Michael S. Atkinson's Blog, page 48
June 18, 2013
Apple Most Foul
This story was written for Trifecta’s weekly prompt, which was to use the word “club” in a sentence, particularly the meaning that refers to a nightclub. I rather enjoyed this one. I’ve never written a murder mystery before. 
Niles stumped into the smoky interior of Goldie’s and slid into his usual booth. The mole liked her place, particularly the dim lighting. Some places were so garish with neon that they made his poor eyes hurt for a week afterwards.
The club didn’t seem too busy that evening, and its patrons mostly huddled over their drinks, so no one noticed as a second figure came inside and sat opposite Niles. Beneath the trenchcoat and rumpled hat, Niles saw only a hint of piercing red eyes. “So?” a low voice growled, punctuated by a baleful grunt.
“Homicide,” Niles said. “Last week. Vic’s female, early twenties. M.E. says it’s poison apple, the usual. Suspect’s elderly female, black cloak.”
“Why come to me?”
“Because,” Niles whispered, “Something’s screwy. The girl didn’t have ID. I sent over her prints to the lab, but they won’t get back to me. They keep saying the prints will come. Eventually.”
“And?”
“Well, I’ve got a few contacts in the underground, informants, you know. Last night one of ‘em called me. Said if I wanted to know who my vic was, I should look at the dearly departed. So I went down to the morgue, ran some records.” Niles slid a photo across the table. “That’s Snow.”
“But she’s…”
“Dead? That woods accident a couple years ago? Yeah. Exactly. So tell me how she turns up dead again. And tell me why my superiors are saying I should let this one go. They’re good people, usually. They’ve never pulled this crap on me. Not till now. Like I said, something’s screwy.”
“I’ll check it out.” The figure rose to leave.
“You know, ” Niles said tiredly, “you don’t have to keep this up. Everyone says the chimney thing was self-defense. You could turn yourself in, get your name cleared, everything’s over.”
The glare beneath the dingy hat made even Niles quail. “My brothers are dead. It’s never over.” And with that, the Third Little Pig disappeared quietly into the dark.
