Marple And The Marble

In the quaint, sleepy village of St. Mary Mead, England, there was a murder. It all began three days ago, when twenty-six-year-old Molly Stevens failed to show up for work. Her coworker and friend, Jeanette Faraday, became extremely concerned and placed a call to her residence.

Upon receiving no response, she temporarily closed up the bookstore they owned together. Then she zipped over to Molly’s flat. Using a key her friend had entrusted her with, she stepped inside. After a quick search, she discovered Molly lying on the kitchen floor. Her face was blue and there were no signs of life. Jeanette had called the police immediately.

The village papers were floating around the countryside. The unexpected death brought fear to the hearts of each denizen. Gossip spread as to whether they harbored a killer in their midst. All anyone knew was that Molly had apparently died from manual strangulation.

Since Scotland Yard was getting nowhere, Jeanette asked Miss Jane Marple, an elderly amateur detective, to investigate the case. The two women paced around the crime scene. Jane felt ripe for some snooping, as it was her favorite pastime. She peered around curiously, taking in the sparsely furnished flat. The deceased woman certainly had dwelled in meager surroundings.

All Jane saw was a coffee table, a sofa, a TV sitting on the floor, and an old bookcase. She checked out every item carefully, before settling on Molly’s book collection. Right away, she noticed that a volume from an encyclopedia set was missing. A quick glance revealed the letter ‘S’ to be absent. She wondered if the missing volume would prove to be of significance.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. Jeanette went to answer it, returning with a fifty-ish, heavy-set woman, dressed in a maid’s uniform. “Jane, this is Clara Smithson. She used to be Molly’s housekeeper.”

“How do you do?” Jane asked, giving Clara the once-over.

“Not so good, as you can well imagine, I’m sure. What with Miss Stevens dying and all,” the portly woman replied. Her eyes darted around nervously. She kept glancing toward the kitchen.

“Can we help you with something, Clara?” Jeanette asked her.

“Not really. I’m just here to clean up, that’s all. Make myself useful, you know,” she offered.

Jane continued her perusal of the flat, mindful of the maid’s watchful stare. She pretended to study other items, yet her eyes returned to Clara.

After a moment, Jane noticed something lying on the floor. It was in the general vicinity of the stocky woman’s direction. She hastily made her way to the object. With a calculated swoop, she bent to grasp a broken pair of glasses off of the floor.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” she asked the maid.

“Uh, well, yes. I lost them the other day, while I was dusting,” Clara admitted.

Jane exchanged glances with Jeanette. She walked over to peruse the coffee table, finding a strange key. She picked it up and turned to the maid, “Do you know what this goes to?”

Clara shook her head. “No, I’m not sure. How would I know?”

Jeanette spoke up. “I believe it may open Molly’s diary. Let’s look for it, shall we?”

She and Jane went from room-to-room, rambling through drawers and sifting through papers. At last, they found a lace-covered journal under Molly’s pillow. Jane tried the key and it fit perfectly. She unlocked the little book and read select passages.

“It appears that Molly was depressed, according to her entries, “Jane intimated.

“I didn’t realize she was. She never told me,” Jeanette said sadly.

“Apparently, she was in love with a man who skipped town, after learning she was pregnant with his child. Soon afterwards, she miscarried. Oh, how dreadful!”

Jane kneeled to peer underneath the bed and spotted a thick book. She reached out to retrieve it, producing the missing ‘S’ encyclopedia volume. She skimmed through it, mumbling to herself.

“What is it?” Jeanette inquired, as worry marred her brow.

“Well, this book doesn’t appear to fit in with this case. I have no idea why it was removed from the others.”

She headed back to the den and returned the book to its proper place. Then she spun around to pin a glare on Clara. “But you on the other hand, are a different matter. Tell us why you murdered her.”

Clara’s chubby face paled to white. “I didn’t kill her. I swear it.”

“Then why are your eyeglasses broken? Obviously they were stepped on during the struggle, while you strangled her to death,” Jane surmised.

“No, you’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t hurt her. I was trying to help her.”

“What are you talking about?” Jeanette wanted to know.

Clara began to cry as she heaved herself into a chair. “The day she died, I came to clean for her. I found her in the kitchen, spitting up cake and choking to death. So, I did the Heimlich maneuver and a marble popped out of her mouth. It rolled and landed near the stove. It’s probably still there.”

Jane Marple blanched. “Why on earth should she have a marble down her throat?”

“Her nephew brought a bag of marbles over to play with the day before. He carelessly left them lying around. Molly was baking that day. One of them must’ve gotten mixed up in the cake batter.”

Jane gasped, “What an unusual story! Can anyone verify that those marbles were here?”

“Yes, ma’am. Her nephew and his family,” Clara suggested.

Jeanette hurried over to the phone and dialed the nephew’s house. As she hung up, she nodded. “Clara is telling the truth, Miss Marple.”

“Well, if this is true, then why were those fingermarks around her neck?” Jane wondered.

“Molly couldn’t breathe because her windpipe was obstructed by the marble. She kept clutching at her throat, desperately gasping for air,” Clara explained.

“Why didn’t you tell this to the police?” Jeanette questioned.

“I was afraid they’d never believe me. I thought they’d charge me with Molly’s murder.”

“So, then this isn’t a murder after all. It was merely an accident. That’s what we’ll prove to the police,” Jane mused. She thought to herself for a moment, before jumping to her feet. She raced into the kitchen, with Jeanette and Clara close on her heels.

“Let’s find that marble!” she exclaimed. She trotted over by the stove, looking around the area. Suddenly, she pointed to an obscure spot, where the marble lay, partially hidden. They had found it!

***

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Texte: Melissa Monroe
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 12.03.2012

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