Chapter Eleven of Entitled to Murder: A Cozy Mystery Short Story
Hello, Book Lovers!
The start of act two is here. And, I’m excited to share this next chapter with you. Partly because I’m excited about writing this story and the series, and the story changes after this point. But, more on that later. One of the exciting things about writing within the murder mystery and cozy mystery genres is the research. Although, I suspect I might be on some type of watch list, thanks to my internet search history after the various research sessions I conducted. You’ll see what I mean when you get to the end of the chapter. Don’t worry, this story is still gore-free.
If this is the first time you’ve stumbled across my cozy mystery short story, Entitled to Murder, I highly recommended going back and reading from chapter one. Click here to start at the beginning of the story.
Before, I dive into the eleventh chapter of this cozy mystery short story, here’s a brief description of the story for those who are new here.
About the Short Story
A recently widowed bookworm must solve the mysterious circumstances behind her grandfathers’ death, but there’s one thing she is certain of… the killer is a member of her family.
Lucy Hobbs has lived a sheltered life. The only danger she has ever faced was turning the pages of a murder mystery novel. All of that is about to change. It’s Halloween, Lucy’s favourite time of year, but it’s more than just a holiday—it’s her grandfather, Alfred’s 87th birthday. After months of grieving this is the one thing, she has been looking forward too. Little does Lucy know she is walking into a family feud, a lost sheep, and murder. On the day of Alfred’s will-reading, Lucy learns of some unexpected changes that cause her to look at the birthday party’s events under a new light.
Can Lucy figure out who the murderer is before they strike again?
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address the publisher at: hello at ameliadhay dot com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Fifteen minutes later, Lucy stood in the storage room, staring out the window. The winds howled as the rain pelted down. It had intensified since the funeral. She surveyed the sea of organised chaos around her. There were no liquids that matched the insulin in the storage room. Is this grief? Am I suffering from denial to the point where I’d rather believe someone in my family poisoned my grandfather than accept that he passed on?
A heavy sensation filled her chest. Lucy sighed as she reached down and patted the pocket of her black trousers. She still had the insulin. Glancing out the small window, Lucy watched the diagonal droplets of rain distort the view of the farm. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a yellow raincoat on a hook near the door. On the floor was a pair of large black Wellington boots. They belonged to her grandfather. I’m clearly out of my mind, but checking the farm’s shed won’t hurt.
The moment Lucy stepped outside the back door and dashed towards the shed, she was filled with regret. Rain filled the large Wellington boots. Hunched over, clutching the hood of the yellow raincoat, Lucy spotted a beam of light cast over the ground as she glanced up at the path ahead of her. She froze. Was someone in the shed?
After a series of quick, shallow breaths, Lucy composed herself. No matter what, she had to continue her journey. She braved the rain, and turning back would seem strange to anyone watching from the upper levels of the house. I’ll say that I saw the light on and went to turn it off, not realising someone was inside—the perfect excuse.
Reaching out, Lucy pushed the door open to the shed.
Lucy peered inside. ‘Hello.’
A large workbench stood against the back wall. Tools hung on a corkboard above the bench. Lined up along the steel shelves in the corner of the workshop was a series of paint tins and other liquid. Typical, I panicked for no reason.
After Lucy surveyed the room a few moments later, she strolled towards the shelves. As she reached the metal rack, she peered through the door’s small window that led into the tractor shed. It was dark. Maybe someone left in a hurry and forgot to turn the lights off. Lucy scanned the collection of paint tins and liquids of various shades. Nothing caught her eye.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the vial of insulin. As she stared at the shimmering liquid, a 500-gram bottle caught her eye. A rock formed in the pit of her stomach as she crouched then stared at the bottle of potassium chloride on the bottom shelf. The liquids were identical. This can’t be happening.
A pair of bright yellow eyes stared up at her. Am I doing it wrong? How hard was it to feed a cat? Standing in the middle of the small kitchen in the guest cottage of Meadow House, Lucy sighed.
‘Bubba, it’s the same as always.’
Tiberius meowed in protest.
Lucy shook her head. ‘Tiberius, I know this is your favourite, and there’s no more salmon. This is it.’
On top of a murderous family member, she had a feline with a palate for fine-dining on her hands. Lucy brushed the grey fur of her thick pale-pink checked flannel pyjamas, then opened the refrigerator. On the top shelf, staring back at her was the insulin or, more likely, the potassium chloride. Her heart sank. More trouble was brewing ahead, and Lucy couldn’t remain silent. She had to do something. But asking questions would only cause more drama and confrontations. Her heart raced.
A lone thought drifted into her mind. Turning, she raced towards the sideboard. After Christopher passed, the Detective who turned up at her house checked in on her from time to time. Sweetly, he gave her his business card and told her she could call him if she needed anything. Lucy picked up the old telephone. She paused. An eery silence filled the receiver—the telephone lines were not working.
Tears welled up in her eyes. The police were no longer an option. It was up to her to figure out who poisoned her grandfather, Alfred before the weather cleared up and everyone present at the party would return home.
For the first time, Lucy hoped the rain would continue to pour in Derbyshire, even though this was not good news for the local farmers. Justice and the unveiling of the truth had to come first.
I hope you enjoyed reading the eleventh chapter of my cozy mystery short story, Entitled to Murder. Now, I need to get back to writing. Hopefully, I will finish the story within the next month; fingers crossed. After that, I will hand the story off to beta readers, make a few minor edits, then submit it to my editor.
Honestly, I can’t wait to share the ready-to-publish eBook with you. Once I draw closer to pressing the publish button on this story, I may remove everything after the first chapter, depending upon whether I choose to enrol this book in Kindle Unlimited or publish it on all ebook retailer platforms. If you want a free copy of the ebook when it’s available, make sure you sign up using the opt-in form below. By opting in, you’ll receive email updates alerting you of the new chapters, plus a free copy of the ebook, Entitled to Murder, when it is finished.
I’m Amelia. I write mystery and thriller novels under the pen name A. D. Hay and I’m the author of Missing the first book in the James Lalonde series. I’m the host of the Book Nerd Podcast and The Authorpreneur Podcast. Right now, I’m editing my soon to be published mystery novels, The Candidate, Duplicity, 24 Hours, and Immunity. When I’m not writing, hosting my podcasts or coaching aspiring authors, I love to travel around Europe with my Husband Roland, drink tea, and eat pizza.