By Shawnee Bysh
So, I guess you wanna ask how ole Drake Steel solves the case. Well, it’s simple, to begin with, dumping this antique book on my doorstep with a road address I don’t know. Plus, a nameless note sayin: If this finds Mr. Steel, I select you, please appear at my home by bewitching hour. I set out near midnight, stopping for a pack of caboose before approaching the estate. The entire place’s feeling weird pulling up to the entrance. Suspecting not a terrific idea that I’m here for a split second.
I tiptoe up to the front door and I see it’s ajar. Using a handkerchief to push it open toward the silhouette of the entryway. Stepping inside a few feet in I trip over something big. Back up feel for the light switch that’s now plain to see doesn’t work. Stumble along in search of the circuit breaker. My hand firm against the wall as I head down to the basement. Where I find the switch at the bottom of the stairs to turn the lights on.
I look about the stark room, finding only half-empty boxes and what appears to be paintings cover in sheets go back to check what I tripped over moments ago. Once at the top of the stairs looking across the foyer I see a body. Wonder if he’s the guy who plants the book and the note on my place. I poke around for evidence of any kind. I find an id on the entryway table. Stumble onto a letter that turns out to be the exact letter that’s sent to my place. Only this one has more to it. Scanning past what I previously read to the addition, I realize he wants me to solve his murder. And giving the name of Lowe Nikelmyer. Mr. Steel, can you solve my departure? Before the murderer leaves town at sunrise. You must do it as soon as possible. Before, my will’s read you must, as you say, crack the case. By sunrise because as of nine o’clock tomorrow it’ll be too late to apprehend the killer. I spend the next little while trying to sort through all the gold nuggets left for me.
Which I thought is odd, especially knowing he’d be a victim. Leave the body going in search of other places ask questions. And by sunrise, I find my answer when I meet him at the airport. After I recognize who is actually on the floor in the house. You see, in the will, it makes it loud and clear that if dying before the fiftieth birthday. His twin, a few family members, and some associates who he’s trying to stiff inheritance out of early would get nothing from the will, it’ll all go to charity. Now if he makes it to eighty, they get a fifteen million lump sum each. Here’s the kicker though turns out this fortune’s not even his to start with. Mr. Nikelmyer from a few trustful acquaintances along the way. Of course, He wants to keep the cash while dragging me into it by investigating a bogus death. Instead of living on the wealth, he’s now in prison for the rest of his life for fraud and larceny. And nobody’s getting the dough, not even Nikelmyer.
My Labyrinth 