BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Yep… You would think that considering the books I pen I would eschew getting myself involved in any more mysteries than are absolutely necessary. After all, making them up, plotting them out, and then attaching them to paper through the use of words should be enough for one guy, correct?

But no… Leave it to me to get myself involved in a murder investigation here at home.

So, let me explain the event leading up to this homicide for you:

I was making one of my daily trips to the library (yes, that would be a euphemism- library, can, throne room, crapper… take your pick.) Anyway, there I am, reading through the latest issue of Missouri Conservationist when over the top edge of the magazine I spy something. At first, I thought nothing of it, but that only lasted a second or two. You know how it is – you see something and it doesn’t quite register at first, but then after a heartbeat or so it smacks your right between the eyes… Well, that’s pretty much what happened. So, lowering the magazine, I took a longer look.

Lo and behold, there on the back corner of the bathtub, not quite covered by the shower curtain, are Barbie and Ken. Now, I’m definitely no prude- if you’ve read the Miranda Trilogy, you know that to be true- however, I have to admit that I blushed. You see, Barbie, in all her curvaceous glory, was grappled with the buff eunuch in a “girl-on-top missionary position”. It was obvious that they had been swimming in the bathtub at some point because Babs’ long, flowing, nylon hair showed signs of having dried without the benefit of combing or detangling. Ken, on the other hand, had little problem in that department, what with the helmet hair and all, but I digress. The point is, putting two and two together told me that after some frolicking in the sudsy surf, the two had apparently become amorous and, well, needed to do some business. Perfectly natural. Basic carnal urges and all that… So, all good…

At any rate, as I said, I blushed, then went back to reading about hummingbird feeders while making it a point to finish the article and all my business associated with the reading of said article a bit more quickly than usual. I mean, I seriously doubted that the two love birds really wanted a spectator, know what I mean? (BTW, due to Ken’s general lack of endowment, I didn’t bother to offer any contraception. I suspected it probably wasn’t needed.)

Okay, so now we fast forward to the next day. Here is where the crime scene comes into play…

As expected, I needed to once again visit the library. Just one of those other natural urges. This time I think I was planning to read the local school district newsletter so I would be up on any bond issues, or things I might need to know which would affect my child’s learning. I pretty much figured Babs and Ken would be done by now, so I was feeling pretty safe in selecting one of the longer articles to read. Of course, as we all know, the best laid plans of mice and Murvs, yadda yadda…

Upon entering the library, naturally my eyes were drawn to the porcelain beachfront where the two fashion dolls had been making out. Not because I am a closet voyeur or anything, I just wanted to be certain they were finished so that I could in fact indulge in reading the lengthy article without feeling rushed. What I saw this time was less a scene from a skin flick and more a horrific tableau from a slasher movie (or, one of my books even…)

Ken’s rigid body was laid out in the very same spot where Babs had been…ummm…uhhh…”mounting” him. However, like I said, it was his body. The poor plastic eunuch’s head was sitting several inches away, quite obviously separated from the rest of his buff plasticness, and it was staring dully at the ceiling.

Well… Being a curious author of suspense thrillers that usually involve some type of gory murder, I felt compelled to investigate further. Using the rolled up newsletter to carefully push back the shower curtain (I didn’t want to disturb evidence like fingerprints you see) I proceeded to check out the surroundings.

Much to my surprise, perched on the ledge of the tile back splash, was Barbie, resplendent in her sparkly blue- and extremely filled out- bathing suit. Her pretty little face, replete with a tasteful touch of eye shadow and pearlescent pink lipstick was tilted in the direction of the carnage. And, moreover, on those pearly pink lips she was wearing that painted on smug grin.

The investigation is proceeding, and so far Babs isn’t saying a word, but I’ve got one of those feelings… You know, the Rowan Gant Twilight Zone knocking on the back of my skull kind.

And, you know what it’s telling me?

Barbie is a Black Widow. Maybe they should have named her, oh, I don’t know… Miranda?

More to come…

Murv

Okay, so I have this piece of rental property. I could go into this long diatribe about the problems I am having with said property, etc, but that is a whole ‘nother story, and one that doesn’t truly bear exploring in a public arena. Suffice it to say, the property is going to be vacant for a while due to a need for rehabbing that shouldn’t have been needed in the first place… But, I don’t want to digress.

Anyhow, since the property will be semi-vacant – there will still be contractors in and out of it all the time, just no one actually living there for a bit – I went ahead and had a security system installed. Mainly, this is to protect the property against vandalism, but it will also be something that will reduce insurance costs for both future rental tennants and me. So, when you consider the fact that I got a great deal on the system since I was already having the one in my own home upgraded to begin with, and it is going to save me money in the long run, it becomes a win-win situation.

But, on with the “Bad Murv” portion of the tale.

Yesterday, the installer was on-site to put in the system. Of course, I had to be there to let him in, tell him where I wanted motion sensors placed, sign off on the job, etc. So, rather than let him in then run off, I hung out since the installation wasn’t going to be an all day process. Anyhow, while the young man was working he was chatting with me and asked what I do for a living. Well, of course, I told him I write books.

He asked the typical followup question, which was, “What kind of books?”

I gave my standard reply, “Mystery suspense novels about serial killers and that sort of thing.”

Then he asked me if , “I liked it.”

Well, this is where “Bad Murv” happens. Obviously he was referring to the occupation of being an author, but since I had mentioned serial killers I couldn’t pass it up…

Without missing a beat I replied, “Yeah, it’s okay. I used to like it more, but the last time I killed someone I almost got caught.”

The poor guy froze, the power drill in his hand stopped, and he just stared at me wide-eyed as the color in his face seemed to be fading right before my eyes.

After a short pause I laughed, told him I was just kidding, and that I only write about serial killers, I’m not actually one myself. Fortunately, he caught on to the joke and all was good.

Of course, I couldn’t stop there… When I had to get on the phone to answer the verification questions with the monitoring service the young lady told me that it could take up to 4 hours before the monitoring on the new installation was live. After that she asked me if I had any questions.

Being the ka-ka disturber I am, I replied, “Yes, if someone breaks in and wants to kill me within the next four hours is it okay if I just go ahead and kill them back?”

Fortunately, she got the joke right away. The poor girl laughed so hard I thought she was going to pass out.

More to come…

Murv