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FIREPLACE

The grand brick fireplace has lit itself, the deep red and orange flames viciously trying to escape the confines of their hearth. Smoke breathes up the chimney, and for any passerby whose eyes can pierce the dreadful darkness and incessant storm, the sight of the McDermott house alive once more must be a peculiar one indeed. Out of reach of the fire, the mantle above provides a perch for the neighbor’s handbag. The portrait of Mr. McDermott has fallen, partially revealing the holes hidden behind it.

You carefully examine the holes behind the fallen portrait of Mr. McDermott. In one of the smaller holes, the one previously covered by the right eye, you notice a small folded bit of parchment.



It reads:

“The tried one finds it hardly fun,
Sixty in an hour, and three fourths are done.”


You carefully remove the handbag from the mantle and empty it out. Inside, there’s a pamphlet:



As you inspect the handbag, something moves out of the corner of your eye. Ashes from the fireplace begin to swirl about, filling the air with a dusty haze before molding itself into the shape of the elderly neighbor, Birdie.


“Detective! You must come at once. There’s been another MURDER!”

Me? Why would I do anything to that child? She was a wretch at times yes, but she was only a child. I recall being quite a brat myself when I was young. I certainly wouldn’t do anything to harm her, apart from maybe a light whipping with a twig from the old birch tree. No detective, I believe you’re barking up the wrong tree. Try investigating one of those unsavory types floating about.


Let me think. Once everyone arrived home all at once, there was quite a bit of confusion. No one seemed to care that I was there, but I was used to such discourtesy. Vera snuck away, and as I was about to follow her I was interrupted by her sister-in-law, Jane. Vera returned with a tray full of cocoa cups, and I politely accepted one. That was my mistake, I take it. I was in the middle of telling Vera all about how Elsie must have made off with that gnome of mine when she awkwardly collapsed to the ground! I looked around and everyone was gone except for Aunt Jane! Where had they all sidled off to? No doubt to conspire! I started to feel a bit unwell myself, and darted out into the hall to catch them in the act! Unfortunately, no one was there. I didn’t make it any further, I collapsed at that very moment, my mouth full of the most heinous taste imaginable!


If I poisoned the cocoa, detective, why on Earth would I drink it!? Do you think I wanted to die? Well, let me assure you that I did not. That chocolate was probably doomed from the start. Vera was never known for making great cocoa, always appallingly unsweetened. Why, when I went to turn the kettle on myself, I recall adding what was left of the jar of sugar to the brew. It wasn’t much, just a cup at most! If by “poisoning” the cocoa you mean to ask if I sweetened it a bit – then I am guilty as charged. But as far as deliberately mixing some deadly variable into their drinks? Never!