The Case Of The Deadly Butter Chicken - Plot & Excerpts
She was probably the only person in the world in a position to unravel this murder. Should she act upon what she knew? Surely it was too much of a coincidence that she should find herself at the scene of his murder after all these years. Mummy did not believe in coincidences. Everything was connected in this life. Everything. But what would her involvement achieve - assuming, that is, she could identify the killer? What was the point in dredging up the past? At five-thirty, before the rest of the household had risen, Mummy tiptoed downstairs, slipped on her tennis shoes, and with her shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders and a woolly hat pulled down over her head, stepped out into the cold, misty dawn. For an hour, she followed the pathway that circled the neighbourhood's tatty communal garden. Round and round she went, head bent in contemplation, the arguments for and against going back and forth in her head, until she came to a decision - a compromise of sorts. She would try to establish the identity of the murderer.
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