Dreams - (Short stories)

Mystery

(Author's Note - written for this weeks prompt from The_Weekend_Write-In mystery. Exactly 500 words, not counting this note)

Agatha sat hunched over her keyboard, fingers poised, ready to rap out her weekly story. A 500-word mystery, how hard could it be? Her famous namesake had not only written 66 novels, but 14 volumes of short stories for heaven's sake, and all she had to come up with were a measly five hundred words.

She had her sassy detective, Vivian Sherlock, she of the red lipstick and matching red beret, looking over her shoulder, just hanging out for a new case to solve with her customary flair, but so far... nothing. She could almost see Vivian pursing her lips, drumming those long nails impatiently.

The Mystery of the... what? Murderous Motorcar? Been done, almost certainly. The Mystery of the Murderous Magpie? Probably a lot of cyclists attacked by swooping birds at nesting season could identify with that, but it wasn't very mysterious. Rather predictable, in fact.

Or what about the Musical Magpie? Cute, but where was the plot? Agatha rubbed her forehead. She could sense Vivian rolling her eyes and pouring herself a large gin without the tonic. Agatha tried to concentrate.

The Mystery of the Missing Magpie! Hmm, that had promise, but how to weave the bird into a plausible plot...why would anyone steal a magpie? She pondered. The obvious answer, was because it had witnessed a murder, but then, was the wretched bird missing because it had been killed, stolen, or tossed out the window?

Agatha rolled her shoulders and rotated her neck. She stared at the ceiling for inspiration, closed her eyes, opened them again, then stood and went across to the refrigerator. Vivian had the right idea - a gin and tonic would hit the spot. Actually, ditch the tonic, it only watered down the good stuff. Sipping her drink, Agatha returned to her desk.

Perhaps she should skip the alliteration, along the lines of perhaps the most famous example of a mystery, The Mystery of Edwin Drood by Dickens. And then, her namesake had written The Mystery of the Blue Train and A Caribbean Mystery, both highly successful without any need for alliteration.

Maybe it was time for that old standby, flicking through a book or newspaper with her eyes shut and plopping her finger down on a random spot. Suiting the action to the thought, she opened her eyes and saw, The Mystery of the... Daily Double at Mt Gambier. Agatha sighed. Not as inspiring as she had hoped. At this rate it was going to be The Mystery of the Defeated Writer.

She stared out the window but nothing was happening, not even the usual magpie, musical or otherwise, hopping around on the lawn. She sighed, and twiddled the pen she always kept handy for jotting down notes. What about-? No. Poisoned pens had been done to death, literally.

This wasn't working. She swallowed the last of her gin, took a deep breath and closed her eyes, emptying her over-crowded mind.

Her eyes flew open. Yes! Absolutely brilliant! The Mystery of The-