person who will be identified as the Killer of Lafayette.

“I have gathered you all here to discuss the case. Lieutenant Lafayette was a good man, but over the years he had forged some enemies, left a lot of unanswered questions, and tossed a lot of people into jail,” Inspector Kincade exclaims with authority.

Says, just say says.

Mayor McDonald stands up from a chair he sat in when he arrived and says, “We are all interested to hear your findings. He was a good man and didn’t deserve to be killed. Especially in such a horrific way.”

Sat in when he arrived? How about he simply stands up? And one other big bone of contention, he was killed with a lawnmower blade. I feel that’s a terrible weapon. The killer himself would have to hold the other end of the sharpened blade. So far I haven’t convinced him to change it.

“Well, reveal the killer I shall. A lawnmower blade is a unique weapon. In all my years I’ve never heard of anything like it, nor seen a more gruesome ending. So, my first interviewee was an obvious choice Larry the landscaper.” At the mere mention of Larry’s name, the accused pulls off his hat and starts to wring it in his hands. “He has been known to sharpen his own blades. The sharpest blade in town, it’s even the catch phrase on the side of his truck.”

I remember when he had me interview Larry. It was filled with holes, as mysteries often are. This way it leaves any and all suspects open until the big reveal.

“It wasn’t me,” Larry calls out unable to hold his words any longer. After saying them he tosses his hat back on his head.

“Of course it wasn’t you Larry. Your wife already told me you went home that day for lunch.”

Wait… she did? Ah yes, there it is, suddenly appearing in my notebook. An interview the writer chose to hold back. I hate it when mysteries hold back pertinent pieces from the readers; that makes it harder to solve. I mean a big reveal is great but at least give a reader a chance.

“Voila, and there’s an important detail.”

I still hate it.

“And now onto Farmer Frank.”

How many times have I’ve told him his name choices are mundane. We have Farmer Frank, Landscaper Larry, Grocer Gary, Seamstress Sue, Newsman Ned, and on and on. He doesn’t see the problem. And I’m left as the only one that’s not a match, Inspector Kincade.

“Frank, we know you have issue with Lafayette. He was after all your brother-in-law. Ever since his divorce with your sister, you have publicly argued and at times it has even turned violent. On one occasion he left you with a black eye.”

Unable to hold his tongue any longer, Frank speaks up, “Yeah I hated him. No news there. He was a real son of a…”

“Frank!” his wife stops him.

“Well, a real piece of work then. I’ll admit to wishing him dead more than once. However, there is a lot of space between wishing and doing,” Frank finishes.

“Yes, and you were off delivering cows to slaughter that day. It was a Thursday, and that’s what you do on Thursdays.”

“Haven’t missed it in years.”

Okay, admittedly that was in my notes . And I just put it together now. Well done.

Kincade continues in his discovery, “So, then we move onto Newsman Ned.”

Here it is, all along he’s looked like the killer. I’m going to really give it to him now.

“What me?” Ned calls out.

“Yes, all along in your paper you have purposefully pointed fingers. Putting opinion where fact should be. You’ve been trying to push the brunt of the blame toward another. Patrick Plimpton the Principal of the elementary.”

“Yeah, it’s true, and I didn’t do anything,” Patrick says.

Huh, I never thought it was Ned all along. However, Patrick was far too obviously pointed out in the papers, and you’ve disproved it several times. Maybe you should make it him that would make for an interesting twist. I focus and concentrate on that idea flowing upward into the mind and hands of the writer. He clearly needs help.

“Ah, not so fast Plimpton,” Ned calls out unexpectedly. “You were there on the hill the day it happened. My son saw you up there walking your dog. He then later heard an argument off behind the large shed up there. Two men he said, then there was the horrible scream that made my son run back home. But the last thing he heard was a dog barking.”

“Yes, and don’t you own a dog Ned,” Kincade interjects.

“Well, yes, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“And those cuts to your hand. Where did you get those?” Kincade asks.

Are we going to get past this? It’s going to be Plimpton I think louder. A twist, a carefully crafted twist. Then I remind myself who I’m trying to inform. The nitwit that’s writing this piece of…

“Cuts? We talked about this Inspector. I was doing some maintenance on the paper feeder for the printer. I caught myself on a sharp edge of the sheet metal that holds the paper,” Ned says.

“Ah yes, the sheet metal that just happened to still have blood on it two weeks later when you pointed it out to me after I had questioned you. Easily something you could have put there after the fact. Face it Ned you don’t have anywhere to hide,” Kincade says with a sort of aha inflection.

What is an aha inflection? He accuses, just say he accuses. After several clicks from the keyboard above.

Kincade makes his accusation.

Plimpton takes this moment to speak again, “All this time? It was you!”

“Not so fast Plimpton,” Kincade continues. “You were up there, weren’t you?”

“Of course, I walk my dog through there every morning. But I was home long before anything happened,” he says.

“Right,” Kincade goes through his notebook to the page that has his notes from his Plimpton interview that provides important clues to…

Okay, that whole sentence is a mess, try again.

“Right,” Kincade exclaims. Then after turning a couple pages in his notebook says, “Here are my notes of my interview. And on that day you said, ‘I did walk there that morning but by the time anything happened I was in town with my dog getting coffee.’”

“I must have been mistaken. It was a different day I went into town.”

“I thought you might say that after I talked to Corrine the coffee house owner who let me view the security footage of that day. And you know what I found? I found you never had coffee that day.”

At this point Ned speaks up again, “Ha! I knew it was you.”

“There is more than one place to get coffee in town,” Plimpton doubles down.

Wait, you just had him say he was mistaken and that was a different day. Did he get coffee or not? Pull it together.

“My Plimpton, you just told me that was a different day. Do you wish to say you did get coffee that day but just at a different establishment?” Kincade cross examines the error.

Well done.

“Alright alright, I’ll come clean.” With that his eyes slide across those surrounded and stop when he gets to one of his school’s teachers, Tracy. “I walk most mornings to Tracy’s house. We have coffee together. We’ve been seeing each other secretly for the last several months. If I walk over the hill I can get to the backside of her house and quietly slip into the back door. I didn’t want her name to be involved. I love her, and was trying to keep our relationship private,” Plimpton admits.

“You love me?” Tracy calls out while quickly moving to Patrick.

What? I didn’t see that one coming. And this is the first time we’ve even heard of Tracy. Why is this random person gathered with the “suspects”?

“Tracy. Private? If that’s the case how did she end up here? Admit it, you brought her here to function as cover for you. Yes, you are in a relationship, but she would do anything to protect you. Isn’t it true?”

Hold on, you have a tender moment developing between Tracy and Patrick and you didn’t play it out.

After wiping out the previous sentence he continues.

Tracy upon reaching Patrick throws her arms around him. Kisses him and says loud enough for Kincade to hear, “You love me? I love you too.”

“That’s all sweet and all. But how do I know Tracy isn’t just covering for you?”

“The tickets,” Tracy says aloud. “We bought the tickets to Cancun that day, on my computer remember. It was when we heard the sirens driving down the street.”

“Yes. We watched them drive up to the hill,” Patrick remembers.

Now, you’re just planting pieces to a puzzle that no one had a chance to look at before. Those are so frustrating.

“And the dog barking, before that, was likely Scruffy, your dog, just barking up at the squirrel that lives in my trees,” Tracy adds.

“Ha ha, yeah, he hates that squirrel,” Principal Patrick agrees.

“Voila, and there’s an important detail. Well, that leads me back to Ned,” Kincade exclaims while turning back towards the newspaper’s owner and principal editor.

“Does it Inspector?” Ned speaks up. “Because in all your investigation you left out one prime suspect!”

“I did?” Kincade asks.

He did? I ask in frustration. Another turn? Do we need another turn?

“Yes, there is another man with a vengeful motive. A person that also takes pride in his yard and likes to take walks over the hill,” Ned says while turning toward the group gathered.

Wait, why is my job getting shared with the newspaper man?

“Interesting. I can’t wait to hear this,” Kincade says partially wondering where Ned is going. All the while watching his prime suspect as he tosses out his own allegations likely in some attempt to muddy the waters.

“I was going into town to talk with Henry at the Hardware store that morning. After all they open at seven AM. And, as I walked up I saw someone there exiting with a paper bag. Sticking out of that bag was a freshly sharpened lawnmower blade. Conveniently, if used as a weapon, the bag would provide good protection to the killer’s hand. Wouldn’t it?”

Why does the murder weapon have to be a lawnmower blade anyhow? I’ve mentioned this before, it seems like a silly choice, and it’s been used that way before.

Kincade goes quiet. The room goes quiet.

“After all, there was one person jealous of Lafayette. One person jealous enough to want him out of the picture. Over the years, in all my years of reporting the stories I’ve seen one relationship that has gone sour. Two people that no longer saw eye to eye.”

Kincade, a little annoyed at the showboating of the man who he plans to accuse of the murder says, “Why don’t you just admit it Ned. You killed him. You and he went to high school together and you were long jealous of him marrying your sweetheart. And, though you were on the same football team all those years, he always seemed to get noticed for the big plays, when you had just as many. You hated him! You despised him!”

You are going to need to do some deep edits here. This high school stuff is all new. Did I miss a chapter?

“Yes I despised him. He was a terrible man. However, I admired him for his work, admired him for his love of the city. And when they gave him the key to the city last month I thought no one deserved it more than him.”

This is so annoying. What does that have to do with anything? What key to the city?

Kincade says with a detectable tone of annoyance, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, Inspector, admit it you were jealous of him. You and he hadn’t agreed on much in years. And you were the person I saw walking out of the hardware store that morning. You are the killer Kincade. How do you say it Kincade? Voila, and there’s an important detail.”

Killer Kincade, great now my title fits the rest of the characters. Where did this crazy turn come from. You never knew who the killer was in the first place did you? What happened? Did you want to make a twist no one else saw coming? You can’t have a mystery series where you put your Inspector in jail. How will the series go on?

Then it happens a CCK, a complete chapter kill, and once again I’m standing in a blank space, staring at my notebook wondering what this nitwit will come up with next.