Murder at Donnelly Manor

At exactly 8:25 Wednesday evening, a crash was heard in Donnelly Manor. It was followed by a high-pitched scream. A loud thud was heard. And then, another scream.

The crash was created when James Butler accidentally dropped a set of dumbbells on his foot. Of course, this was also what caused the first scream. One would think it was the scream of a small woman, not a 300-pound, 7'2" man. But let’s see you drop a five-pound weight on your foot and hear what you sound like.

The thud was a little more sinister. It was the sound of Mary Donnelly hitting the floor. She wasn’t as big as James, but even a 175-pound, 5'7" woman could make a big thud when she fell backward and hit the floor dead.

Todd Cook was the one who found her. She was lying on her back, wearing her pink mulberry silk nightgown. On her feet were pink, fuzzy rabbit slippers. Her eyes were closed. Her mouth was open. Her left hand was over her stomach and her right hand over her head still holding the martini she had been drinking.

Didn’t spill a drop.

Mary was the wife of the late Theodore Donnelly. He founded the company Pecans Pee Cans and made a fortune making toilets and urinals. Mary’s father was Milo Butts. He founded the Silky Toilet Paper Company. It was said that a toilet company couldn’t survive without Butts.

Mary Donnelly was seventy-five, worth approximately eighty-five million dollars, and, according to nearly everyone who knew her, unlikely to be missed.

When Todd found her dead body, he would have turned around and left her there for someone else to find. But he stepped on a pecan shell and, well, if it has ever happened to you, you would understand the scream.

In pain, Todd appeared to be in a fit of rage. He was swinging frying pans around at nothing. At least nothing anyone else could see.

He seemed to calm down a little when Laura Maidan spoke.

“Wow!” she said. “You did it. I would have killed her, but I didn’t have the guts.”

“I didn’t do it. I found her like this.”

“Likely story.”

“Why you blame me?”

“You’re holding the murder weapon.”

“These aren’t murder weapons.”

“Then why do you have frying pans?”

“I’m the cook. I was putting them away when I heard a thud. I came this way with what I had in my hands.”

Ironic, the cook’s name was Cook. He almost didn’t get the job. They were looking for a cook, and he was introduced as T. Cook.

“The Cook? Is that what ‘T’ stands for? The?”

“Funny.”

This whole time, James was making his way to the source of the commotion. He was slow getting there because he was trying to walk with a possibly broken foot.

“What’s going on here?”

After looking at the body lying on the floor, he laughed and said, “Okay, which one of you did it?”

“We know it was you,” Laura said.

“Me! Why would you say it was me?”

“The butler always did it.”

“Because my last name is Butler, that makes me guilty?”

“But you are the butler,” Todd said.

“That may be true, but that doesn’t make me guilty.”

“I think she was poisoned,” Laura said. “Who gave her the martini? The butler!”

“Who gave me the martini glass? The maid!”

“Did you even check to see if she’s really dead?”

“I can’t touch anything.”

“Why not?”

“We can’t touch the crime scene.”

So, Mary Donnelly was dead.

And everyone in the house was a suspect.

You had a butler named Butler.

You had a cook named Cook.

You had a maid named Maid—well, Maidan.

Now all three stood outside her bedroom, staring at her body.

Her son and daughter came to visit. Johnny was carrying a bottle of chloroform. Margaret had a pillow.

“What happened here?” Johnny asked.

“Who killed her?” Margaret asked.

“I think the butler did it.”

“Why does everybody always blame me?” James asked.

“The butler always did it.”

“I told him,” Laura said.

“There is only one way to solve this,” Johnny said.

“You don’t mean...” Margaret said.

“Yep! I’m calling Robert Logon.”

Detective Robert Logon arrived at Donnelly Manor at 10:30.

Logon had been a detective for thirty-two years. During that time, he had solved forty-seven murders, eighty-two robberies, six kidnappings, and the mysterious disappearance of a prize-winning poodle named Mr. Pickles.

Mr. Pickles had not actually disappeared.

He had been asleep under a couch.

He had also discovered that it was a bird that stole Marry Nikolaev’s diamond rings. He could see them in the nest outside her open bedroom window.

He walked through the door in his typical detective clothing: a long gray trench coat with matching pants, a crisp button-down plaid shirt paired with a vintage necktie, a deerstalker hat matching his shirt, black leather gloves, a magnifying glass in one hand, and a notebook in the other.

He also had a traditional curved faux-wood smoking pipe in his mouth, although he didn’t smoke. It had been refitted to blow bubbles.

“Where’s the butler?”

“I’m the butler. Why?”

“What’s your name?”

“James.”

“James Butler?”

“Yes.”

“You’re Butler the butler?”

“Yes! My name is Butler and I’m a butler. Why?”

“Nothing. But I’m watching you.”

It was true.

Everybody automatically blamed the butler.

“Where were you when this happened?”

“I was in my room.”

“Why were you in your room?”

“My services were not needed at the time.”

“How do you know they were not needed?”

“She told me.”

“When did she tell you?”

“When I served her a martini.”

“When did you serve her a martini?”

“Before I went to my room.”

“Before she died?”

“No, I served a martini to a dead woman. Of course, before she died.”

“Was it poisoned?”

“No!”

“Do you expect me to believe that?”

“You’re the detective. Detect.”

“I will.”

He turned toward Johnny.

“Let’s begin with the victim. Name?”

“Mary Donnelly.”

“Age?”

“Seventy-five.”

“Occupation?”

“Irritating piss.”

Logon looked up.

“That’s not an occupation.”

“Are you sure? She took great pride in it. She did her job well.”

Logon wrote it down.

“Show me the body.”

“You can see my body,” Margaret said.

She was wearing a blue bathing suit that was very unappealing on her oversized body.

“Everyone can see it. But who would want to?”

James led him to the body. Todd was standing over her, still carrying a frying pan.

“Who are you?” Logon asked.

“I’m Todd.”

“Last name?”

“Cook.”

“Why are you carrying a frying pan?”

“Because I’m the cook.”

“My best friend’s last name is Cook. He doesn’t carry a frying pan.”

“My job is cook.”

“Oh! I thought that was your name.”

“It is.”

“Well, which one is it?”

“Both.”

“A cook named Cook?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“A cook named Cook and a butler named Butler. Wow! Did you use the frying pan to kill her?”

“No! I would have used walnut oil.”

“Walnut oil?”

“She’s allergic. Well, she was allergic.”

“Did you use walnut oil?”

“No. She checked everything I brought into the house.”

“She didn’t trust you.”

“She didn’t trust anyone.”

“Hmmm!”

He wrote it all down in his notebook.

He paused and turned toward Laura.

“Who are you?”

“Laura.”

“Laura who?”

“No. Laura Hoo is my cousin. I’m Laura Maidan. I’m the maid.”

“A maid named Maid-an?”

“So?”

“Nothing. What was your relationship with Mrs. Donnelly?”

“She was my boss. Nothing more.”

“Did the two of you get along well?”

“She didn’t like me. I couldn’t stand her.”

“So, did you hate her enough to kill her?”

“I didn’t say I hated her. Hate is a strong, bitter emotion. I said I couldn’t stand her. I hate no one. Except you, maybe.”

“So, you never wanted to strike her, push her, hit her in the head?”

“I sure did. I still do. But I’ve learned that if I kill her, she wouldn’t be able to learn.”

He wrote more in his notebook.

“James, what about you?”

“I’m here to work off my debt to the Donnelly family.”

“What debt?”

“I took a $25,000 loan. I was one week late on a payment, and she took everything I owned and forced me to work as her butler. She had me doing stupid tasks like ironing her newspaper.”

“What did you do about it? Kill her?”

“Nope! I wanted to slap her. Slap her unconscious. Sad. I’ll never get that chance.”

Logon started to pace back and forth.

“It seems that all of you are suspects. I will have to investigate.”

“That is what we are paying you for,” Johnny said.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that bottle of chloroform. You’re a suspect also.”

“We came in after everything was already done.”

“Hmmmm!”

“What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer.

There was no obvious signs of a struggle.

The windows were locked from the inside.

Nothing appeared to have been stolen.

Mary’s diamond necklace was still around her neck.

Her purse sat untouched on a chair.

On the nightstand were a glass of water, a bottle of pills, a television remote, and a half-eaten candy bar.

Chocolate with almonds.

He took the leather glove off his right hand and replaced it with a white glove. He picked up the candy bar, examined it, and put it back down.

“Interesting.”

Todd leaned closer.

“What?”

Logon pointed at the candy bar.

“Chocolate.”

“With almonds!”

Logon scribbled something in his notebook.

“What’s so special about almonds?”

“As if you didn’t know.”

Logon examined the body.

“No blood. No bruises.”

“Okay,” Todd said.

“That means you didn’t hit her in the head with the frying pan.”

“I told you I didn’t do it.”

“I didn’t say you’re off the hook. I only said you didn’t use the frying pan.”

He checked beneath the bed.

Nothing.

He checked inside the closet.

Nothing.

He checked behind the curtains.

Nothing.

Then he checked beneath the bed again.

Laura raised an eyebrow.

“Didn’t you already look there?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you looking again?”

“What are you trying to hide?”

“Nothing!”

“Then why all the questions?”

“Why are you wasting time?”

“I’m the one asking questions.”

He looked under the bed again.

“Eureka!”

“What?”

“I found it.”

“Found what?”

“My wedding ring. I dropped it when I took my glove off. My wife would kill me if I came home without it.”

He put on the ring and the leather gloves.

He turned toward the three employees.

“One of you may be a murderer.”

Laura gasped.

James gasped.

Todd checked his watch.

Logon pointed dramatically.

“The victim was inside a locked house. No signs of forced entry. Nothing stolen. Therefore, unless Mrs. Donnelly was murdered by someone who entered through the chimney, the killer was already inside.”

Everyone looked toward the fireplace.

Logon looked too.

“Forget I said that. Nobody could fit through that chimney. Maybe a bird. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Something’s wrong with this guy,” Margaret said. “I’m leaving.”

“You’re not off the hook either. The murder weapon could very well have been that pillow you didn’t want me to see. I have questions for all of you. Please, let’s continue this in the library.”

They all adjourned to the library.

All except Mrs. Donnelly, who was still lying on the floor.

Martini still in the glass.

Not a drop spilled.

Logon sat behind a large black desk with gold trim. Even the chair was luxurious. You could tell that it belonged to Mrs. Donnelly. For someone with the maiden name “Butts,” it kept hers nice and comfy.

He questioned James first.

“Where were you earlier tonight?”

“In my room.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Convenient.”

“I sleep alone every night.”

“Very convenient.”

“Not really. I prefer to be back with my ex-wife.”

“Did you have a reason to kill Mrs. Donnelly?”

“I wouldn’t kill a bug.”

As he was saying this, he stepped on a spider on the floor.

Logon wrote it down in his notebook.

“Did you have a reason to hate Mrs. Donnelly?”

“She drove a wedge between me and my wife.”

“How did she do that?”

“She threatened to do what I did to that spider to her if she stepped inside the house.”

“Anything else?”

“She once rang the service bell at three in the morning because she wanted me to turn her pillow over.”

“Why?”

“The other side was cooler.”

Logon circled James’s name.

“That’s motive.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Why would you say that?”

“I could have used that pillow.”

“I’d consider it.”

Laura was next.

“Did you dislike Mrs. Donnelly?”

“Of course. Everybody did. Even her own children.”

“Did she ever mistreat you?”

“Once.”

“What happened?”

“She accused me of stealing.”

“What?”

“A spoon.”

Logon wrote quickly.

“Did you do it?”

“No.”

“Where was it?”

“In her hand.”

Logon stopped.

“What?”

“She was stirring her coffee with it while accusing me.”

“And when you pointed that out?”

“She accused me of putting it there.”

Logon underlined Laura’s name.

“Strong motive.”

Laura’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t kill her!”

“We’ll see.”

Todd sat down.

Logon opened a fresh page.

“Did you and Mrs. Donnelly ever argue?”

“Argue? No! We only had heated discussions. I never argue.”

“Okay. How often did you have ‘heated discussions’?”

He said this while making air quotes.

“Constantly.”

Logon immediately began writing.

“About what?”

“Food.”

“Be specific.”

“She complained about everything. Soup too hot. Ice cream too cold. Toast too crunchy.”

“Did this make you angry?”

“Of course.”

“Angry enough to kill?”

“No. If I wanted to kill her, I would have put walnut oil in her food.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t get any.”

“I have my ways.”

“Did you kill her?”

“Nope. I’d want her to suffer. Not die.”

“Suffer how?”

“I’d give her almonds. They give her terrible gas.”

Johnny was next.

“Mr. Donnelly, why did you have a bottle of chloroform?”

“I didn’t.”

“I saw it.”

“You can’t prove it.”

“What did you do with it?”

“Do with what?”

“The bottle.”

“What bottle?”

“The bottle of chloroform.”

“I didn’t have any chloroform.”

“I saw it.”

“Saw what?”

This conversation went on for about fifteen minutes before Logon realized that it wasn’t going anywhere. He wrote something down in his notebook and circled Johnny’s name several times.

Margaret was the last one interviewed.

“Margaret, what were you going to do with the pillow?”

“You’re cute. Wanna hang out later?”

“Most definitely not.”

“Then you’re just leading me on.”

“I’ve done nothing of the sort.”

“I’m telling my mother.”

“She’s dead.”

“What? When did this happen?”

“That’s the reason I’m here.”

“You killed my mother? Call the police. No! Call Detective Robert Logon.”

“I am Detective Robert Logon.”

“Oh! You’re cute.”

He could tell that she was smarter than she pretended to be. But she played the role so well that he just went with it.

By midnight, Detective Logon had developed three theories.

James killed Mary because of years of unreasonable demands.

Laura killed her because of the spoon incident.

Todd killed her because she complained about cold ice cream.

Her children were off the hook only because they came later.

There was only one problem.

There was no evidence that anyone had actually killed her.

They had not yet found a cause of death.

Logon returned to the bedroom.

He examined the water, the pills, the candy bar.

He even sniffed her fuzzy rabbit slippers.

James watched him.

“Are you expecting to solve the case that way?”

“You’d be surprised what shoes can tell you.”

“What are they telling you?”

“She had very stinky feet.”

Logon stood and looked around.

Something caught his attention that he had ignored before.

The television.

It was directly across from the bed.

“Was Mrs. Donnelly watching television tonight?”

“Probably,” James said. “She watched television every night.”

“What did she watch?”

“Some comedy program. I have no idea what it was. An old black-and-white show. Before my time.”

Logon turned.

“Comedy?”

He picked up the remote.

“Was the television on when the body was discovered?”

Laura nodded.

“Yes. I turned it off.”

“You touched the crime scene?”

“So did you.”

“What?”

“You picked up the remote.”

“I’m the detective.”

“Well, then, detect already.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

He pointed the remote at the TV and turned it on.

An old black-and-white comedy was playing.

A man carrying a long pole turned around to greet a pretty lady, he knocked a painter off his ladder. The painter fell into a wheelbarrow, which rolled down the sidewalk and crashed into a fruit stand. The man with the pole spun around to see what had happened and knocked someone else into a fountain.

The slapstick continued.

They all laughed.

Logon stared at Mary’s body.

“No murder weapon. No wounds. No poison. No signs of struggle.”

He looked at the television.

Then at the expression frozen on Mary’s face.

Her mouth wasn’t twisted in pain.

She was smiling.

“Get the medical examiner on the phone.”

Two hours later, the mystery was solved.

The medical examiner confirmed that Mary Donnelly had not been murdered.

She had suffered a fatal cardiac event during an extreme fit of laughter.

Logon gathered everyone together.

He stood proudly in front of them and adjusted his deerstalker hat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have solved the murder of Mary Donnelly.”

James raised his hand.

“What?”

“If she wasn’t murdered, then you didn’t solve a murder.”

“There wasn’t a murder.”

“I solved the mystery of the death.”

Logon straightened his coat, took the bubble pipe from his mouth, and prepared to make his grand announcement.

“Mary Donnelly died laughing.”

He put the pipe back into his mouth and blew a single bubble.

Everyone watched as it floated across the room.

It popped.

Todd looked toward the bedroom.

“At least she died happy.”

Logon immediately headed for the door.

“Case closed!”