Top 40 Book Club Reads - Brisbane City Council

Top 40 Book Club Reads - Brisbane City Council

Queensland Writers Week - Update Day 7

Hi! Readers - what a good day! 645 words for the last day of QWW.

I have enjoyed being a part of QWW immensely, and the best thing of all is that I have kick started my novel and commenced on chapter 2.

Happy writing and reading to everyone.

Carol
aka Goldie Elston

Queensland Writers Week - Update Day 6

Hullo Readers - I haven't written today, but did research for my novel instead. I am ever so pleased, I found information on my maternal great grandfather that I'll be able to use in my book.

More writing tomorrow!

Carol
aka Goldie Elston

Queensland Writers Week - Update Day 5

Am in the midst of a block, but still managed to do 428 words. Having trouble with my paternal  great grandfather's story so have switched over to my maternal grandmother. Hope this block goes away by tomorrow!

Carol
aka Goldie Elston

 

Queensland Writers Week - Update Day 4

It seems I've only managed around 400 words per day so far. Today was 388. If I could write 500 words per day everyday for a year I'd have a first draft. Life gets in the way though doesn't it? Regardless of interruptions, I'm gonna keep plodding on!


Carol
aka Goldie Elston

Queensland Writers Week - Update Day 3

Hullo folks - 416 words today to be precise. I've nearly finished a chapter. Whoopee!

Carol aka Goldie Elston

Queensland Writers Week - Update Day 2

Hi! folks - Managed to do just over 500 words today. I'm pleased!

Carol aka Goldie Elston

Queensland Writers Week - Update Day 1

Hi! there - I'm so pleased to be taking part in QWW and hope I can get lots of writing done. It's been extremely hot in Brisbane today and I sat in the air-conditioning all afternoon. It's hard to believe it's spring and we're having a heat wave.

Now to my writing. I didn't write as much as anticipated. Only 428 words. Still, 428 words less to do tomorrow. In addition, I did do some editing and a tiny bit of research for my novel so I'm happy...Carol aka Goldie Elston

Tips and Exercise You Need to Write Crime With Katherine Howell

http://youtu.be/gka4AJNZUsE

Writing Prompts, Blogging Prompts, Story Topic Generators, Photo Inspiration · Creativity-Portal.com

Writing Prompts, Blogging Prompts, Story Topic Generators, Photo Inspiration · Creativity-Portal.com

Finding Humour in Teenage Drama

Finding Humor in Teenage Drama

 

 

by Laura Backes, Publisher

It seems when kids turn 13, one word sums up their lives: melodrama. Emotions hover on the surface; every event is huge. Adults are idiots who don't understand them, and their classmates are constantly watching to make sure they don't do anything stupid (which includes wearing the wrong clothes to saying the wrong thing to listening to the wrong music). Oh. My. God.

 

As adults on the receiving end of this hysteria, we may roll our eyes or deliberately show up at Back to School Night with wet hair, just to see our child's response. But as authors, we can mine the drama for its flip side: humor. Many books for teens feature characters who are on the edge of the abyss and facing life-or-death situations, extreme moral choices, or have been dealt a tough hand and have to somehow live with it. Their drama is achingly real. Or, a protagonist might be self-assured enough to rise above the sniping judgements of his peers. Both characters are admirable, but often not funny. Humor comes from a flawed character the reader genuinely likes, who's in a sticky situation the reader can easily imagine. Then the author turns it up a notch. The reader gets to laugh at someone who's like her, but from the safety of not having to actually suffer the humiliation personally.

In Denise Vega's click here (to find out how i survived seventh grade), Erin Swift is not having the best start to middle school. Her big feet are the butt of jokes, she lands the role of Corn Cob in the school play, and the Cute Boy she has a crush on becomes infatuated with her best friend Jilly. But Erin's a whiz with computers, and joins the Intranet Club to become the lead designer for the school's web site. She also keeps a secret blog where she spills all her innermost thoughts and true feelings about everyone at her school. When her blog accidentally gets posted on the school web site, Erin's convinced she's going to die. Vega's taken traditional middle school dynamics and filtered them through Erin's self-deprecating lens, which lightens up the angst of the genuinely heart-wrenching scenes (Cute Boy's attraction to Jilly, Erin overhearing girls criticizing her in the bathroom). Then Vega throws in every middle schooler's worst fear: that they'll be stripped metaphorically naked in front of their peers and revealed for who they really are. If Erin's public blog was the only drama in the book, we'd pity Erin but not really identify with her. But because of the melodrama in earlier scenes, we know that Erin's learning to laugh at herself, and she'll find a way to survive this very real problem.

Parents offer endless inspiration for melodrama. If you're looking for a good adolescent plot twist, simply ask yourself, "What the most embarrassing thing a parent could do to this character?" Your answer might give you a whole book. The opening line of Shelley Pearsall's All Shook Up says it all: "Looking back, I would say everything in my life changed the summer I turned thirteen and my dad turned into Elvis."

Like Vega, Pearsall keeps close to comforting upper middle grade territory but then cranks up the embarrassment. Josh is sent to live with his father in Chicago one summer when his mother has to take care of his sick grandmother. Josh hasn't seen his dad for a while, and assumes he's still the scatterbrained shoe salesman he remembered. But Dad's got a new gig as an Elvis impersonator. And what's more, when Josh's visit is extended into the fall and he starts school in Chicago, one of his classmates leaves him anonymous notes about Elvis. Josh's dwindling ability to keep his dad's identity a secret is completely shattered when Dad is invited to perform at the school's 1950s concert, and Josh must take drastic action that threatens to ruin his relationship with his father forever. Readers will certainly emphasize with Josh, but also observe how he and his father learn to compromise and respect the person each has become. Josh is forced to think about someone other than himself, which (along with the fact that Dad is a terrific performer) helps deflate the social suicide of having Elvis for a dad.

For my money, one of the best beach reads you'll find this summer is Two Parties, One Tux, and a Very Short Film About The Grapes of Wrath by Steven Goldman. 17-year-old Mitchell is a slightly scrawny, socially inept, average student, whose best (and only real) friend tells Mitchell he's gay one day at lunch. Mitchell's junior high school year is marked by trying to talk to girls (Does his sister and her best friend count?), navigating the school hierarchy, reassessing his friendship with David, and turning in a slightly pornographic claymation film in lieu of an English paper on a book he hasn't read. Much of the humor comes from Mitchell's dry, somewhat clueless first-person voice. He's hovering outside the whirl of popularity, and so can comment on high school without having much to lose. School Library Journal called the book "A side-splitting slice of male adolescence, [that] turns the spotlight on the ridiculousness that is the average, contemporary American high school experience."

When I asked Goldman how he writes humor, he said, "I was just trying to capture some of the feelings I could remember from high school, and really see the world through the eyes and the running narration of a character with a particular view of the world and a particular way of expressing his feelings. One of the things I really enjoy about writing YA is that I find high school students to be funny. Frankly, I think they have better senses of humor than adults. They are willing to put themselves in situations that no one with a brain would, and yet they have the intelligence to realize that they are doing it. That risk-taking extends to language as well -- they will say things that are brutally honest and horrible and therefore frequently funny." This brutal honesty, both with each other and themselves, creates those situations bordering on melodrama. Once of my favorite scenes from Two Parties is at prom, when Mitchell is in the bathroom thinking about his date who's abandoned him, and he accidentally pees on his white tux pants. While laughing at Mitchell's description of himself, I couldn't help but cringe at the image of him walking through the school gym with wet pants.

Even as an adult, I still feel I share in Mitchell's experience. That's why writing humor for teens may be easier than you think. As Goldman said, "We never really recover from our adolescence; those years starting in middle school and continuing through high school are so formative that they we can still find them in a lot of the ways that we feel about things as an adult. I might be 45, but when I walk into a party I swear I%u2019m still 17 and clueless about what to do next. We may leave high school, but we never really escape it."

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Other Side of the Story: Guest Author Anna Lee Huber: Writing Setting Throu...

The Other Side of the Story: Guest Author Anna Lee Huber: Writing Setting Throu...: By Anna Lee Huber, @AnnaLeeHuber Join me in welcoming Anna Lee Huber to the blog today, to chat with us about setting--and how you can ...

Book Launch by Fairfield Writers Group

Fairfield Writers Group are delighted to announce the launch of their third anthology, "Changing Seasons", the final book of a trilogy. Below are details -

Venue: Brisbane City Council Library
             Fairfield Gardens Shopping Centre
             180 Fairfield Road
             Fairfield, Queensland 4103

Date:    28th September 2013

Time:   10.00 am

There will also be an opportunity to order copies of our previous two anthologies in the trilogy, "Beginnings" and "Life's a Roller Coaster".

Refreshments will be served.

Changing Seasons Anthology by Fairfield Writers Group

 Less than a month to go until the launch of our anthology "Changing Seasons". Members have been busy handing out posters and flyers.

More on FWG Anthology

Fairfield Writers Group Qld - Third Anthology

 

Our anthology group members have been working hard on their stories since last year critiquing each others work, editing and proof-reading. The final proof is just about ready. Whoopee!

FWG Anthology

 

Fairfield Writers Group Qld - Third Anthology

 

FWG members are wildly excited about the upcoming release of their third Anthology, Changing Seasons. With 13 stories by 8 authors, Changing Seasons promises a great read, and is sure to be enjoyed by those who enjoyed our 2009 and 2011 Anthologies, Beginnings, and Life's a Roller Coaster.

Changing Seasons will be launched in Fairfield Library at 10 am on Saturday Sept. 28.

An Incident On The Train - A Short Story By Goldie Elston

 



 

 

 

Write a story that contains a train, shots fired and yelling.

 

Hullo Readers - The above is another exercise we did at writing group. Hope you enjoy it

Goldie

 

 

 

            Mum and I were on our way by train to visit her sister, my Aunty Betty, in the country town of Horsham. The train was fully booked. We were lucky to get tickets. I was getting ready for bed in the tiny sleeping compartment. Mum was already in the lower bunk and having taken her medications, fast asleep. I tried reading and could not concentrate, so stopped to peer out the window into the night that was awash with dark and foreboding shadows. The moon was full, although partially obscured by big black clouds.  We were nearly over a bridge that crossed a wide river. Suddenly the train stopped with a lurch and I heard loud noises like carriage doors being banged shut and yelling, then two gun shots. I shot out of bed, hurriedly pulled on some clothes, opened the door with a minimum of sound so as not to wake Mum, and made my way down the swaying passageway towards the front of the train, along with many other passengers I might add. I had not gone far when a guard came along and told everyone in no uncertain terms to go back to their sleeping compartments.

“There’s been an incident,” he said in a clipped voice, his lips barely moving as he spoke.

“What happened?” someone asked.

“Never you mind what happened, Sir” he answered brusquely, “No need to worry yourselves.”

“But, we are worried,” wailed some woman in a brown hat. Why she had on a hat at that time of night is beyond me.

“The passengers will be informed in the morning, in the dining car when breakfast is being served,” he said in his clipped voice, his pencil moustache not moving, not even a slight wiggle, as he spoke through his yellow, disgusting teeth.

I had to resist the urge to giggle. Pompous creature, I thought. I think he loves been in charge. Must be the uniform that’s gone to his head.

“None of you are in any danger and I will not tell you people again. Go back to your cabins immediately.”

We all shuffled back to our respective cabins muttering and complaining along the way.

I got back into bed. Mum was still sound asleep. The train convulsed into action, clanking and clumping, the whistle blowing. Slowly it moved down the track its wheels gathering momentum.  I could not sleep no matter how many sheep I counted and lay there wondering what had happened. I was just about to drop off when a scuffling sound outside our cabin door brought me to life and once more I threw on some clothes and peeked tentatively out the door. It was only one of the cleaners mopping the passageway floor.

“Oh dear, you did give me a fright,” I said.

 

“Sorry Miss,” the young man said. “I was trying to be quiet.”

“That’s alright. You’ve got to do your job.”

“I don’t suppose you know what happened on the bridge tonight do you?” I asked, and gave him my nicest smile for encouragement.

“As a matter of fact I do,” he answered, smiling back at me as he reached into his pocket for a cigarette, more than willing it seemed to have a break from the drudgery of cleaning and tell me what he knew.

I could not believe my luck.  My curiosity had been burning and dying to be satisfied all night and now I was going to find out.

“Why don’t we go to the end of the carriage where we won’t disturb anyone?” he suggested.

I hesitated for a minute; after all, I didn’t know this young man and he might have bad intentions, but my curiosity got the better of me and I walked with him to the end of the carriage. He lit his cigarette and lounged against the wall puffing smoke all over me of which I was not one bit impressed.

“Do you mind?” I complained. “I’m not a smoker. Keep your smoke to yourself.”

“So sorry,” he said in a sarcastic tone. Do you want to hear the story or not?”

“Yes, but not with a smokescreen in front of the storyteller,” I replied and glared at him.

“Well, as far as I could see this is what happened.”

“What do you mean, as far as you could see?”

“Oh, I hopped off the train and went to the front, keeping out of sight of course.

“What happened then?”

“There was a bundle lying on the railway line. Looked like it could have been a man. I suppose he had intentions of killing himself. Next thing another fellow came running from under the bridge with two constables and a German Shepherd in hot pursuit. The dog was about ten yards in the lead. The constables were armed with rifles. “Stop in the name of the law or we’ll shoot,” they yelled. He kept running, swerving this way and that way in an effort not to get shot I imagine. The bigger of the two constables lifted his arm and aimed the rifle. He fired two shots, missed the first time and then got him in the left leg with the next shot. The man staggered like a drunk. The German Shepherd reached him and leapt at his arm pulling him to the ground.  The man screamed, the police arrived and handcuffed him. Meanwhile, what I thought was a man lying on the track, in fact was, and he raised himself up to a standing position, crying like a baby. He must have thought that his mate was shot dead. I presume they were mates because they were both dressed identically with the same haircuts, if you can call shaven heads a haircut that is. My assumption is that they were prison escapees. The train driver was a bit of a mess, wandering around in a daze of no use to anyone. Must have given him an awful shock.”

“What happened then,” I asked. This was exciting!

“I can’t tell you anymore because I thought I’d better get back on the train before I was missed by the other cleaners. I could still hear that man sobbing his heart out as I boarded. Poor bugger, he must have been in a right state to consider killing himself.

“Gosh, what a night. Thanks for telling me all about it. I’ll say goodnight then. Mum will be wondering where I am,” I lied, feeling uneasy all of a sudden.

“What’s the hurry, Miss. How’s about a little kiss before you go?” the young man asked and placed his hand on my shoulder. I could see the lustful look in his eyes. My heart started to pound with fright. “N-n-no  th-th-thank you,” I stuttered, wrenching his hand from my shoulder as I turned around and fled. I could still hear his laughter echoing along the passageway when I reached the safety of my sleeping compartment.

Mum stirred when I crept back into the bunk.

“Is that you moving about Angela? Are you alright dear?”

“I’m fine Mum, just having a bad night.”

 

 

 

 

Book Review "The Pencil Case" by Lorraine Cobcroft

Lorraine is a member of the writing group I belong to. She received such a wonderful review for "The Pencil Case" I just had to share it. Congratulations, Lorraine!http://treesofreverie.tumblr.com/post/54249382703/book-review-the-pencil-case-by-lorraine-cobcroft

The Tale In The Dark

I was only nine years old when my parents moved our family to a small farm in country Victoria. I have two brothers and a sister who like me, were looking forward to an idealistic existence in the country. I looked forward to having animals. Something we had never had in the city.

            We'd been at the farm about a year and my brothers and sister and I loved the country. The birdsong in the morning, the rooster crowing, cows mooing and the freedom to run wherever we wanted fulfilled our dreams of country life. People say it’s isolated in the country, but I never thought so. The people from neighbouring farms were friendly always dropping in for a cup of tea and a chat. My mother had never entertained so much in all her life.

            My brothers had made friends at school with Max and Johnny. Max and Johnny were coming over at the weekend to watch a movie at our house, “Nightmare on Elm Street”. For those of you who are not movie goers, this is one creepy movie. Freddie Kruger is the most evil man you would ever not wish to meet on a dark night. At the time, I had never seen the movie and begged my mother to let me stay up with the big boys to watch it.

            Mum, being a good mother said, “No, you can't, Jack. You'll have bad dreams and I'll never get any sleep. Your sister has to go to bed and you can too, my boy.”

            Well, I wheedled and cajoled her into submission. I can be very determined when I want to be.

            “Alright,” she said at last, giving in out of frustration and worn out by my nagging.

            “Whoopee!” I yelled.

            We all sat in the dark in the living room. The television cast eerie shadows around the room. We weren't far into the movie when I knew I was going to have nightmares.

            “Sure you don't want to go to bed?” said my biggest brother, Billy. “Sure it's not too scary for you?”

            The other boys snickered.

            “It's okay,” I said, my voice quivering.

            I sat boggle-eyed right through the movie and when it was finished I was too scared to go outside to the dunny or even to pee outside the kitchen door onto the veggie garden. I just went to bed.

            I woke in the middle of the night busting for a pee. I hopped out of the bed and peered under it.

             “Darn,” I muttered. Mum had forgotten to put the pot under the bed. I climbed back into bed and lay there for about ten minutes. It was becoming unbearable. I just had to get up and go outside to the loo. The kitchen door creaked as I opened it, setting the mood like icing on a cake. It was pitch black outside and the wind was blowing.  I heard the sound of an owl hooting somewhere close by. There was a whirr of wings overhead. The safety of the enclosed dunny seemed more appealing than standing vulnerable peeing in the vegetable patch, so I tip-toed over the wet grass my heart in my mouth, hoping I would not disturb any bogey men who might be lurking around behind the dunny. When I had nearly reached it I ran like hell, opened the door, slammed it shut and stood there. The relief was enormous. I was about to make a dash back to our house, when I heard a rustling sound, then some thuds. I was rooted to the spot. Could it be Freddie Kruger? I never gave God a thought most of the time, but I did then.

            “Please God,” I prayed, “please, please save me from this monster.”

            My heart raced a million miles an hour. I wanted to pee again, but with extreme effort put that thought out of my mind. I stood there breathing heavily. I was hot all over. My hands were clammy. I felt like I didn't have any legs, that concrete stumps were holding me up instead.

            I waited another minute. There were those noises again, a thud and the rustling of something. I slowly opened the dunny door a crack. Oh gosh, something dark and monstrous was moving by the old broken fence over on the other side of the back-yard.

            It was Freddie Kruger coming to get me. I just knew it! I'll have to run, I thought, and terrified, I bolted towards the kitchen door. Pyjama pants falling down around my ankles, I tripped up the back stairs into the arms of my mother.

            “What in the hell do you think you're doing, Jack,” she cried and turned the back porch light on.

            Standing in the long grass, blinking in the bright light, with her tail thudding to and fro against the fence was Betsy, our house cow, calmly chewing her cud.

The Severed Head

This story is the result of an exercise set at writing group. The exercise was to write a short story using the following words -

 

"The head, severed with surgical precision, had been placed at a jaunty angle on the window ledge......"

 

Some interesting stories were written and not all of them about murder. Hope you enjoy my first attempt at a "Whodunit" and don't find it too gruesome...Goldie

 

"The head, severed with surgical precision, had been placed at a jaunty angle on the window ledge......"

 

Inspector James frowned as he observed the head. “Some bastard has a sick sense of humour or they’re just plain sick,’ he said to his assistant Curtis.

 

“I thoroughly agree Sir,” said Curtis, who suppressed an urge to vomit.

 

Elizabeth, a maid at the Compton house, discovered the head as she came into the dining room to set the table for breakfast. She was in a terrible state. The cook took her to the kitchen for a cup of tea and was trying to calm her down.

 

Brown the butler, phoned the police immediately.

 

The head in question belonged to Mrs Compton the lady of the house and young second wife of Neville Compton who was at present on business overseas.

 

“Come, Curtis, we’ll go outside and see what’s out there.”

 

It was damp outside from recent rain. If there had been any footprints they were washed away. James and Curtis thoroughly searched the grounds for a body but found nothing. Curtis was by the back door that led to the kitchen and dining room. He was bent over examining something. It was a gold necklace with a gold pendant in which was set a tiny ruby.

 

“Who would have dropped it in such an obvious place where it would be seen by many of the staff?

 

“Only a dimwit I’d say,” said James or else someone trying to put us off the scent. “Unless of course the murderer didn’t realize it had fallen off the body. Presuming it belongs to Mrs Compton that is.”

 

Suddenly high pitched screams omitted from the house in the direction of the kitchen. James and Curtis high tailed it inside to find cook standing at the open freezer white-faced and gibbering like a fool.

 

“Calm down please Madam and tell us what you have seen.” said James.

 

“L-l-look i-i-in the f-f-freezer I-I-Inspector J-J-James.”

 

There in the freezer was the headless body of Mrs Compton lying on its side with the arms and legs hacked off and layed neatly beside it.

 

Inspector James called in the forensic team and informed the staff they were not to leave the house until he had interviewed them all.

 

There was a knock on the kitchen door and Nellie, Mrs Compton’s personal assistant answered it. “Oh, it’s you,” she said looking with disdain at the man standing there.

 

“What’s happening? I heard screams?”

 

“Mrs Compton is dead Jack, someone has decapitated her. That’ll take the wind out of your sails.”

 

Curtis came to the door and asked, “Who are you?”

 

“I’m the gardener.”

 

“More than the gardener!” sniffed Nellie.

 

Well don’t leave the property until you’ve been interviewed,” Curtis said.

 

Interviews were held all morning. Cook had stayed in all night in her room. She read until late and never heard a thing.

 

Both Elizabeth and Nellie went to the local dance with their boyfriends and did not arrive home until the early hours of the morning.

 

Brown the butler went to the hotel in the village to meet a friend and came home about midnight.

 

Jack the gardener said he was in all night and watched television and then went to bed. 

 ***

 

“Curtis, I want you to verify with those boyfriends of the girls and Brown’s friend their whereabouts last night. Ask the publican if he saw Brown at any time too.”

 

Inspector James had a feeling that something was not right with the gardener’s alibi. He seemed evasive and nervous.  “I think I’ll have a word with him again,” he said to himself.

***

Now Jack, “How long have you worked here?”

 

“About a year Inspector.”

 

“Have you always worked as a gardener?”

 

“No.”

 

“What did you do before you worked here then?”

 

“I worked at a butcher shop.”

 

“You mean you were a butcher?”

 

“Well, yes.”

 

“What did you think of Mrs Compton, Jack?”

 

“She was okay.”

 

“Some of the others say you thought she was more than okay.”

 

“We used to talk a lot about the plants and things. She liked gardening.”

 

“Hum, thank you Jack. That will be all for now.”

 

Inspector James took himself outside and went to the garden shed. It was dark and gloomy and smelled of fertiliser.

 “Aha!” there wrapped in towels behind the fertislier were implements as such used by butchers. The longest sharp knife was smeared with blood. “Another job for forensics,” he thought as he carefully wrapped the implements in the towel again. “This seems too easy.”

 ***

 

“All their stories checked out Sir,” said Curtis.

 

“Good, but I’ve found something of interest while you were away. Forensics will give us the answer by the morning. I want everyone in the house assembled in the sitting room by eleven o’clock in the morning, Curtis.”

 

“Yes, Sir!”

 ***

 

Cook, Brown, Elizabeth, Nellie and Jack were already seated at the dining room table when Inspector James and Curtis arrived next morning.

 

“Inspector, shall I bring in tea for everyone before we start?” asked Cook.

 

“No! This is a murder investigation not a tea party Madam.” Red-faced, Cook sat down on her chair dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

 

“I’ll start with you Elizabeth and you Nellie. Your stories checked out.

 

Cook, I think that even though you disliked Mrs Compton you are no murderer.

 

Now, Jack; you say that you and Mrs Compton talked about gardening and that was all. Well I don’t believe you. I put it to you that Mrs Compton and you were having an affair and that on the night she was murdered she had visited you at your house. I’m right aren’t I Jack?” Jack nodded and hung his head. “However, I don’t believe you murdered Mrs Compton even though I found that blood-stained knife amongst your butcher’s tools. You loved her didn’t you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And I come to you Brown. Your story checked out at the pub and you did arrive home at midnight. However, there was still plenty of time to decapitate a body and dispose of it in the freezer and enough time to place the severed head on the window sill before daybreak.”

 

Brown turned pale. “Oh, no Sir, not me.”

 

“Oh, yes Sir. Your fingerprints were on the knife.

 

“All right, all right Inspector. I did kill her and she deserved it. Miss High and Mighty! We all; I mean Cook, Nellie, Elizabeth and myself; hate her for the way she treats Mr Compton. He doesn’t deserve what she dishes out. Mr Compton is a good man and treats her like a queen. Ungrateful trollop!  As for Jack, we despise him for carrying on with her while Mr Compton is away working hard to pay for bills she runs up.”

 

“Tell me what happened Brown.”

 

“Well, I was coming home from the pub when I saw the light still on at Jack’s house and I knew she was there. I waited until she came out and grabbed her on her way home. I dragged her across the highway that runs beside Mr Compton’s property into the scrub and did it there. I’d taken Jack’s butchering implements a while back and had them with me.”

 

“Do you mean to say, you had planned all this sometime ago?” asked the Inspector.

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“Tell me Brown, why did you put her body in the freezer and her head on the window sill?”

 

“I put her head on the window sill because I wanted the others to know she was dead not just missing. I thought they’d be pleased. As for her body, it was getting near daylight and there was no time to bury her. I panicked and shoved her in the freezer after I chopped off her legs and arms so the body would fit. I had to hurry to clean up the mess in the bathroom before anyone got out of bed. I must say I was rather pleased with the way I managed it. Later on I hid Jack’s tools back in the garden shed.”

 ***

 

Inspector James and Curtis were seated at the bar of the local hotel.

 

“Well Sir, another case solved.” Curtis took a gulp of the frothy beer. “I must say I think Brown is completely sick. The way he said he was rather pleased with how he managed it.”

 

“I agree completely Curtis.”