Don't Drink Bees

The Branson family members sat speechless around the chalk outline on the drawing room floor where their formerly rich and living relative lay moments before with a knife in his back.

The inspector entered the room. "I'm glad you're all here," he said.

"Do you know who killed Uncle Charlie?" Annette pleaded.

The inspector nodded.

"How do you know?" Lillian asked. "Did the killer leave fingerprints?" She eyed her cousin William suspiciously.

"No."

"Did someone confess?" Simon tapped his fingers on his armchair nervously.

"No one yet."

"Was there a clue in my husband's will?" Aunt Mabel asked, glaring at Lillian.

"No."

"Was anything stolen?" Lillian asked, returning Aunt Mabel's blazing gaze.

"I don't know. Was there?" The inspector surveyed the room.

Simon looked at his hands. William examined a spot on the ceiling. Annette's eyes flitted to the piano. Aunt Mabel and Lillian continued to glare at one another.

"Was there?' the inspector repeated.

"I'm sure there wasn't," Lillian answered, her eyes never leaving her aunt's face.

"Perhaps it was a serial killer," William suggested.

"Could be," said the inspector.

"Did the murderer leave a signature of some sort?" Annette asked.

"No."

"Were any clues left at all?" Simon wondered.

"I don't know," the inspector answered.

"Then how could you know who did?" Annette demanded.

"I killed him," the inspector replied.

"What?" Lillian's head jerked around. "But why?"

"For a dramatic plot twist." The inspector smiled. "But William had a rather interesting idea."