h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

The startlingly handsome detective flicked back his long glossy black hair, smiled and said "well Moira, I don't know about the haddock, but what I DO know is who killed Mrs Blenkinsop..."

Everybody in the room gasped and stared at him

"yes" he went on smoothly "after the blue scarf turned up on the bridge I knew it could only have been Kathryn Smith who killed her"

"you bastard you'll never prove it" screeched Kathryn.

Oh yes I will, because here is the knife with Mrs Blenkinsop's blood and your fingerprints on it"

"well I never" everyone chorused as the policewoman took Kathryn away. "What a great detective you are," simpered Fay Peabody.

THE END

It all started on a Dark And Stormy Night (as so many B-Novels do), when a rain-soaked Kathryn was crossing a seemingly-abandoned bridge at Midnight. She carried a basket of brie pickles which she was to deliver to The Gaskin Pub, as she did every night. This part of town was one of the roughest, and she squinted as her eyes surveyed the warves in the immediate distance.

"There doesn't seem to be many about on this night," she thought to herself, "Not that I blame them." She pulled her shawl closer around her and adjusted her scarf.

...

(didn't technoyokel want us to write the story backwards not from the beginning, technoyokel?

(Yeah, that's what I thought too. It's a good idea since it means the story can't go on forever. Maybe it would be good to start from technoyokel's ending and try to work towards Anonymouse's beginning - it will actually be better to have two starting points I think because this kind of thing needs an actual plot)

(I agree with aPerson about moving backward from technoyokel and ending with anonymouse, or rather beginning. anyway here we go!)

"Well detective we must know why you have called us all together so late at night" Ms. Fussypotz said, "after all it is 3 am."

The detective (as of yet unnamed) smiled a little and started pacing around the room eyeing each of the people who had been summoned.

Moira, who had wanted to get things over with, said "Well, lets atleast not starve, would you like some of this fish platter we were eating (haddock according to dictionary.com)?"
Everyone in the room looked at him waiting for a response.

(remember to post what happened before this and be careful since it's easy to make the future not make sense by doing that thing with the uhh, just say what happened before and pay attention)

Moira answered the doorbell once again. This time she was relieved to see it was Slade, the detective. As she took his coat, he asked: "Are the others all here?" She answered "Yes" and led him into the sitting room where the others were waiting.

Moira was pacing back and forth through the large mansion. The doorbll rang and she quickly answered it. She had expected Slade but it was just Frank cumberbottom. He was quite upset about being called here at so late an hour and his personal assistant Jake was even more peeved. He quitley mumbled under his breath about it being an insult to someone of his lineage.

(A detective story, and you didn't call me? Or Zed? Of all the nerve . . .)

Moira the maid slapped Lord Ambrosia and said, "How dare you speak that name to me! And on the anniversary of his death!"

(Fine, fine, I'll play along. Just expect me to appear in the shadows in several scenes. I WILL HAVE REVENGE!)

Lord Ambrosia entered from the kitchen as Moira was sitting down on a geniune imitation 19th century chair. She reluctantly got up because it was proper behavior to stand when a distinguished man enters the room, even if he is an innoying prick.
He said "Well it is certainly too bad Mr. Blenkinsop died before his wife was killed. He did love a good mystery you know, well atleast they have Penny to manage their estate and carry on their name."

"You incompetent fool!" said Lord Ambrosia to the chef, who was by now quite used to the Lord's power-tripping bad temperedness. "You call that haddock? It looks like something the persian dragged in! And that mauve weasel garnish is terribly bad taste. Oh well, I guess it'll have to do."

"Oh no, here he comes," said Jirrahk, the assistant chef, as the kitchen doors burst open. He nudged Pierre, the head chef and nodded towards Lord Ambrosia with a look of dread.

Pierre picked up the haddock nestled on a tray edged in a scarf of the family colours. He whispered over his shoulder to Jirrahk, "I'll bet he's the one! Always was bad-tempered, that one." He then presented the tray to His Lordship for approval.

Jirrahk grudgingly did as Pierre told him, and began preparing the carving of cucumber for the salad. Before he could begin, however, he noticed something odd. "Hey, weren't there more knives than this?"
"Oh, that," Pierre said. "I loaned it to Lord Ambrosia a few years back, and he hasn't returned it. Just then, then doors to the kitchen burst open.

Jirrahk seemed to walk around the kitchen in a daze not paying attention. He grabbed a knife from the rack and since he wasn't paying attention it dropped and narrowly missed his foot.
Pierre shouted "damn't, how many times do I have to tell you to pay attention? Next time the knife might not miss your foot."
Jirrahk reached down to pick it up but he didn't realize that his hand had just missed a secret hatch way in the floor. He threw the the knife in the sink which Pierre also yelled at him over. Luckily there were plenty of knives in the rack and he just grabbed another.

Detective Slade crouched low behind the shelves examining the knife in his hands. "An ingeneous hiding place," he mused to himself, "Not that it will do the culprit any good now."

He could hear Jirrahk and Pierre arguing in the far corner of the kitchen, but peering through the cracks from his hiding place he could see that it was just another argument between brothers. It would be over as quickly as it started, just like all their other arguments. He wondered if he should make his presence known and ask them to join the other guests, but decided against it.

"Just make the salad, would you!" yelled Pierre. Jirrahk began walking towards the very spot Slade stood! Quickly the young detective lifted the lid to the passageway and disappeared beneath the floor. As Jirrahk's footsteps sounded above him, he waited just until his heart eased it's pounding in his ears and then made his way toward the underground exit.

Slade put down the phone.

"There, Moira should be able to get them all together by 9:00. That leaves me an hour to find the knife."

He looked again at the scrap of paper in his hands. It was a rough, hand-drawn map of the Blenkinsop mansion. It showed, in addition to the rooms that he had searched last week, several hidden rooms and passageways. Now he understood why Katharyn had not been concerned about his searching: "Go right ahead, Slade," she had said, "I am sure there is nothing hidden in _these_ rooms". He had noted the slight emphasis on the word "these", and now knew what it signified.

He drove over to the mansion, parked, and walked to the garage. After a few minutes of searching, he found the loose brick and gave it a push. A small click was heard, then part of the wall swung inwards to reveal a narrow passage. He followed the passage towards the kitchen. He peered through a small hole in the wall and saw Jirrahk and Pierre preparing the meal at the other end of the room. As he opened the hidden door into the kitchen, his foot bumped something in the dark passage. He reached down and picked it up, stepped into the kitchen and closed the secret door.

Slade sat back in the chair thinking as he always did. He needed a plan, his suspicions needed backing. Suddenly he was struck, by a falling light. In the shattered remains of the glass was a poorly drawn map. The bulb was obviosly from one of the late Mr. Fussypotz's factories. He quickly called the police and gave his friend and ex-partner sergeant Luther instructions.
Once the police were informed he called Moira. She was in her quarters at the mansion finally getting some sleep. The phone roused her out of bed on the ninth ring. She wearily heard what he wanted her to do and was upset at the prospect of waking the most prestigious families in all of the North-Western half of the Easter portion of the Southern city of...her thought was interupted as Slade continued talking. She got dressed and started on her task.

"Look, Pierre, I honestly don't care how you make it. Just make the salad already!"

"But Moira, it's your job to taste the . . ."

"I'll taste it tomorrow. I've been up for over 48 hours now, and all I want," she gripped Pierre's collar with almost superhuman speed and strength, "is *SLEEEP!!!*"

She stopped strangling the disgruntled cook, and stormed to her room. Meanwhile, Detective Slade . . .

Moira slowly slumped accross the room towards the stairwell. She was so tired she almost missed the first stair and fell face forward. Just as she started up the stairs again she heard the chef yelling loudly. She knew that if he woke her employer then she would never get any sleep so she rushed in to shut him up.
As she entered Pierre was throwing carrots at his assistant and yelling about how things would be better if he were dead. She knew he had a fierce temper but also knew that a swift knee jab into his stomach would shut him up. But she missed and fell to the ground. He helped her up and explained how intolerable it was working with incompetence. Then he demanded she say which salad was better, his or his assistants.

Slade cursed as the wind-whipped spray dampened his face. What a night to have to come out. But if his suspicions proved correct, then it would all be worth it. He probed under an old box with his stick. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he felt sure something would turn up. He climbed up to the bridge, crossed, then descended to the river and began searching that side. He spent another hour searching and had just about given up, when he startled a pigeon. It flew up to the beams under the bridge, and following it with his eyes, his flashlight beam momentarily lit on a piece of something blue caught in the ironwork. With difficulty, he clambered up to where he could reach it. Pulling it down, he saw it was Kathryn's blue scarf.

His suspicions were now confirmed, but he knew he needed more evidence. He went home to have a hot bath and a good think in his chair.

"No only one more drink Tully" Slade said as he sat back down in his chair.
He knew he had work to do but he could never argue with Tully about one last drink. His thoughts were interupted by the large buzzing sound of Tully's antiquated dispensor. You would never find any of the major beers in this place. Tully was constantly switching between distributors for the better price ever since he bought this bar. I knew that the others were wrong about him, he wouldn't hold a grudge this long. He wasn't the murderer.
Today's off-brand beer was "Red-tick beer." Slade made a little joke about it and Tully just responded as he always did to things like that. Tully said "fluffernutter"
Slade muttered to himself about how Tully's head had never been the same since that metal plate. He dropped a few coins on the table and left.