A Fictional Mystery – Part I
Somewhere on the edge of the invisible distance were strange footsteps.
She flinched. Uneasy at their purposeful rhythm mirroring hers in London’s early morning mist.
She had been hearing the sound of hunting boots, creaking on the city’s granite pavement, since she left her flat, half an hour ago. Her natural ability and years as a Private Detective informed her deduction; she was being followed, by a professional.
Mrs. Christy Pwaroon ambled down Maple Street; the mist providing cover as she hurried. Her London Fog coat’s collar, added warmth to the shivers done her spine and the queasiness in her gut, as she remembered the previous evening’s key event.
Last night around eleven o’clock, a stranger delivered an empty but wax-sealed envelope. Curiously, it was addressed to her great, great grand mother, Tippence, who passed under suspicious circumstances, a long time ago. Its forwarding address; a famous one on Baker street. Its postmark was dated one hundred and twenty one years ago, to the day.
But she was not the only one who knew about the envelope. The envelope was hand delivered in secret. It was left outside her 121A Barton Street flat. The hooded figure knocked, dropped the envelope on her doorstep, and disappeared into the night, without a word.
As she hastened her pace down the alley entrance to her office, Pwaroon and Associates, she heard a muffled sound.
Then, everything went dark.
**** To Be Continued…