“Something is simply not right. The creaks, the lurching, the bumps and the feel of this place; all amiss!” Timothy found himself caught in a soliloquy he had no intention of stopping. There was a mystery to solve on the southern line.
“The dead of night provides perfect cover for the perfect crime,” he continued. “I should consult my notes.” He rummaged through a few scraps of paper he had scrawled “dinner was yum” on.
“Inconclusive,” he remarked. “But certainly, there’s a murderer in a midst.”
His speech ended as his travel companion entered the cabin.
“You!” Timothy said, accusingly, “have you committed a deed most foul and now require me as an alibi? Hmm? What say you?”
Tina cocked her head and stared at him for a moment. “What game are you playing?” She asked, disappointment clinging to every syllable.
“Oh come on,” Timothy said, “it is too dark out to see any of the majestic scenery we were promised and this is a s-s-s-super boring way to travel.”
“So you went all Agatha Christie on me?”
“Better than Mary Shelley.”
“What does that even mean?” Tina was incredibly curious.
“It probably would have involved something super weird with the left over chicken in the mini-fridge,” Timothy pondered.
“I am not going to leave you alone any more, okay?” Tina solved the problem.
Thanks for reading!