Tag Archives: murder mystery

Snowed In, Part Four

David sniffed the air, scrunching his nose up when the acrid aroma of smoke drifted into his nostrils on the tail end of Miss Walker’s perfume. “I do. Maybe you ought to stay here—I will go and see what it is.” Skirting around her, he grabbed the doorknob, but her hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“I want to go with you. Please don’t leave me alone here.”

He hesitated, the door ajar. The thick smell of smoke hung heavier in the air now. If McCullough comes to kill me and finds her here… “Very well. But stay behind me.” She was so quiet that his only assurance of her position as they moved toward the source of the smoke was when her hand brushed against his back. The kitchen…I’m not entirely surprised. Of all places there was likely to be a fire, the kitchen made the most sense. He lifted his ascot over his nose and mouth to filter the air. “Cover your face,” he advised Miss Walker over his shoulder. David pushed the kitchen door open. A plume of smoke, black as ink, billowed into the corridor. Coughing, he pressed on.

David’s eyes teared, stinging as the smoke hit his face. He couldn’t see two feet in front of him, but stopped when he stubbed his toe. Slowly crouching, he blinked quickly as the air cleared.

“What is it, David?” Miss Walker’s voice strained from behind him.

“I think…it’s McCullough!” There was no one else in the house who had a beard. “I’m going to pull him out of the room.” Even if he is a killer, he doesn’t deserve this. David hoisted McCullough’s shoulders off of the ground and began to drag him. The man was larger than he was, but as dead weight, the task felt nearly impossible. “Can you get his feet?” He couldn’t see Miss Walker but presumed that she was on her way to McCullough’s ankles. He didn’t realize she wasn’t helping until he heard her scream. McCullough’s head thudded to the floor and David vaulted over his chest. “What happened?” he hacked out.

“Mrs. Harrison! She’s…she’s…” Miss Walker was clinging to his shirt now, clawing at his chest and shoulders until he wrapped his arms around her.

“She’s what?”

“She’s dead,” Miss Walker sobbed.

“Are you sure?” David pulled back and tried to see through the smoke. That was when he noticed that it didn’t smell like normal smoke—Mrs. Harrison was burning. “She’s on fire, we’ve got to help her.” He turned, swapping places with Miss Walker.

“We can’t do anything for her now. Let us tend to McCullough.” Miss Walker stepped backward, her hands closing around one of David’s, small in his own. She led him from the room, his feet shuffling along the floor.

David crouched, taking hold of McCullough’s collar, continuing to drag him out of the room. Once free of the kitchen, he leaned back against the wall for a moment. “I think we need to get outside.”

“Can you carry him?” Miss Walker looked from McCullough’s face, eyes closed and cheeks stained with soot.

Shaking his head, David knelt beside the man. “I thought he was a murderer.”

“Maybe he is,” Miss Walker offered.

“So…” He furrowed his brow. “So what are you saying?”

Her gentle hand lighted upon his shoulder. “David…if you cannot carry him out, we should get out ourselves. Better that two of us live than all of us die.”

“What? We can’t…I won’t…” David shrugged her hand away and placed his hand on McCullough’s chest, right over his heart. He’d seen a man restart another’s heart once, and braced his arms before pumping. The smoke continued filling the air around them and soon he couldn’t even see the man before him. He kept at it, until he felt McCullough’s body jolt beneath his hands.

“It’s her! She’s the killer!” he coughed out, scrambling to stand but faltering.

“Take it easy. Who?”

McCullough snatched David’s collar and pulled him close. “Miss Walker. She tried to kill me.”

No, he thought. But the snap of Miss Walker cocking a gun behind his head. Wide eyed, David turned, falling to sit on the floor. “You can’t be a killer. I love you.”

He’d never heard anything so loud as a gun before, but when the crack rent through the air, he thought, that’s it, I’m dead. It wasn’t until he felt a warm, wet and sticky substance oozing around his hand that he realized McCullough was the one who was dead. He blinked, recoiling his hand and pulling it to his chest, cradling it as though his arm was broken.

“Come with me, David.” Miss Walker’s hand pierced velvety wall of smoke.

He stared at it. Fire roared as it burst through the door separating them from the kitchen. He reached up and grasped her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. David ran, keeping Miss Walker ahead of him, out of the house. The stark white world of the blizzard blinded him. He clamped his eyelids shut. “This can’t be…you killed them. Did Mr. Barrow ever really escape?”

“Yes,” Miss Walker answered with surprising honesty. “Though whether or not he made it through the storm…well, that’s God’s work, not mine.” David couldn’t believe she was talking about God, a woman who stole the lives of others.

“And you were happy to let us think McCullough or even Mr. Barrow…that either of them was responsible.” He frowned, stepping back from her, plowing a path through the snow.  “Why did you do it?”

She held the six-shooter in one hand, relaxed at her side. “This isn’t one of your stories, tied up in a neat bow at the end.  Does it really matter why I killed them?  I did it, and my telling you why won’t change your opinion of the matter.  There is the weakness of your stories, David.  You don’t allow your reader to walk away thinking.”  She paused to sigh.  “Are you coming with me or not, David? We could be happy together.”

David shook his head. “I won’t turn you in,” he offered, “but I can’t come with you.” She raised the gun, but there wasn’t time to argue. He didn’t even hear the gunshot.  He didn’t feel it, either.  He fell, cushioned by the hip-deep snow. Smoke no longer burned his eyes. He felt neither the cold nor the heat.

The End

Author’s note: Thank you for reading my first piece of serialized fiction!  Of course it needs editing, but you can look forward to the edited copy…it will either be sold separately, in an anthology, or both.  Stay tuned!  Next week will start a new story!

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Snowed In, Part Three

David spent the next hour pacing his room, typewriter and the promise of a story for Miss Walker forgotten. I’ve known Mr. Barrow for three years now, I think I would have spotted if he was a killer. Thinking back on those years, he cataloged what he knew of the man. Mr. Barrow often woke early, ate breakfast early and left for work early. He worked long hours, often not returning until nine or ten at night, when the rest of the house was turning in. On weekends, he talked about the stories he had in the works, with a knowing smile and a secretive whisper. David only saw him lose his temper once in the last three years, when another journalist scooped his story. Even then, he didn’t think Mr. Barrow capable of murder, and he couldn’t imagine Tommy trying to pull a fast one on Mr. Barrow.

Yes, Tommy was a headstrong boy, David assessed. But even Miss Walker, who was ever gentle in her criticisms, claimed that Tommy’s strongest skills did not include the written word. That Mr. Barrow would murder anyone, least of all Tommy, was an impossibility in David’s estimation. Tommy did not take his own life, he thought, repeating the words in his head like a puzzled mantra.

David left his room again and went to the common room down the hall. The only sounds emanating from the room was the rustling of newspaper and the wind, but the wind was present everywhere today. “McCullough,” he greeted, attempting a non-committal sort of friendly tone, though he worried his voice sounded a little too high not to come across as nervous. Clearing his throat, he added, “Just the fellow I was hoping to see.”

McCullough looked up from the paper, which stretched suspended between his scrubbed-clean hands. Did they move Tommy? Or was he scrubbing them clean from something else? David wished he’d bothered to notice when he saw him earlier in the stairwell. When he said nothing, David moved into the room and hovered near one of the two sofas before ultimately deciding it was best to remain standing. He rested his arm upon the mantlepiece. “What were you up to after breakfast,” he asked curiously. “I mean, did you see anything odd, or, did Tommy seem strange?”

McCullough laughed, throwing his head back. “You want to know if I thought Tommy seemed strange? All of you seem strange—I only just arrived here, after all.”

David felt his face heat up. He’s trying to make me look like a fool. “Very well, I can see that…but did you see him, at any rate?”

“So you’re playing detective now, are you? Yes, I saw him. I was sitting here, looking for job postings—as I’m doing now—and saw him walk by toward the stairs. I presumed he was going up to his room.”

Frowning, David pressed on. “Did you speak to him, or vice versa?” He decided to ignore McCullough’s snide remark about playing detective. I need to pick my battles, he determined, and finding out about Tommy was more important.

“No, we didn’t speak. Look, I’ll say it plain: I didn’t kill the lad. Maybe you did.” McCullough lifted the newspaper again; his face disappeared behind its pages.

David bristled. His back straightened and he felt his shoulders tense like a giant was pressing them together with its vice-hands. “I did no such thing.” Walking from the room, he decided McCullough must have killed Tommy, and was now trying to turn the tables around on him. I have to warn Miss Walker. But Miss Walker wasn’t in her room, or, if she was, she didn’t answer when David knocked five minutes later. He checked Tommy’s room too. He even went to his room to look outside, hoping she’d not decided to brave the weather in hopes of finding Mr. Barrow or the police.

The snow swirled so fast that he might as well have been staring at a white wall. He caught sight of a flake or two, but only for a second before it flitted back into the flock of weather. Pressing his nose to the cold glass, David squinted his eyes in an effort to see better, but with no success. He turned from the window with a sigh and jumped several inches into the air when he saw her standing in his doorway. “Miss—Miss Walker.”

“I was resting. I figured it was you knocking on my door because McCullough’s in the common room and says it wasn’t him.”

“Are you alright,” David crossed his room toward her, welcoming her in from the doorway. “Please, sit.” He pulled his desk chair into the middle of the room and gently guided her into the seat.

“After what happened with Tommy…I went back to my room for awhile. I was starting to doze off. I…can’t believe you just found him like that.” She looked down at her hands, folded neatly in her lap.

“I wish I hadn’t.” David lowered himself onto the edge of his bed. “Miss Walker, I think McCullough was responsible for Tommy’s death.”

“I know,” she answered instantly, eyes darting up to meet his gaze from across the room. “You defended Mr. Barrow so vehemently.”

“But you think it could have been him?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. How well do we really know people?” Miss Walker sniffed at the air. “Do you smell burning?”

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