The Great Beginning

A murder most foul has occured in the Tiramis household.

Within mere instances I saw it. The flare in my partner’s eyes, like the birth of a single fire in the darkest of nights. He had finally grasped it, the truth of the matter. And he was determined to ignite this flare into a devastating blaze, burning down the corrupting roots of lies. His lips curled into a smirk filled with the mischievousness of a child, as they signified his already determined victory. Without missing a single beat of his momentum, he raised his hands as if they were batons, and was ready to orchestrate the truth with his mere words. It was absolutely breathtaking.

“Miss Tirasmen, how terrifyingly accurate your name is,” he chuckled.

The middle-aged woman’s neatly plucked eyebrows flew upwards on her forehead, and hid behind her luscious, blonde curls. He always liked throwing his audience of the scent before luring them back in by his narrative.

“The Spanish word for lies is “Mentiras”, if one would switch the latter half of your name and move it to the front, one would achieve this word. And it is quite fitting considering the lies you have been spewing to us this afternoon.”

His tongue rolled beautifully when pronouncing the foreign word. Miss Tirasmen started quivering, her jewelry clattering in the process, as her worst fears had probably become reality. Her overly mascaraed eyes narrowed, and a flare ignited in her eyes as well. But this flare was of a predator, backed into a corner, yet was desperately determined to fight to the bitter end. My partner tapped once with his foot, and then with his cane, a rhythmic symbol to signify the opening of the curtains.

“Are you perhaps familiar with the term “Audentem Forsque Venusque iuvat”?”

Miss Tirasmen glared at him bewildered, uncertain whether she should laugh or be more frightened.

“It means; “Both love and luck help the bold”. Most fitting of this crime you have committed, wouldn’t you say?”

The flare quelled, but only for mere moments, before igniting into a storm of pure rage. But only one blaze would conquer the other, and neither were planning on backing down.

“You dare accuse me of murdering my niece!?” she roared with the intensity and ferocity of a tiger.

But the claws of her question did not scratch or even flinch my partner, he stood firmly, the cane now twirling around in his right hand. If she lashed out again, he had all the tools necessary to defend himself with.

“Oh, I’m not accusing you at all! We both know it’s the truth, so I’m simply stating an obvious fact. Now, would you like me to retell the tale of your cold-blooded murder, or are you going to make a run for it first?”

The corner was suddenly expanded, allowing the predator more room to maneuver her escape. As she turned her heels, ready to make a mad dash for the glassy balcony door, my partner gave his cane a light tug. What Miss Tirasmen had failed to notice was the lean rope my partner had whipped around her foot while he was playing with his cane. With a loud crash, she pummeled to the ground, her jewelry flying about. My partner lightly tapped the top bulb on his cane, and the rope swiftly retreated into the cane.

“Better to sip regret than swallow death, no?”

Miss Tirasmen’s downfall had sent her into a quivering state of shock, and the only sensible reply she was able to make was that of a nod.

“Now, let’s take it from the top, shall we?” he proclaimed with a dignified bow.

“Of course, when the police entered the room they only took note of the body laying silently on its back, the door you claim your cousin Jack walked out of during the murder, and finally the blood-red letters hiding beneath the victim’s fingertip, spelling the name “Jack”. But it’s only through the study of the environment surrounding the body I was able to comprehend this ticking time bomb of a murder. I noticed a peculiar motif in your niece’s room. Everything was associated with the color green or blue, and by studying the ornaments and decorations of the room, one would only conclude that she has a particular fondness of nature and the great seas. However, sitting nicely on her vanity dresser, a black box resided. Peculiar wouldn’t you say?”

He gestured towards Miss Tirasmen, as if he practically was nailing the nails in her coffin. However, he knew silence would be her answer so he continued nonetheless.

“Now, a toy wouldn’t be uncommon, I saw plenty of them residing atop the many shelves. But this diamond-patterned, black and gray box, it was like a dark-furred wolf, hiding among the innocent, white sheep. The lever at the side gave away the fact that this was a jack-in-the-box. Upon rolling the lever around, the doll popped up. Nothing strange about that, no? However, what is strange is the fact that the panel in front seemed to have been turned 90 degrees to the left, as its pattern did not match with the other sides. Upon forcing the panel away, it revealed a room, with the exact mechanism of the one the doll sprung out from, although, it lacked something attached to the spring. The tips with little nodes at the end lacked an object to attach to. Remember this, as it is most vital to understanding this devious plot you have concocted.”

“The knife plunged into the victim’s chest is hiding some secrets as well. First off, it’s from this manor’s collection of hunter’s knives received as a gift from the republic of Ecuador. Another reason why Jack Goodwill has fallen under suspicion, as he has been the bearer of the key, which opens the glass lid to the knives, for the last four months. But that matter will resolve itself as we progress this tale. Now, the murder weapon has been tempered with. At the end of the handle, a small circular hole has been torched through the iron. This is exclusive to the murder weapon as the other knives did not carry this characteristic. For whatever reason has the murder weapon been tampered with in this way? But it didn’t take me long to assert that the handle of the knife fitted perfectly in the nodes which were hiding behind the hidden panel. You see what I’m getting at?”

He raised an eyebrow mockingly, as he knew by Miss Tirasmen’s heavy breathing, sweating hands, twitching eyes, that every word he uttered was true.  

“I don’t think I have to spell out for you how you mixed the innocent toy with the malicious blade. The question is rather, when did you install this trap? Unfortunately for you, Miss Tirasmen, the box you acquired for this misdeed is a rare collector’s item, only sold during a specific time last December. Only for a mere five days was this toy on sale, and only a limited number were produced. Remember when I said, “Both love and luck help the bold”? Regrettably for you, it does not favor the stupid. All the buyers were photographed for the morning newspaper, and I vividly remember a grown woman standing ominously amongst the children. Wasn’t that you Miss Tirasmen?”

Her face became white as a sheet, her secrets being unraveled one by one. The ferocity that has one occupied her eyes dimmed, and instead was replaced by a realization of the consequences that would follow the release of the truth.

“Now, Jack did not move in until the beginning of February, four months ago. Until then, according to the staff, you were the key bearer, Miss Tirasmen, which means you had access to the knives at some point after acquiring the box. We can narrow down the frame for which the box was modified. Between the end of December until the beginning of February. Now, when was it placed there? The only logical conclusion would be after Jack’s arrival, as he would be your scapegoat. Your Pandora’s Box has been sitting on that shelf for four whole months, just waiting for the recipient to open it. She must surely have been reluctant to dignify that gloomy box by playing with it, but curiosity killed the cat it seems.”

Miss Tirasmen had found a comfortable, red, leathered chair for which she plunged into. It was probably overwhelming for her that he had uncovered her trickery. Her mouth opened and closed, as if she wanted to object, but although the flesh was willing, her spirit was failing. He elegantly lowered himself into the lounge chair opposite of her, and sipped on the delicate tea she had brought in before he had teared her apart. I knew he was not a fan of tea, but rather the theatric appeal of sophistical gloating.

“Y…you can’t prove it was me…” she was finally able to stutter.   

“Well, you have been quite thorough, not leaving any fingerprints and all. But judging by your drained face, the nervous shaking of your hands, and that minor twitch on your left eyelid, I think my narrative is quite spot on. I suggest you change into something more comfortable, rather than flashy. You’re going to spend a bit of time at the station. And I would advise you not to try and make an escape again, I’ve already informed the police of your heinous crime.”

She just glared at him, with eyes filled with regret.

“Plaudite, acta est fabula.”

Even though I’m sure that Miss Tirasmen knew nothing of Latin, she left the living room, her whole demeanor had become that of someone who was going to the electric chair. Of course, I knew the phrase, as it was what he always ended his tales, with; “Applaud, the play is over”. I made room for myself in the chair and sat next to him. He still radiated with excitement and adrenaline.

“Was the only thing that gave Miss Tirasmen the picture from the newspaper?” I asked.

“Oh, certainly not Alex. It was but an afterthought. But only three people live in this house, and one of them was found dead this morning. It was process of elimination,” he replied firmly.

“But why couldn’t it be Jack?”

“First off, Jack has served several years in the military and has been deployed several times. If he had killed the victim, she would have died on the spot thereby not being able to write her dying message. Second, Miss Tirasmen lied in her testimony.”

“She did?”

“Yes, she claimed to have seen Jack leave the crime scene after the time of death from her bedroom door. That’s simply impossible, as the angle from her bedroom door was obscured by the staff installing new sliding-doors between the rooms.”

“Huh, then there’s only one mystery remaining then.”

He gleefully smirked at my remark.

“The incriminating letters spelling “Jack” I presume?”

“Yes.”

“She was spelling the name of her murderer. The jack-in-the-box. Too bad she wasn’t allowed to finish the name, it might have made this whole incident easier from the beginning. However, where’s the fun in that?”

His smile oozed of satisfaction, as every thread had been neatly knitted into the truth. But I knew that smile. His journey had come to an end. In only mere moments, he would be gone. The spark within his eyes silently died out. The grandfather clock rang loudly in the 12^th hour of the day. And then he finally came to, looking around himself perplexed.

“Uhm, Alex, where are we?”

I chuckled at his puzzlement, and gently kissed him on the cheek.

“Don’t worry, you just got yourself a little lost again. Wanna go home?”

His confused eyes lingered on mine, but he accepted my lackluster explanation. We both rose, and as our hands intertwined, me and my boyfriend left the manor, leaving Miss Tirasmen to the police. Too bad Dante will never remember the great mystery he solved today, just like the others. But I was happy, because I always remembered.    

Author's Note

Constructive criticism