Why female crime writers write the most violent novels

Posted on | Thursday, July 19, 2012 | No Comments

It's hard for me to read the works of celebrated writers such as Val McDermid and Mo Hayder not because their novels are boring, far from it. Rather, I have difficulty stomaching the graphic violence present in their books, particularly McDermid's Tony Hill novels. The TV series "Wire in The Blood" (based on the Tony Hill novels) captured me from day one and I decided to try reading one of the novels. But the violence and bloodshed proved too much for me and I never finished the book. 

I've often wondered why women writers relish such violence (I keep violence to a minimal in my own stories), what draws them so to the gruesome and macabre? Or perhaps I need to "get used to it" (have yet to attack Stieg Larsson's trilogy, which I hear is pretty graphic as well)? 

The Daily Mail has a piece today which sheds some light on why women writers are so fond of violence. Read it here.

How To Write Crime Fiction

Posted on | Monday, June 25, 2012 | No Comments

Ahh, it's the age of the Internet. News moves faster than the speed of light. Yesterday you were here, today you might be gone. Thankfully, despite its short shelf life the Internet also makes the best news 'sticky' in cyberspace. While bored and finding nothing better to do today, I found several nuggets of advice on how to write crime fiction. Here's the link for my fellow writers still 'bleeding' at their computers (I should know, I'm one of them!): http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/books-life/6167904/How-to-write...-Crime-Fiction.html

Family Ties (Chapter Seven)

Posted on | Sunday, February 26, 2012 | No Comments

Chapter Seven



"Ruben, please understand. It happened years before I met your father. I got pregnant during my last year at college. Nathan's father dropped me when I told him I was carrying his child. My parents sent me away to a home for single mothers and talked me into giving up the baby. I didn't have money or anywhere to go, so I gave in," his mother explained, eyes welling up with tears at the memory.


"Nathan didn't end up in a good home. His adopted father beat him and his mother. His adopted mother was struck with cancer last year, which was when he learned he was adopted. After she died, he moved here to look for me and took a job as a gardener to be close to me," she added, stroking the unconscious man's hair.


"How did Uncle find out?" Seth interrupted.


"He must have suspected the moment he saw Nathan, the resemblance to my father was too strong. He remarked this to me one day when we were alone in the house. I told him everything. He was furious, he said he was going to fire Nathan and divorce me. I couldn't let that happen," she said, her expression hardening.


"Mother, don't say another word," Ruben said quickly.


"Ruben, she has already confessed. She must have slipped the poisoned coffee powder in on Wednesday morning after breakfast, just before her sister picked her up. Am I not right, Aunty?" Seth asked.


"You'll never prove it," his aunt smiled smugly at him. "Your uncle was cremated and even if he wasn't, the poison is untraceable."


Seth looked at her grimly. "On the contrary Aunty, you and Nathan are going away for a long time." He unbuttoned his bloody shirt, revealing a tape recorder attached to a wire and tiny microphone taped to his chest. 


His aunt looked on in shock. She ran over to Ruben and held on to him. "Ruben, son, you mustn't believe him, I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't know what else to do," she pleaded.


Tears streamed down Ruben's cheeks. "You had Nathan beat and tie us up in here like animals. How can I ever trust your words? Come mother, the police are waiting outside," he said gently, stroking her hair. 






 THE END


Category:

Family Ties (Chapter Six)

Posted on | Monday, February 13, 2012 | No Comments

Chapter Six 

“Where are we?” Seth croaked. His throat felt parched and swollen.
“We’re in Father’s study. Someone ambushed me when I arrived home from work. The last thing I remember seeing was the living room carpet. I woke up and saw you here,” Ruben explained.
“It’s Nathan, I’m sure of it,” Seth said. “He must have your mother captive somewhere in the house. We need to get ourselves untied fast, or he’ll get away with this.”
Ruben shook his head. “How? I don’t have a knife or anything else to cut the ropes with.”
Seth tried to lift his head again and winced. “I think I might have a concussion. You will have to do it. There’s a pocket inside my jacket, I have a Swiss army knife in there. Use your teeth,” he said.
Ruben shuffled over to Seth and got the knife out after a few minutes. Holding the knife between his teeth, he freed Seth’s hands and then his own. They disentangled themselves and chucked the ropes aside.
Ruben started towards the door. “We have to get to mother; she may still be alive.”
Seth held him back. “Wait, he might be armed. We need some sort of weapon if we’re going out there,” he urged.
Ruben nodded. He picked up a tall lamp on a small table near him. Seth grabbed a wooden umbrella that stood in a corner of the room. He hid behind the cupboard by the door while Ruben lay in wait behind the door.
After what seemed like hours, the doorknob finally creaked. As the door opened, Ruben rushed forward and swung the lamp at the man who entered the room, catching him squarely in the face. Seth heard a woman shriek as Nathan collapsed noiselessly on the carpeted floor.
His aunt pushed roughly past him and Ruben and rushed to Nathan’s side. “Oh, my son! What have you done to him?” she screeched at Ruben.
Ruben stared at her in bewilderment. “Mother! What do you mean?” The lamp fell to the floor with a loud thud. He took a step towards his mother.
“Stay back, you ungrateful boy!” she screamed at him. “This is all your fault!” she spat at Seth.
Seth eyed her coolly. “Tell him, Aunty. He deserves to know the truth.”
She said nothing but continued glaring at him.
“Mother, what is Seth talking about? Ruben said, his expression pained.
“Yes, Aunty. Why don’t you tell him that Nathan is his half-brother and that you both conspired to kill Uncle Vikram,” Seth said grimly.
“Ruben, call an ambulance before anything happens to Nathan,” his aunt said, ignoring Seth.
“Not before you tell me the truth. Is what Seth said true?” Ruben asked, a harsh edge to his voice.
“Yes, Nathan is your brother but we didn’t kill your father. How can you take the word of an ingrate nephew who never visited his uncle when he was alive?” she said reproachfully, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Ruben looked doubtfully at Seth. “Have you any proof?”
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Ruben. I didn’t realize it myself until I saw your parents’ wedding photograph,” Seth said.
“What do you mean?”
Seth removed the photo from the wall. “From the first time I saw Nathan, I’ve been asking myself why he looked so familiar. It was only when I saw this picture that I realized that he’s the spitting image of your maternal grandfather,” he explained.
Ruben scrutinized the photograph and stared at Nathan. His face paled.
“So it is true! You and Nathan killed Father,” he looked angrily at his mother.

Category:

Family Ties (Chapter Five)

Posted on | Thursday, February 9, 2012 | No Comments


Chapter Five 

“Then we have to assume that someone else broke in and poisoned the coffee powder between the time you left for your sister’s and when uncle passed away. It could have been on Wednesday, because he had his morning cuppa and was fine all day, according to his friends,” Seth said.
His aunt rubbed her forehead wearily. “I still don’t understand why anyone would want to kill Vikram. He had his faults, but he was a good husband and father,” she said sadly.
Seth’s lips set in a grim line. “I’ll find the person who did this , Aunty. Now, we have a few minutes before Nathan arrives. Take him to the kitchen and start teaching him. You have to get a confession out of him, it’s the only way,” he urged.
“But what do I say?” His aunt looked nervous.
“When you’ve given him some work to do, ask him what he and uncle were talking about the evening before uncle died. That should get him talking,” Seth said.
A knock on the front door ended their conversation. Seth went into the study and left the door ajar, while his aunt greeted their visitor. He heard muffled voices, which grew more coherent as they neared the study.
“I made a mess of it,” a deep male voice said. Seth peered from behind the door. It was Nathan.
“Don’t worry, you will do better next time,” Seth’s aunt said soothingly.
An odd feeling came over Seth as he looked at Nathan’s downcast face. Why was he so familiar?

Seth heard two chairs being pulled out in the kitchen and the sound of pages being flipped. Nathan had opened his books; it was only a matter of minutes before his aunt got the man talking.
“What do I do in the meantime?” Seth muttered to himself in the dark, feeling a little foolish for not thinking things through. What if Nathan clammed up? His aunt had a small recorder he’d given her but what if she forgot to turn it on?
He pushed the thoughts away and concentrated on his surroundings. Perhaps there was something he had missed, a clue yet to be discovered. He removed his pocket flashlight and shone it around the room.
He checked the desk first. The empty envelope and letter opener were still there, exactly where they’d been before. The desk however, was spotless. His aunt had likely cleaned up.

His flashlight shone on a large framed photograph on the wall behind the desk. It was a family photograph, taken at his aunt and uncle’s wedding. Seth’s expression softened as he took in the smiling faces of his parents and the rest of the family.
His gaze fell on a familiar face in the photo. He drew in sharp intake of breath as realization struck him. Suddenly it all made sense. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he realized too late that he was not alone in the room.
“Seth! Seth, wake up!” A familiar voiced hissed in his ear.
The voice grew louder, more insistent. “Seth, we have to get out of here!”
The fog lifted a fraction, but the ringing in his ears wouldn’t stop. Seth tried to move but a sharp pain in his left temple stopped him. He leaned back against what felt like the back of a chair and groaned.
He forced his eyes open, wincing against the pain. He was still in the study, but the lights were on. Something warm and wet trickled down his left temple. He tried to free his hands but they were bound tightly behind the chair with rope. His ankles were also tied together.
“Are you all right?” With great effort, Seth lifted his head to look at the speaker. Next to him, also bound to a chair, was Ruben. His lip was cut and his right eye was swollen.

Category:

World's First Crime Writing MA Launched

Posted on | Saturday, January 28, 2012 | No Comments

According to The Guardian, London's City University has launched the first crime writing MA due to popular student demand. Authors are currently being approached [to be tutors], with the novelists Martyn Waites and Barry Forshaw already signed up, says the newspaper.

Read the rest of the story here.

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10 Interesting Facts About Stieg Larsson

Posted on | Thursday, January 26, 2012 | No Comments

Did you know that Stieg Larsson's original name was Stig and that he had little formal education? How about that he started out as a graphic artist? SecondAct has these facts and more in a hugely entertaining and informative article on the late author. Check it out here.

Category:

Family Ties (Chapter Four)

Posted on | Tuesday, January 24, 2012 | No Comments

Chapter Four 

“I don’t know Aunty, but I’m sure it has something to do with what was in the envelope Nathan gave Uncle. How much do you know about Nathan?” Seth asked.

“Nothing much, except that he moved here after his mother died. He’s pursuing a degree in botanical sciences at the university and supporting himself as a gardener,” said his aunt.

Seth was about to warn his aunt when his cell phone rang, interrupting his train of thought. It was Dr. Krishnan.

“Seth, my friend at the lab called this afternoon. He confirmed that the coffee was poisoned.”

“Did he say what it was?” Seth asked.

“Powdered seeds from the pong pong tree. He recognised the smell immediately; he did his dissertation on poisoning deaths in Kerala a few years ago involving the pong pong tree. Quite a crafty poison, almost always comes off as a heart attack. Whoever killed your uncle has more than a passing familiarity with botany,” Dr. Krishnan said.

“But how would the killer have access to that plant? Does it grow here in Malaysia?”

“As a matter of fact, it’s quite common in South East Asia. You may have seen it, it has white flowers. Many people have it planted in their gardens, but few know how lethal the plant is,” the old doctor explained.

And who else could have better knowledge about lethal plants than a gardener? Seth thought grimly as he hung up. Ruben may have wanted his father dead, but why get the gardener involved? But he had still no proof either of them was involved, until he did, everything was just pure speculation on his part.

“What was that about, Seth? I heard you mentioning something about a tree,” his aunt said, looking at him curiously.

He filled in his aunt on the results of the poison test. “Aunty, this is very important. I need you to remember when you last replenished the coffee powder in the jar.”

His aunt’s face paled and her lip trembled, as she struggled to control her emotions. “You’re telling me that your uncle was…murdered?” she choked out.

Seth put his arm around her shoulders. “Aunty, I know this comes as a shock, but try hard to remember. It’s important,” he said gently, but firmly.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She opened them a few seconds later, still pale, but visibly calmer. “I refilled the coffee jar on Tuesday, two days before your uncle passed away. But he was fine on Wednesday, when I left for my sister’s place,” she said, looking doubtful.

“The lab wasn’t wrong, Aunty. The poison was fast-acting, so someone must have put it in the coffee between the time you left and when uncle drank the coffee on Thursday morning. Did Nathan come to work on Thursday?” Seth asked.

“No, he didn’t. And it couldn’t have been Ruben either, because he hates the very smell of coffee, it always makes him throw up,” his aunt said a little defensively. “Besides he only comes home from his night shift at seven thirty in the morning, so it couldn’t have been him,” she added.






Category:

Crime Novel Returned After 28 Years

Posted on | Wednesday, January 18, 2012 | No Comments

A crime novel is returned to a library after 28 years! Read all about it here.

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Why Do We Read Crime?

Posted on | Friday, January 13, 2012 | No Comments

Murderati has an interesting post about why people read crime fiction? What's your excuse for this little indulgence?

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What Does A Crime Writer Think About?

Posted on | Friday, January 6, 2012 | No Comments

I get this one a lot. Mostly from my alternate egos but occasionally from a voice outside my head. I can be quite honest with my alter egos that I think about death quite often and how people die. It's the voices outside of my head that are the problem. How do I explain my penchant for the morbid and morose, that's it part and parcel of why I dig and write crime fiction?

You can start breathing now, death is not all crime writers think about (well, this one, at least). I think about life quite a bit too and what motivates people to live it or end it and why. At the end of the day,  the 'why' is always more important than the 'what'. Why did she jump off a cliff? Why did he bury his best friend alive? Why did she fight for her life until the end?

The 'why' is what drives me to write. I confess, I'm a bit of a last-minute person, so I don't always know where my story is going or what my characters are going to do next. But that is part of the fun! Nothing in life is set in stone, neither do I believe is fiction. In real life and fiction, the 'why' is the best part of the journey. It gives meaning to both worlds and the people who inhabit them.

In short, thinking about life and death does not have to be morbid or depressing, not if you fundamentally see them as adventures, be it separate or one fabulous roller-coaster ride. There is beauty in both, and you don't have to be a writer to be able to see that.



Category:

Mystified

Posted on | Thursday, December 29, 2011 | No Comments

"I need perfection
Some twisted selection
That tangles me
To keep me alive"

I'd love to claim the above as mine, but they're actually from "Mystify" by INXS, which I'm listening to right now. I'm gearing up to start writing for the day after cranking out an entire page yesterday. Music is my twisted selection, I think. It actually makes me feel alive, even on the days I don't feel like writing. Today I feel...I don't know how I feel, but I do want to write irrespective of what actually spews from my keyboard. Today, that's good enough for me. The rest I'll deal with as it comes.

Oh wait, before I sign off I must share a poem a friend quoted to me yesterday (you know who you are!) when I was in my depths of despair. May it give you the comfort and solidarity of thought it has blessed me with today: 

"A little learning is a dangerous thing;
drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:
there shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
and drinking largely sobers us again."
Alexander Pope, An essay on Criticism


Category:

Where To Start With Scandinavian Crime Fiction

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There's more to Scandinavian crime fiction than Stieg Larsson, so say the "experts". This link (via the UK's Shots magazine blog) seems like a good starting point.

Category:

How Do You Handle Doubt?

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To a writer, there's nothing worse than doubt. That cold, self-cannibalizing feeling that no matter how often and how doggedly you do it, you can't really write. I've been struggling with this shroud for the whole of this week, and remain tangled amongst its threads.


The problem is of course, there are more "what ifs" than I care to have in my life right now. What if I fail at becoming a crime writer? What if my new teaching job doesn't bring me the satisfaction I am looking for? What if my future students are nightmarish kiasus hell-bent on making my life miserable? What if I become hell-bent on making their lives miserable?


Where is all this coming from, you say? A dinner conversation with my landlord, who until recently was a struggling cinematographer, may have something to do with my doubt. He's 50 and has been in his field all his adult life. Making it at FIFTY after struggling for years. That is a scary thought, considering I was hoping to publish my first work by the time I turn 35. What if I too, made it only in my fifties? What if I never make it? (Yikes!)

The result is that I haven't written a word since that conversation. I know I should, because I enjoy it. But my self-doubt stubbornly clings to me, pulling me away from what comes naturally to me. So much so that I almost believe now that I don't want to write. And that is making me miserable.


But wait, hang on a sec. Doesn't doubt have a shelf life? Does it not disappear when it's out in the open? Wiser writers continue to write although it's hard work. And why do I keep thinking of "Bee Movie" while I'm writing this? I've just remembered some dialogue from the movie which described how humans say that bees are not supposed to fly because they have bigger bodies than they do wings, but bees fly anyway.


What does that mean to a struggling writer, that I should write anyway while my brain continues toying with itself? Improbable, at this point, but not impossible I think. I'm going to sit on this for a bit and let it sink in. And stay away from career-related conversations with my landlord.


Category:

FAMILY TIES (PART THREE)

Posted on | Sunday, December 25, 2011 | No Comments

Part Three

Seth arrived at his uncle's just after eight. Ruben's car was parked on the front porch, but the gate was open. As he got out of his car he could hear loud voices coming from inside the house. It sounded like a heated argument going on between Ruben and his mother.

The front door was open wide, but he was too far away to hear what they were saying. As he reached the door, Ruben came rushing out and they nearly collided. He glared at Seth and brushed roughly past him to his car.

Inside, Seth's aunt was seated on the sofa, her face in her hands. She looked up when Seth walked in. her face was drawn and tired, but her eyes were dry. In fact, she looked surprisingly calm for someone who had just had a shouting match with her son.

“He'll come back after he's cooled off. He's just angry over money,” she said.

“What happened, aunty?” Seth asked gently, sitting down next to her on the sofa.

“Oh Seth, Ruben gambled away all his savings and wanted me to give him money to pay his loans, but I refused. I wish your uncle were here, he would know what to do,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.

“Don't worry, Aunty. Everything will be all right,” Seth said, patting her hand comfortingly. He felt a little prick of guilt at visiting her under false pretenses. “I'll make you some tea,” he said quickly, before he lost his nerve.

“Thank you dear,” she said, smiling kindly at him.

The coffee jar was half full when he opened it. It wasn't surprising as his uncle had been the only one in the house who drank coffee. Ruben and his mother hated the stuff. Seth spooned some of the powder into the plastic bottle. He replaced the lid and tucked the bottle back in his jacket pocket. He then put the kettle to boil on the stove and grabbed a mug from the cabinet.



“Sorry I took so long, Aunty,” he said easily as he handed his aunt the mug of steaming hot tea.

“Thank you dear,” she said, giving him a tired smile. After a few sips of the hot tea, she leaned back against the sofa and closed her eyes.

He let her relax for a few more moments before speaking. “Aunty, there is something I need to ask you,” he said, looking intently at her.

“What is it, my dear?”

“It’s about Nathan, your gardener. Mrs. Veloo said he visits you often when you are alone in the house. She seems to think…” he hesitated.

“…that I am having an affair with him?” She looked at him with some amusement.

Seth raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“My dear, that lady may be my oldest friend, but I am used to her tricks. If you really want to know, the boy is studying at the university. He is only doing gardening to finance his studies. I help him with his English on his off days. I didn’t tell Ruben or your uncle because I knew they wouldn’t approve,” she explained.

Seth felt slightly abashed, but he wasn’t convinced of gardener’s innocence just yet. He tried a different tack.

“Aunty, of course I believe you. But that’s not all Mrs. Veloo said. She saw Uncle arguing with Nathan the evening before his death. She said that he gave Uncle an envelope before leaving. Did Uncle mention anything about it?”

His aunt shook her head, looking bewildered. “Did she hear what they were arguing about?” she asked.

“No, they were too far away but she said that Uncle looked furious after reading something from the envelope. Aunty, I noticed an empty envelope fitting her description on Uncle’s desk. I’m not sure that he died from a heart attack,” Seth said.

“What do you mean? You don’t think that Nathan killed him?” His aunt looked shocked.

“I don’t know that for sure, Aunty. But I did find mud on the window sill of the study and footprints outside just under the window. They were made by men’s worker boots and I noticed your gardener wears similar size boots.”

“You’ve met Nathan?” His aunt looked at him in surprise.

“Not exactly. I stopped by to visit you and saw him coming out of the garden shed wearing worker boots,” he explained. “It doesn’t look good for him right now,” he added.

She shook her head incredulously. “I still cannot believe he had anything to do with your uncle’s death. Why they barely even spoke to each other! Ruben was in charge of the help as your uncle was too busy running the business. What could Nathan and your uncle possibly have to argue about?”

Category:

When Authors Turn Fans

Posted on | Thursday, December 15, 2011 | No Comments

What would happen to Elizabeth and Darcy's world without Wickham in it? And what happens when Sherlock Holmes and Watson get mixed up in an international scandal?

The above is not wishful thinking, but two separate novels by famous authors who are fans of Jane Austen and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle respectively. P.D.James' latest novel is called "Death Comes To Pemberley", which investigates the murder of Wickham. Antony Horowitz (famous for writing "Midsomer Murders") has written "The House of Silk", a new Sherlock Holmes novel that has received the nod of approval from the Arthur Conan Doyle estate.

Read the rest of the story here.

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Off Topic: 10 Satirical Novels that Could Teach You To Survive the Future

Posted on | Wednesday, December 14, 2011 | No Comments

I'm not one to over-ruminate the future; living in the present is more my thing. But I love a funny read and despite this list not containing any works of crime fiction, I thought I'd share it anyways. Enjoy!

Category:

An End To The Hiatus

Posted on | Monday, December 12, 2011 | No Comments

Starting a new career and moving back to the city has taken up more of my time than I'd like. As a result, this blog and my writing have taken a backseat to the humdrum of daily life. I was chatting to a friend about it today (who said rather pointedly) that work is taking precedence over some aspects of my life.


I realised then that it is not what I do for a living that alone defines me. There are other sides to me that need nurturing, namely my writing self. It reminded me of a post I read recently in Writing on Wednesday about "using the moment". I won't go into details, but if you want to read the post visit the link via my blogroll.


On another note, The Seattle Times has published their list of best mystery novels for 2011 (yay!) It'll give me an excuse to shop come January. (Never mind that I have a pile of Rebus novels that remain untouched). Read the Seattle Times' list here.



Category:

Family Ties (Part Two)

Posted on | Friday, September 2, 2011 | No Comments

Part Two 

Kim faxed him all the information he needed that very evening. It was just as he had suspected; Ruben was behind on his car loan payments by three months. He had also taken a RM50,000 personal loan from I---- Bank and was behind on those payments too. Seth was willing to bet Ruben’s gambling habit had spiraled out of control.
Later that evening, Seth called Timothy Chan, his uncle’s lawyer. According to Chan, Vikram Damodar had confided in him his plan to change his will after finding out that his son was up to his neck in gambling debts. He had help pay some of his son’s gambling debts but refused to help him after he couldn’t make his loan payments.
“They had a huge argument two days before your uncle died. Your uncle called me in a state of fury; he wanted to change his will as Ruben was currently the sole benefactor of his estate. Vikram wanted to choose a new successor to the business,” Chan explained.

“What changes did he want made?”

“He wanted to leave the estate to his wife and the business to you, Seth.”
“Me? But we hadn’t spoken in twelve years!”

“Your uncle was still fond of you, Seth. He had kept tabs on your career throughout the years and was proud that you had followed your own path in life. But he secretly hoped that you would take over his place in the family business someday,” Chan said. “In fact, he was supposed to meet me at 11.00am the day he died to sign the new will.”

“So Ruben is still his heir.”

“Your uncle left the business to him, as well as a large sum of money for your aunt to see her through her old age.”
Seth arrived at his uncle's place at a quarter to seven the following evening. Ruben's car was not in its usual spot on the front porch.
He'd just locked his car when a cheerful female voice called his name. It was Mrs. Veloo, the Damodars' long-time neighbour and his aunt's closest friend. She was wearing a wide straw hat and a pink batik dress that fell to her ankles. One hand was curled around a pair of gardening scissors while the other was on the small of her back.

He smiled a little reluctantly at her. She had been kind to him when he was a little boy, however she was notoriously long winded and a bit of a gossip.

“Hello, Aunty. How are you?” he said, squeezing out a friendly smile.

“Same as always, my dear,” she sighed. “My hands hurt badly in the morning; Dr. Krishnan said it may be arthritis.” She shook her head sadly.
“Sorry to hear that, aunty. Is my aunt in?” he asked, his smile turning sympathetic.
“They're not home. Ruben has taken Janagi for her medical checkup. They'll only be back around noon,” she said.

He heard the creak of a door opening and saw a tall man dressed in a grey t-shirt and faded jeans walk out of his uncle's garden shed. He was deeply tanned and looked a few years older than Seth. There was something oddly familiar about the man, although Seth was certain they hadn't met before. He startled a little when he saw Seth but recovered quickly and smiled briefly at him.
Seth's heart started to pound as he observed the man's shoes. They were mud-encrusted worker boots which looked to be a size ten. They could have easily made the prints Seth had found outside his uncle's study. The man walked around to the back of the house and out of sight.

“Aunty, who was that man who just came out of the garden shed?” Seth asked Mrs.Veloo.
The old lady looked up from her roses. “That's Nathan, the new gardener,” she whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “You know, I think there is something going on between your aunt and the gardener. Every time your uncle and Ruben were out of the house, she'd invite him into the house.”

Seth eyed her incredulously. “You can't be serious, why he's young enough to be her son!” Still, it was odd that his aunt was so friendly with the hired help.
The old lady lifted her chin defensively. “I asked her about it when she came over to tea last Saturday, but she went very red and told me to mind my own business. I dare not say anything to her after that.”

“I see. Maybe Aunty Janagi has her own reasons,” he said, hoping he sounded convincing. Because he sure didn't feel it.
The older woman shrugged. “He had an argument with your uncle the evening before he died. Janagi had gone to the temple with Ruben.”

“What were they arguing about?” Seth asked, frowning.

“I couldn't hear what they were saying, but their voices were raised. The gardener handed you uncle a large envelope. Your uncle seemed to read something from it and then he grew furious, threw the gardener out. He took the envelope with him and stormed back into the house.”

“I see. Did they get along before the argument?”

“I never saw them speak more than two words to each other until that evening. Maybe your uncle found out he was seeing your aunt,” the older woman wiggled her eyebrows conspiratorially.

“If he was seeing my aunt,” Seth replied. His suspicions about the gardener were stronger than ever, and he was disturbed by Mrs.Veloo's insinuations. The thought that his aunt had been unfaithful to his uncle was bewildering. On the other hand, it could be something very innocent. Then there was his cousin Ruben who was no angel, either.

“Seth, what you're suggesting is highly improbable,” Dr. Krishnan said as he poured tea into a ceramic coffee mug and handed it to Seth.

“I know it sounds far-fetched. But what if someone poisoned my uncle to make it look like he had had a heart attack?”
“And you think your aunt and the gardener had something to do with it?” Dr. Krishnan raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“Maybe. I don't know. It could have just as easily been Ruben; he was the only one in the house when it happened and being a doctor, he has access to dozens of possible poisons,” Seth said.
“You think he killed Vikram so he wouldn't be cut out of the will?”

“If he did, he didn't leave any evidence behind. My uncle's body was cremated yesterday so there's no way an autopsy can be done either. I'm sure the gardener is involved, but I don't know how yet.” Seth related all that Mrs.Veloo had told him that morning.
“I wouldn't trust that old bag's words if she were the last human on earth, but she may be right about the argument between your uncle and the gardener. I called him the night before he died to discuss our next golf meet and he told me he was firing the gardener,” Dr. Krishnan said.

“Did he say why?”

“No, he refused to say anything more. He was quite angry about something.”

“I wonder what was in the envelope he gave my uncle. I'm positive that the killer took whatever was inside of it.”

“Seth, I think you may be on to something, but you are going to need solid proof that your uncle didn't die of natural causes. Poisoning is difficult to prove, more so when there is no body to speak of,” the older man cautioned.
Seth nodded. “Convenient for whoever is behind this. For now.”
The old doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “First we'll need to find out what poison your uncle came into contact with and how. The easiest way would be through food or drink. When are you going to his house next?”

“Tonight, after I get off work,” Seth said.

“When you're there, get a sample of the coffee your uncle drank. I have a friend who works in the police lab. Put the coffee powder in here,” he said, pushing a small plastic bottle across the table to Seth, who put it in his jacket.



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