"A Day to be Remembered"

"Could you please start from the beginning, ma'am?"

"Well, I came home today around 5 o'clock as usual, and I was concerned that the car wouldn't make it back to the house. You know, it's a Chevrolet and I'm sure you are aware of how they are when they get old. My husband is convinced that Chevrolet is the best vehicle brand, but I think that GMC is better. Chevrolets always need to get fixed," the garrulous woman finally paused for a breath.

"Hmm," Detective Jones thought to himself, "I wonder, should I tell her that Chevrolet is made by GMC? Also I would find it very hard to believe that their twenty-five year old car doesn't break," but he didn't get to finish that thought, because the lady had started talking again.

"I thought the car was going to stop again, so I was planning on pulling over at the mechanic's shop and having them fix it. I knew that TightenedTires was open until 6 o'clock; therefore I kept checking the time. As I was driving, I was seeing a myriad of different animals: dogs, cats, wolves, grizzly bears, chipmunks, tigers, werewolves, donkeys, squirrels with really fluffy pipe-cleaner-like tails, and,"

Ma'am, could you please just skip to when you found the body?" Detective Jones asked, "Detective Lancaster and I don't have much time for this interview. After this we need to examine the body," he glanced over to the area surrounded with CAUTION tape. In the middle of the area, there lay a corpse face-down with a bullet whole in its back.

"Oh, okay. I was driving down this road; well I guess that's pretty obvious. I mean, I wouldn't have seen the body if I had been on any other road, and then I wouldn't have called you and you wouldn't have shown up. Anyway, I was driving down this road, and since it twists and turns so much, I was starting to feel a little sick."

"Could you get to the point already?" Detective Lancaster was having difficulty keeping his voice polite. He was rather perturbed with this lady. It seemed that she was adding too much unimportant information to this interview.

"As I was saying," she said pointedly, glaring at him, "since this road is so serpentine, I was starting to feel sick. When I got around the curve, I decided to pull over until I felt a little better. Once I was on the shoulder. I looked into the ditch and saw it. Then I puked."

Thank you for your input. Could you give us your name? We have to use it in the report."

"My name is Henrieta Blabit. I'm glad I could help. It is so exciting! To have a murder in our own town, I mean!" and on that note Mrs. Blabit returned to her broken-down Chevrolet pickup.

"I'm glad that's over! She was becoming so annoying!" Detective Lancaster declared.

"I must agree with you. It was ludicrous how much that lady talked. I wouldn't think it possible to do."

"Well," Lancaster sighed, "I guess we had better examine the body."

The corpse was pedestrian in almost all aspects. The victim's height, hair length, hair color, and shoe size were all average for a young male which is what they had decided it was at this point. The one thing on the man that was far from pedestrian was his clothes. He was wearing a suit that was impeccable. You would think that a body lying on a ditch would have some dirt or at least grass stains on it but this suet was perfect. The seams even looked freshly pressed.

Lancaster took pictures of the body from different angles before touching it.

Then, he started searching the pockets. He pulled a small book out and read the cover.

"How intriguing, a book of conundrums."

"A book of what?" exclaimed Detective Jones.

"I'm sorry. It is a book of riddles; I just enjoy using a bigger word for riddle instead. The looks on other people's faces are priceless."

Jones shook his head. It was definitely a conundrum trying to figure out how his partner's brain worked. He took the book from Lancaster's hand and began to put it in an evidence bag; however the name on the front page caught his interest. They hadn't known who the man was. There was no driver's license or any kind of identification card, for that matter. The name he saw made him turn pale.

Detective Lancaster rolled over the body. He didn't seem to notice his friend's silence as he continued talking, "It must have been an arduous task for the killer to have gotten the body here without staining the suit with grass. Of course, the man wasn't killed here. If he had been, the blood would've covered the grass as well as his shirt," he waited for Jones's usual grunted reply, but it was not forth-coming. He went on, "Too bad we don't know who he is."

He turned back to look at Detective Jones. What he saw was not a comforting sight. Jones had turned as pale as a ghost and looked as though he might faint.

"I know him," he said and his hands trembled. Tears started to leak out of the corners of his eyes, "It's my brother Robert!" he wailed into the surrounding woods. He fell down on his knees and cried in long, loud sobs. He was crying so hard, he almost couldn't desist long enough to take a breath.

Suddenly, his phone rang. Lancaster decided he would answer it for his grief-stricken friend. When he opened the phone there was a text from an unknown sender reading only two words, "You're next."