The Couch Murder by Celeste L. Hessler
English | 2020 | Mystery/Thriller | ePUB | 2.9 MB
Detective Inspector Edward Wilkes of Notting Hill Station, London, is investigating an unusual case where an initially reported natural death turns into a murder investigation. A wealthy banker, Andrew Gibson, is found dead by his housekeeper, who assumed he was taking a nap. The murder evidence is a hypodermic needle found later at the scene of the crime, a couch in the victim’s library. Wilkes and his partner, Smithers, look at Gibson’s family, coworkers, and neighbors to piece together who could have committed this puzzling murder.
“Well, he had a hooded jacket on which I thought was strange since it was such a beautiful, warm day. He was only in the house for a few moments. As soon as you walked in the kitchen door, he came out, closed the sliding door carefully, and quickly walked away.”
“Hm, was this around 2:00?”
“Yes, about five minutes before 2:00. I heard my hall clock strike the hour shortly after. I decided to call you after the news, but I got distracted with the new figurine I received in the post. This man must have been the last person to see Andrew alive!”
Clarissa came into the kitchen at that moment. “Well, hello, Mrs. Peabody. I haven’t seen you in ages. How have you been?” Mrs. Peabody put down her teacup and exclaimed in a gushing voice, “Oh, Clarissa, you get prettier every time I see you! You look different. Have you done something new with your hair?” Clarissa tried not to laugh. She knew when Emily Peterson was snooping for information.
The old witch knows what I did. She doesn’t want to say it. Such phony manners, thought Clarissa as she smiled back with one of her charming poses. “Yes, I had it streaked blond for my next photoshoot.”
Clarissa had recently undergone a significant transformation: a new nose, breast lift, liposuction, and another lip enhancement. All necessary expenses for her modeling career. At twenty-six years old, it was either keep up with the younger ones or retire from modeling. Her agent had advised her these procedures were necessary if she was to stay in the field.
“Clarissa, I was just telling Frieda that I saw a suspicious man by your house yesterday. I thought the authorities should know.”
“What did he look like?” Clarissa asked as she sat down and poured herself a cup of tea.
“He was tall with a tan hooded jacket, very unusual for this time of year since it was hot out yesterday.”
“Yes, it was? Did he look familiar?”
“No, I’ve never seen him before in the neighborhood. I thought Frieda could inform the police, but she told me they’d want to talk to me. Oh, dear!”
That’s what you get for being such a busybody, thought Clarissa with a smile on her face. I hope they realize you’re probably making it up just to be a big shot. But the more she thought about it, she realized Mrs. Peabody saw everything that went on in the neighborhood even with the privacy hedges separating their gardens. Years ago, Emily Peabody ratted her out when she climbed out of her window to spend the night with her boyfriend. She’s always been our guard dog. This person she saw might very well have killed Dad, thought Clarissa while stuffing a scone in her mouth.