The Frisby Waterless Murders – 43

Excerpt from the book called The Frisby Waterless Murders

“Just when I thought this case couldn’t become any more complicated, another attempted murderer comes to light – that’s three people then who think they’ve killed their intended victim, but only one of them is correct.”


Chapter 3 – Tuesday, 8:15 a.m.


Colin Knowles finished doing The Plank, his favourite yoga move, and decided that was it for today. He had exercised for over an hour and felt revitalised. He looked out of his front window and saw the sunlight filtering through the strands of the Russian Vine that seemed to be enveloping the front of the house like a cumulo nimbus cloud. Knowles had to admit the rest of the garden looked quite good; exercising seemed to have increased his energy levels and he could complete most of the gardening tasks in one go without resorting to drinking a beer and staring at all the things that still needed to be done. The Russian Vine was still beyond him though; he’d hacked at the plant with some shears six months previously and when he’d finished it seemed to be larger than when he’d started.


He heard the cats miaowing behind the kitchen door; Freddie was yowling incessantly and Gemma was on backing vocals with her slightly higher voice piercing the air like a stiletto. They were hungry, but there was still some food in their bowls, which they could have eaten, if they’d been starving. Knowles poured a good portion of kibbles into two clean bowls and placed them on the floor. He scraped the old food into the composting tin and placed the bowls into his blue counter-top dishwasher. He took some chicken out of the fridge and put some meat on to two plates, which he left on the top of the cupboard before going for a shower. He’d feed them the chicken when he was eating his breakfast, so he could referee the contest between the cats over who should eat which pieces of meat.


Having showered and put on fresh clothes Knowles returned to the kitchen to see Freddie trying to reach the chicken on top of the cupboard. As soon as he knew he’d been seen Freddie jumped down from the light-green counter and tried to look innocent as he sat under the table. Knowles took out the brown bread, yoghourt, and orange juice from the fridge and made himself breakfast. He took the toast and spread some organic marmalade on top. Before taking his first bite, he took the cat’s plates from the cupboard and placed them on the floor. Freddie came out of his hiding place and started to hoover up the chicken on the left hand plate, whereas Gemma chewed each piece vigorously on the right-hand one. When the left-hand plate was almost empty Freddie started to eye the other plate and Knowles put his foot between Freddie and this plate. Gemma continued to chew and Freddie decided to intervene. Knowles intercepted Freddie before the yowling started and stroked him whilst eating his yoghourt. Freddie started to purr, but all the time his eyes were fixed on the slowly disappearing chicken from Gemma’s plate. When Gemma finished she sniffed at Freddie’s bowl before heading for her place in the watery sunlight on the kitchen windowsill. Freddie looked forlornly at the empty plates and headed off to the red cushion on the back of the sofa.


Knowles hoped that all his other planning went as well as this breakfast had done. He still felt good from his workout. Now, all he had to do was find Maudie Trimble’s house in Goat Magna and find out what had happened the previous day. He cleaned off the dirty dishes and glass and put them in the rack. He stroked Gemma as she watched the sparrows through the window. He locked his back door and spotted Freddie asleep on the cushion. Knowles started his Land Rover and turned right out of his drive heading for the hamlet of Goat Magna. There was a little mist on the tops of the trees as Knowles carefully negotiated the muddy road. The cows had been driven down here already today, by the look and smell of it. Knowles turned into Goat Magna and followed the sign for Flixton.

Published by Julian Worker

Julian was born in Leicester, attended school in Yorkshire, and university in Liverpool. He has been to 94 countries and territories and intends to make the 100 when travel is easier. He writes travel books, murder / mysteries and absurd fiction. His sense of humour is distilled from The Marx Brothers, Monty Python, Fawlty Towers, and Midsomer Murders. His latest book is about a Buddhist cat who tries to help his squirrel friend fly further from a children's slide.

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