My aunt Clara was dead, and evidently her butler was the culprit. Of course, news of her death didn’t exactly come as a surprise. Not that she was old, by any means, but at sixty-eight, Clara hadn’t changed much from her wild childhood. The sixties had been very good to her. I’d expected to hear that she’d died in some sort of mountain-climbing accident, or jumping out of a plane, not to get some ten-word message that said everything and explained nothing. I tried to call my cousin but got his voice mail. As usual, he was avoiding the situation. Really, who uses telegrams anymore? Not answering the phone meant he wouldn’t have to talk to me, and that meant there’d be no ride waiting when I arrived at the airport. I hoped my credit card would stretch to cover a trans-Atlantic trip. My fulltime “real world” job and nearly fulltime writing schedule left little time or money for expensive vacations in the English countryside.
What do You think about The Butler Didn't Do It (2011)?
