Mr Stone's Hunting Lodge

Chapter Eight

The sound of Mrs Forsythe banging on Mr Stone's locked office door and her pleading of innocence surely could have been heard for miles, even through the deafening storm.

'I can't believe she did it,' said Mr Forsythe, making sure his outdoor coat was buttoned up all the way to the top. They had returned to the Great Room. 'But she's always had a temper. This time she must have been pushed over the edge. Mrs Slain, I apologize for what my wife has done.'

'We have to be careful here,' said Mr Stone. 'She does have a motive, but the evidence against her is slight.'

'If it's not her,' replied Mr Forsythe, 'Mr Hayward is next in line.'

'I've already explained myself,' said Mr Hayward.

'And what you said could have been all lies.'

Mr Hayward snapped at Mr Forsythe. 'Maybe you killed him.'

'Who me?' Mr Forsythe was aghast. 'I don't know if I should be offended or laugh at such a preposterous notion. As all of you may have worked out, I am a complete pushover, a coward. I wouldn't hurt a fly.'

And as if right on cue, Betty made her appearance. The ginger tabby leapt onto Mr Forsythe and began clawing at his coat. But in an instant, he threw her off with force, making her hiss before running away. 'Bloody thing.' Again, he made sure his coat was properly done up.

Mr Stone straightened up in realization, his features reacting as if a light bulb had just gone off. 'Mr Forsythe, can you recap your moments at the time of Mr Slain's murder? Just so I can get a picture of the window your wife had alone.'

'Sure. I was feeling cold - I'm very easily chilled - so I came down here to sit next to the fire, leaving my wife in our room.'

'And you picked up your coat from the rack by the front door before sitting down?'

'That's right. The more warmth the better.'

'If you were cold in your room, why didn't you put something on there?'

Mr Forsythe scrunched up his face in suspicion as the others began to take notice. 'What is this? Are you interrogating me?'

'I'm doing no such thing. Like I said before, I just want to get a picture.'

'If you must know, I didn't want to wake up my wife looking for a sweater or putting one on . . . you know how she is.'

'So, when you got warm down here, you went back upstairs?'

'Precisely.'

'And you kept your coat on?'

'I felt nice and toasty in it, so yes.'

'Can I ask you one more thing? Can you do something for me?'

Mr Forsythe answered with a shrug.

'Can you take off your coat?'

'Excuse me?' Mr Forsythe was completely blown away by the request. 'No, I won't.'

Mr Stone stood up, looking grave. 'I insist.'

Getting to his feet too, Mr Forsythe said, 'Or what?'

'Or I'll take it off myself.'

'You touch me and I'll sue you for everything you --'

Mr Forsythe was not able to finish his thought, for Mr Stone pounced, ripping open his coat. His shirt was stained with blood. Mr Slain's blood.

'Care to explain that?' asked Mr Stone as all the others launched out of their seats in shock.

Backing away, Mr Forsythe grimaced. 'Not particularly.'

'Why did you do it?'

A look of being caught soon took over Mr Forsythe as he stared at everyone's glare. He then said, 'If you must know . . . I snapped, all right. I snapped. I was sitting here when Steve walked passed on his way to the cellar. He laughed at me in my face, saying that I wore the skirt in my marriage. I followed him and killed him. Simple as that.' He ran his hands down his shirt. 'I got all this blood on me. I put my coat on to hide it.'

'And you framed your wife by planting the murder weapon in her robe?'

'Yep.'

'Why?'

'Cause I bloody hate her. I would loved to have seen her suffer in jail. She was mine . . . my jail.'

THE END