From the first draft of Mira Rathod, Rising Star; an Autobiography

Chapter 83: A Shocking Discovery!

It was a dark and stormy day (this time really so, I am not making it up for effect) The waves splashed up in high splashes against the rocks. The sea was the color of grey water. The weather was turning stormy. Just like the storm inside the house. (Not a literal storm though it is a figure of speech).

“We must call the police!” yelled the secretary, concernedly. “Your brother has been murdered!”

I gasped! Could it be? Could it really be that someone deliberately poisoned my brother on purpose? Who could want to commit murder on William?

“No!” said my sister, frowning with the corners of her lips pointing down. The secretary was wearing a blueish-brown sweater and a tasteful pair oxfords with military heels.

“Why not??” shouted the secretary calmly.

Eileen squinted her eyes towards the secretary. “Because” said Eileen “I’ll not have Haverfall overrun with police all for some silly secretary’s imaginings.”

I gasped! How would the secretary respond? The secretary responded by looking shocked and also angry.

“But I have proof!” commented the secretary.

Eileen raised one eyebrow and looked at the secretary. She looked headstrong and angry.

“What about the fact that no one will admit to placing the poisonous flowers in the house?” said the secretary.

“They are a perfectly normal flower. They must have been sent here as a condolence for the loss of my brother” said my sister.

“What about the fact that your brother complained about his meals tasting bitter-flavored? The book on horta-culture I read says that nightshade tastes like that and also causes heart problems” said the secretary.

“My brother was ill and raving, not poisoned” said my sister.

“What about the fact that the dumbwaiter carries food from the kitchen up to this very room before the butler comes along to fetch it” said the secretary.

“What could have been easier than for someone to come along and slip in a crushed-up poison flower? Even your younger brother seems to think there are less in the vase than there were at the beginning of the week.” The secretary said.

“And WHO are you suggesting could have cause to do such a thing?” requisitioned Eileen.

The silence was so thick you could spread it like butter on a piece of toast.

“The secretary looked at the floor.”

“Then we have nothing more to discuss.” stated Eileen, and walked away, leaving all of us amazed.

I gasped!

I simply do not know what to make of it all. I thought about everything that had happened as I put on my yellow chiffon scarf this morning and added matching wrist bangles like the ones you see in Delhi except with a little more of a London flair. It really does seem ridiculous that someone could want to kill William, for he was a likable man and a good brother. But that little secretary just seems so sure.

It is Eileen I worried most about. She crinkled up her forehead in that way she does when she is thinking very hard about something, but now she does it all the time. Something was bothering her; something was very wrong. So I decided to do a little detective work of my own!

Yes, dear readers, this is how I began my career as an amateur private eye, for which I would later become greatly acclaimed in years to come. Nothing slips past my scrupulous observation.

I crept up stealthily to the office where my sister has arranged all her documents. I peaked into the door but my sister was not there. My sister was not there because I had told her that Ashwin accidentally set fire to a billiards table and required her assistance (a clever ruse!) – I think she had gone to phone the fire brigade.

I shuffled through her papers in hopes of finding a diary of her thoughts, or perhaps someone's abandoned handkerchief with an initial stitched into the corner. While I found neither of these I did find a copy of my brother’s will and many of his financial records (but she shall never know I looked through them for I mostly got them back in the order I found them.) It seems William has been suffering from a declining fortune for many years now, and I do wish he had said something, for I thought the family company to be in good order!

Now I supposed Eileen to be upset because she was trying to sort out what went wrong and how to get the business back afloat. She is always so good at that type of thing, we can always look to her to make things right. Well, I was satisfied with these discoveries and thought perhaps the mystery was solve, when I stumbled across a new one. A handwritten bill, made out to Eileen, for a sum of £3200. Who could she possibly owe that much money to?? Is this what has been worrying her?

Well like a good investigator I realized that once one has eliminated the improbable, whatever remains, no matter how true, is likely impossible. So I continued to examine the bill – as I have said, nothing slips past my keen eye. Aha! A note scribbled on the other side. I made it out as best I could, blurred as the writing was, but I’m afraid it was mostly nonsense phrases. For one, no one can charge money for silence – lack of noise is certainly not a good for sale, and it’s quiet enough around these parts with nothing to listen to but the wind howling. And for another, this is clearly written on a white piece of parchment; so why should the writer refer to the mail as black?