The Body in the Library
By
Phoenix Hocking
I suppose the funny thing about this is that my name really is Agatha Christie. No, not that one.
My mother was a great fan of Ms. Christie, and our last names being the same, she thought it might be great fun to name me after her favorite author.
It might have been fun for her, but believe me, explaining my name almost every day of my life has been no fun at all. Trust me, no one in my age group was named Agatha except me.
Anyway, when I woke up this morning, and actually found a body in my library, I was more amused than shocked. I confess that my first thought was, “Oh, Mom would have loved this!”
Well, the seriousness of the situation did not take long to arrive, however. There was a body in the middle of my library floor, and what was I going to do about it?
I guess I should explain here that I don’t really have a library. What I call my library is what most people in my apartment complex use as their dining room.
I don’t have a dining table in my dining room. Instead, I lined the walls with bookshelves, and placed just one chair in the corner, with a good end table and proper lamp to one side.
I live alone, and take my meals mostly sitting in my recliner in front of the television set, watching Jeopardy! or Wheel of Fortune, or Death in Paradise.
I’ve always rather enjoyed murder mysteries. I love the puzzle of them, not the gore. I also read a lot of medieval mysteries, and watching shows like Midsomer Murder, Father Brown, or Miss Fisher. And of course, I love Agatha Christie’s novels. How could I not, with my name?
So, the puzzle that was the dead body in my own library, sent quite a shock through me.
A body.
In my library.
Imagine that!
Well, I stepped a little closer to get a better look. His poor eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling, and his body was quite rigid. So, what does that mean? How long had he been dead?
Obviously, he must have died during the night while I slept, but how had he gotten in in the first place? Why hadn’t I noticed? And for heaven’s sake, why hadn’t my dog given any kind of notice?
Well, to be fair, Hercule is quite old, and his hearing isn’t what it used to be. He probably slept through the whole thing.
Still, there was a body in my library, and what was I going to do about it?
What were my options?
Well, I could call the police, I suppose. I mean, that would be the most logical thing. But there would be questions. Lots of questions. And due to certain other mishaps in the past, which I’d rather not go into, I’d just as soon not involve the local gendarmes.
I could call my son. He’d know what to do. But, again, my son pretty much never believes me anymore about anything I call him about. He’s been to my house so many times about some tiny little thing, that I don’t think he’d come for a big thing. So, that’s out.
I carefully stepped around the body and went into the kitchen. I turned on the Keurig and plucked a k-cup of Hazelnut from the box, waited for the water to heat, then pressed the button.
When the coffee finished brewing, I poured one tablespoonful of creamer into the cup and gave it a stir. I looked toward the dining room, but the body hadn’t moved.
But then, it wouldn’t, would it?
I stepped around it again and went into the living room to view it.
The eyes still stared at the ceiling, the limbs were still stiff, and I was still faced with a dilemma.
Now, in Christie’s original story, the body was that of a young woman, and there was quite enough story to keep one occupied for many pages.
I had just about decided what to do when my elderly dog, Hercule, decided to get his old bones out of bed. He sauntered into the living room and stopped near my right foot. He looked at the body, then looked at me.
He walked over and sniffed it once, then turned away, as if disgusted. He made his way to the doggie door that leads out onto the patio to do his business.
Apparently, dead bodies were none of his concern.
So, I finally did what any sane and rational person would do. I put down my coffee cup, walked back into the library, picked the body of the dead mouse up by its tail, dropped it into the kitchen garbage pail, tied the bag and took it out to the trash.
Still, I do wonder how it got in, in the first place.
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