“Hello, Officer Cole here.”

Cole, a rather skinny, long-legged young man, was not very pleased to be assigned to the telephone. There had been no rules to whom should take the telephone position, should the normal officers be on leave. Everyone on the scene last night was excused from the first two hours of their duty.

Telephone work, in Cole’s opinion, did not suit him. But no one had asked for his opinion, so he settled for looking as sour as possible, but keeping the anger out of his voice for the benefit of the callers.

The murder case had been reported in the local paper, the Fairfield Gazette. Normally, if murder had even been normal in Fairfield, the press would have been kept out of the story. But it was no secret that a great number of police cars had gathered around the public-school last night (the group of old spinsters would make sure everyone knew that), and the police certainly couldn’t let students attend school normally. The whole affair had been watered down, of course, but there was no point in it, for the vague description the police station had given only aided the imagination of Fairfield’s gossiping residents.

The first two calls Cole had gotten was from worried old ladies wondering if what so-and-so said was true, and if they should be murdered as well. Then came a call from a young mother, asking what the hell she should do with her child (to which Cole had taken a full ten minutes recommending remedies for the situation). There were a few more calls from various residents, claiming they knew the victim, but a few follow-up questions quickly dismissed these claims. Cole had just gone to nip a cup of coffee, a task long overdue, when he was immediately called back by another officer complaining the phone had been ringing nonstop. Each passing moment reminded Cole that his coffee was getting colder.

“Good morning Officer,” a rather nasally female voice replied, “I had been wondering about today’s paper and—”

“I apologize madam, but your name please?” it was difficult for Cole to keep his boredom from seeping into his words. Of course it was about todays paper.

“Oh, I’m sorry Officer. I’m being so stupid. I’m—”

“Your name?” Cole’s irritation was evident now.

“Of course, of course. Wendie Amanda Mage. 19 Ellington avenue?”

Ah. Ms. Mage, another one of the old ladies. Cole shifted in his seat, getting comfortable in preparation for the long story that was inevitably going to follow. “Thank you. You were saying?”

“Well, you see, about today’s paper. The murder in the school? Oh, what a stupid question. Of course you knew that was what I had been talking about, not the (though really quite interesting) story about the ghost town. Though I suppose the ghost town story does have something to do with the police, even if it did happen nearly four years ago. Four years, of course, is a mere second at my age. But the ghost town story was awfully creepy, when put right next to the murder article.

“Do you suppose it was quite true? That everybody in one town had been arrested? Seems terribly unlikely, when one thinks of it. And I do wonder if there are real ghosts in a ghost town. I don’t know if ghosts exist. But I’ve had heard from my darling niece Rachel--don’t see much of her nowadays. I suppose she’s found herself a mate. Oh, how many exciting things happen when you’re young. I’m sure Rachel will find it an awfully interesting happening if she heard of this murder. I suppose she’d go on making a fool of herself, pretending to be a detective. Oh, I suppose she’s outgrown that. Where was I?

“Right! Ghosts. Rachel had told me there was this frightening hotel she once stayed in, and she fancied she heard whispering in her room when there was no one with her. And suddenly, a great wave of coldness had passed through her. Had a terrible attack of shivers, she did. She’d thought she was imagining things, and went to sleep but, would you believe it, the desk had been moved when she woke up! I don’t suppose the same thing happens in ghost towns. Oh, how frightening Rachel had been, but so brave to. She immediately booked another hotel which she said was quite nice.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“Oh, I’m getting terribly off topic. I apologize for wasting your time, Officer. Now, where was I?”

“Something about the murder, Ms. Mage?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Well, you see,” Wendie Mage hesitated.

“Yes?” Cole encouraged, though without much enthusiasm.

“I think I did it.”

Cole nearly fell out of his chair. “Excuse me?”

“I think I did it,” Ms. Mage repeated.

“Ms. Mage, are you terribly aware of—”

“Should someone take me to the police station in handcuffs? Or shall I come myself?”

Cole sat frozen in his seat.

“Officer Cole?”

“Well, I, uh,” Cole fumbled for words, “I, I suppose you should come down.”

“Thank you, officer, I shall be going right now. I hope I hadn’t wasted too much of your time.”

The sound of Ms. Mage’s voice was replaced by a monotonous beep, which was surprisingly similar to her nasally tone.

Mage, Mage, it couldn’t be! Impossible! No, it couldn’t have been Mage. Some of the wounds Cole had seen on the photos couldn’t be made by a frail old lady. And such an old lady couldn’t strangle someone. She simply wouldn’t have the strength.

It was then that it occurred to Cole this interval between calls was a perfect time to get his now cold coffee. This simple, normal task appeased to Cole. He moved slowly towards the break room in a sort of a trance, the words ‘cold’ and ‘coffee’ repeated in his head, among all things. He had no desire to think of anything else.

His coffee, as expected, had cooled a great deal, though he didn’t want to drink any of it. As he moved back to the telephone, intent on keeping the coffee within the cup, Cole was approached by an officer coming out of the restrooms.

“You ok, Cole?” the officer said.

Cole muttered something like, “humiba”, and shuffled away.

The phone rang almost immediately after he sat down. Remembering to sound happy, he picked up the telephone.

“Good morning! This is the police station, Officer Cole speaking. May I ask your name?”

“Oh, right,” a slightly flustered voice replied, “er, Rutherford. Mr. Rutherford.”

“Just so sir,” Cole replied, slightly overdoing the happy, “What is your reason for calling?”

“Er, I expect you know. Must have had a lot of people calling about it.”

“Ah, I see. The murder, isn’t it? Awful business, even I must admit. Never imagined I’d have to investigate one as long as I live in Fairfield.”

“Oh, yes, the murder. Well, the paper didn’t say, but I fancy I can give a pretty accurate description of the woman.”

“Oh?” Cole said. Another one of these claims to know the victim.

“Well, I fancy she’s blond, twenty-something, with blue eyes. And a birthmark on the right side of her neck.”

“That’s pretty accurate,” Cole admitted, “Do you know the name?”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t. She told me to call her Florida, but I rather fancy it was a fake name.”

“Really?” Cole said, interested. He’d never expected Rutherford to be the sort who had affairs. What’s more, the gossipers haven’t yet seemed to find out yet.

“Er, should I tell you what I know over the phone?”

“You can come on down if you’d like, but the phone is more secure than many believe.”

“I think I’ll come down.”

“We won’t go anywhere.”

Cole replaced the phone on the receiver, which proved to be a pointless task as the phone rang immediately after.

“This is Officer Cole. May—”

“Yes, yes,” a hurried voice said, “I thought I should come out with it now.”

“Your name—”

“Thomas Blake.”

“Right.” Cole kept his reply short. He did not like being interrupted.

“You see, I killed Florida.”

Cole blinked for a moment, unsure of the correct reaction. Blake seemed more of the sort to kill Florida. He was a nice young man, but plenty of nice young men were murders. But why Mage had confessed was a mystery.

“I’m coming down to the station right now.”

Apparently, Blake had expected no reaction at all, and the phone was hanged up.

Just then, there was a great commotion at the front door. Cole expected it to be Mage, but it was Rutherford, who lived quite close to the station. Cole hurried to greet him.

To his surprise, Rutherford was being led in handcuffs by Officer Belenford.

“What’s this about, Officer?” Cole demanded.

“Well,” Belenford said, slightly confused, “the man confessed.”

“It was me.” Rutherford, a man of thirty-seven, looked quite shaken. “It was me. Florida and I were having an affair and—”

Rutherford was interrupted by a furious banging on the front door.

“Let me in!” hollered Mrs. Rutherford, “Don’t tell me my idiot of a husband confessed! It was me! I knew my husband was having that stupid affair. Doing all sorts of silly things and going to all sorts of silly meetings. As if I didn’t know. Oh, I don’t know why I still call him my husband! At least he had the heart. I killed the ridiculous Florida. Oh, how I hate her!”

Cole stood frozen, until he heard the telephone ringing, a sound he was starting to hate.