“I’ve called you all here because one of you in this room is a murderer.”
A gasp or two, a snort of surprise and some protestations of innocence greeted that awful announcement.
Deetle Domesworthy, the cleverest beetle detective in the insect world, paused, noting each response. This room, the observatory, comfortably held all of the suspects, even the larger ones like Prudence Stembright, a praying mantis widow, and Slasher Mandrake, a particularly wicked scorpion. A Daddy long-legs, mayfly, dragonfly, aphid, and, of course, Dwight, the late Mr. Flutter’s cockroach butler, completed the group.
The collected insects and arachnids waited in silence as Domesworthy prepared to speak. “Mr. Flutter was a beautiful monarch butterfly,” he began, slowly walking about the room on four of his six legs, “a generous butterfly, a butterfly to admire and one who had no enemies.” Domesworthy stopped for effect. “Perhaps just one. The one who killed him.”
Darla Crawley, the aphid, burst into tears. ”’e was a right nice fellow, ‘e was,” she sputtered out in her cockney accent.
“Really?” Domesworthy fixed her with his characteristic stare, using his compound eye. “Then why did you leave Mr. Flutter alone, sunning himself on his porch?”
“Why, to get ‘im fresh flowers from Squire Spetter’s garden.”
Everybody’s attention turned to Fred, the Daddy long-legs. “Why are you all looking at me? I never killed nobody, and that’s the truth. Well, discounting flies and termites that I ate, but never no butterfly, that’s for sure!”
“You ate my cousin!” Deucey Shorter, the mayfly, shouted.
“I thought he was a fly,” Fred protested, and everyone joined in the argument.
“Quiet, quiet, please!” Domesworthy restored order. “Now, Mr. Spetter, where were you when the murder was committed?”
A long and uncomfortable pause ensued. “I would rather not say,” came Fred’s barely audible reply.
“I know where you were, Mr. Spetter.” Everyone held his or her breath, waiting for Domesworthy to spill it. He did not disappoint. “You were with Prudence Stembright!”
Everyone gasped. A Daddy long-legs in a tryst with a praying mantis! Unheard of, even with today’s lax morals.
Fred and Prudence hung their heads in shame. “And you,” Domesworthy pointed an accusatory leg towards the dragonfly, “Mr. Langston Lakemore, were spying on them, as always, like the sick Peeping Tom dragonfly that you are!”
Darla fainted, Prudence began crying and Fred had to be restrained. Langston’s green face turned bright red. Again, Domesworthy gestured for silence and decorum.
Domesworthy stopped in front of Slasher Mandrake, who idly swished his poisonous barbed tail back and forth. “Mr. Mandrake, if you would be so kind as to tell us your whereabouts when Mr. Flutter was killed?”
“None of your business. I didn’t even know Mr. Flutter, except by reputation.”
“Oh really?” Domesworthy turned away from Slasher casually. “Then how do you explain,” he whirled around on his four legs to face the scorpion, “the fact that Mr. Flutter bet on you repeatedly in your secret, and illegal, back alley death matches with all comers, insect or arachnid?”
Slasher almost struck at Domesworthy, but held back. He shrugged his eight shoulders, which were covered with battle scars. “If you know that, then you know Mr. Flutter always won, and shared the purse with me, so why would I want to kill him?”
Domesworthy smiled. “Exactly. But someone who knew where his earnings were stored, might.” He strolled over to the mayfly. “Perhaps someone like you, Mr. Shorter. Your time is brief, and maybe you wanted to go out in style?”
“Me? I’m too little, too frail,” Deucey paused for a moment, “too much of a coward to do anything like that. I couldn’t have torn his wings apart like they were. I don’t have the stomach for it.”
Domesworthy’s tossed his trump card down. “Ah, but Mr. Flutter wasn’t killed that way. His mangled wings, torn body and missing antenna were done after he was murdered.”
The room went deathly silent. All eyes were on Domesworthy. He turned sharply to Dwight the cockroach. “Mr. Flutter was poisoned by tainted nectar. The damaged corpse was a false lead. Only one person had access to Mr. Flutter’�s nectar: his butler!”
Dwight scurried to escape, but two police wasps barred the door. “He was asking for it, lousy upper-class butterfly, treating me like I was garbage, just dirt beneath his feet, nothing more than a common, filthy-”
“Cockroach?” Domesworthy interjected. “Officers, arrest Dwight and charge him with insecticide most foul.” He faced the stunned suspects one last time. “Yes, ladies and gentlemen-�the butler did it.”
Rod Drake has had several stories published in Flashes of Speculation, Flashing in the Gutters, Fictional Musings, Flash Flooding, Flash Forward and AcmeShorts. He finds living in Las Vegas a constant source of literary inspiration.
I love it lol