By Tracy Kiely
You know, I really didn’t budget time for this into my day.
Luckily, I am both a student of Jane Austen and Agatha Christie. However – and, God help me if the Janeites catch wind of this – let’s face it; Jane Austen is going to be of little help here, unless the killer would like to engage in a bit of witty banter. No, it must be Dame Agatha to whom I turn to now; in particular, her creation, Hercule Poirot. Yes, the fussy little
So, let me put those little grey cells to work…
Let us first examine the scene. My bathroom. It is on the second floor. To leap out the window would mean almost certain death. It’s a straight drop of about twenty-five feet. There are no weapons to speak of other than a cuticle scissors and eyebrow shaper. So unless an infliction of a nasty hangnail or uneven eyebrows can be used as a deterrent; the bathroom is weapon-free. There isn’t any hairspray in there, as I keep that in the garage because it’s great for getting sticky things off non-sticky things. And with three kids, our house has a lot of sticky things. Besides, if it does such a great job de-sticking stuff, God only knows what’s in it and why on earth would I spray that into my hair? I digress. Back to the bathroom. There is no proper towel rack, only one of those round little numbers and we have a glass door instead of a shower curtain.
Now to employ those grey cells and arrive at the one logical solution: There is no possibility for escape and there are no weapons.
Excellent. It is just as I want.
For you see, like Dame Agatha, I like the twist at the end of the story. Gather into the drawing room and have a spot of tea while I explain.
There is a killer on the other side of my bathroom door. But, my dears, I never specified which side.
I am outside.
He is inside.
So, I push my bureau in front of the door and dial 911.
Order and method with a twist ala Dame Agatha.