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Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

The following is a piece of writing submitted by bluetomatoes on December 5, 2010

Murder at the Kensington Manor

I poured myself another glass of wine and stood up, a little unsteadily, for a toast.
"To my husshband," I slurred, "Letscchh hope he comeschh back in time for cake."
I drank deeply. Luckily, everyone in the room was even more drunk than I, so they failed to notice what a fool I was making of myself. The butler passed me, heading back to the kitchen. I grabbed his coat, pulled him close to me and whispered, "Go check on my husccchband pleaschhh. Hessch been gone toooo long."
"As you wish, madam," he said, wrinkling his nose at the scent of my breath.
My husband, Lord Kensington had left quite a while ago to go 'get a drink'. These parties always left him stressed and exhausted, even when we were celebrating him. A few minutes after he left, Miss Elizabeth Delacroix exited the room, and has yet to return. It's no secret men in this time occasionally partake in certain 'activities' with women other than their wives, but it irked me that my husband had a mistress. I loathed that fresh-faced, corseted idiot. The butler returned, pale-faced.
"Ma'am, you should come with me," he said nervously. I stood up and followed him down the hall to the study. I gasped when he opened the door. My husband lay on the floor, bleeding from his head. A book lay open on the floor next to his head. I rushed over, but was too afraid to touch him.
"I checked his pulse, Madam. I am truly sorry," the butler said quietly.
The sight of my dead husband had quickly sobered me. "Go find Elizabeth Delacroix," I ordered the butler. He scurried out of the room. There was no question about the killer. The only reason was, why did she do it? Elizabeth entered the study a moment later. She gasped at the sight of the body on the floor.
"Yes, I am sure you are shocked at the sight of my husband," I said, rather sarcastically. "Where were you when he was murdered, only a few minutes ago?"
Elizabeth stuttered, her face flushing. “Madam Kensington, you accuse me of murder?”
“Answer my question,” I ordered. She paused for a moment then said carefully, “Well if you must know, I was in the bathroom, powdering my nose.” I picked up my skirts and marched out of the room. As if I should believe such outright lies. It was an insult to my intelligence. “Ladies and Gentleman, the celebration must end early,” I announced once I had reached the ballroom, “Our guest of honor is in a bit of a-predicament.” TO BE CONTINUED

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