Read Part 1 of the story by clicking here.
John, Toby, and I, got back from our day out, but I have to say that the events of the previous night and day were heavily on my mind while we toured the area. By the time we got back I was more determined to find Miss Marple and tell her what I had witnessed.
We took in some light refreshments at the Inn and I asked the barman if he knew where Miss Marple lived? He looked at me in shock and shook his head quickly.
“I know of no such person living in the village. Now please excuse me as I need to replace the missing cord of the loose curtain in the dining room.” He disappeared, leaving us alone in the bar, so we took our drinks to the garden.
John and Toby were both tired and needed to rest so I took the chance to explore the village some more while they both took ‘forty winks’.
I walked down the small high street and turned right on to a small footpath as I could see a few buildings further down the path. Maybe Miss Marple lived in one of these thatched cottages?
As I passed the first thatched cottage I was stopped in my tracks by what I could see sitting on the window ledge. Behind the window was the very same antique candlestick which had sat in the dinning room the previous night. I’d admired it all evening, wondering how old it was and how much it was worth. I looked at it closely, noticing how clean it looked. Somebody had obviously taken a considerable amount of time cleaning it up apart, that is, from a small dark brownish spot at its base. Was it dried blood, or was it simply a blemish I was looking at?
My attention was then drawn to the building opposite. It looked like a garage workshop from what I could see through the slightly ajar door. I walked over and pushed it open.
“Hello” I called out, but I was only met by silence.
I stepped inside the workshop where an old motorbike lay disassembled across the floor, lots of tools surrounding it. I walked over to it and immediately noticed some lead piping propped up against the workbench. I’d been pretty certain that I’d seen the Chef holding some lead piping when passing the kitchen at the Inn during breakfast that morning. I took a handkerchief out of my pocket and picked up the lead piping, inspecting it closely. Could this have been the item, used the night before on whoever it was rolled up in that piece of carpet which I had seen two staff carry and place in the boot of the car? What looked like flakes of pastry seemed to be stuck at one end of the piping. I was curious.
I placed the piping back and turned around and was shocked by what met my eyes.
There was a loud bang and a scream, and my shirt felt wet.
I looked down. I’d been shot!
Read Part 3 of the story here.
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