The Pink Cloche
Walking through the courtyard I approached the archway that led to the exit.
Madeline Grainge was found dead, strangled, near a row of bicycles. She’d been my client.
Basically a silly job, she’d wanted me to find out who had stolen her pink cloche at a cocktail party. She was mad about that hat, it was her granny’s, she’d said, who’d been strangled in 1935.
I’d found the culprit, an old geezer of 98 who she’d known all her life, his grandson was her fiancé.
Now, I have a killer to catch. Madeline Grainge, as I said was my client.
Written for Friday Fictioneers May 30, 2014