The Murder of Ms. Melanie

The morning was quiet and still. A few birds twittered, and a fat yellow sun shone cheerfully on the neat row of quaint, picturesque houses. A shrill, bloodcurdling scream pierced the air. Quira Cumber ran out of the eighth house down, sobbing and screaming about Melanie Cantaloupe, the woman who lived in the house.

Azula Berry shot awake immediately. Dressing at lightning speed, she rushed downstairs and into the street, without bothering to even put on her glasses first. A gaggle of people had already surrounded the terrified Quira. 

 "D-dead!" She wailed. "B-b-blood everywhere!" 

"Show me," Azula said authoritatively, as the onlookers tittered fearfully.

Quira shook her head vigorously. "N-no… I c-can't go b-back." 

Azula softened. "Then tell me where, Quira. This is important," she said gently. 

"Th-the bedroom… But d-don’t make me g-go in there with you!”

“I won’t, Quira, calm down,” said Azula reassuringly. And with that, she marched importantly into number eight, Orchard Road. 

The house was empty, yet the entire building seemed to be holding its breath. The tension in the air was almost tangible. Azula saw the remains of the water pitcher that Quira had dropped on her way out of the house, glass shards sitting among a wet patch creeping across the antique rug. Melanie paid Quira to water her plants every morning, among other small household chores that she herself could never remember to do. 

Azula crept up the rickety staircase, noting as she went the dirty boot prints, smudged but definitely there.

“Hmm…” She murmured to herself. The footprints were uncharacteristic of Quira. The girl might have been a bit disorganized at times, but she always kept herself very clean, even her shoes. The prints were too large to be Quira’s, anyways. 

Azula reached the landing and turned the corner, continuing to the second floor. She could taste the anticipation, now. She swallowed as she reached Melanie’s bedroom door. She squeezed her eyes shut, turned the knob, and went inside.

The first thing she saw was the broken window, amazingly. Perhaps her brain was intentionally avoiding what she knew she would see. She cast about the room for something else to look at, but it was no use. 

Azula’s eyes fell on  Melanie Cantaloupe herself, unmistakably dead. The forest green bed sheets were stained dark red, the carpet covered in sickening splatters and more bootprints, now bloody rather than just dirty. Melanie’s green eyes were wide and staring, a smear of her own blood on her cold, pale cheek. Her nightgown had gone from ivory to scarlet, and… and then Azula saw the wound. She felt sick. There was a ragged, gaping hole in Melanie’s abdomen.  She had clearly been stabbed, more than once. Azula wanted to look somewhere else, anywhere but at the body, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. 

 After what seemed like an eternity, Azula couldn’t take it anymore. She ran to the shattered window and vomited over the side, though there was nothing in her stomach. 

Just because you read about people who do this all the time doesn't mean you can! She thought. 

When her vision cleared, she saw the broken glass sparkling on the hedges, and a discarded steel ladder on the lawn. There were small traces of dried blood on the jagged edges of the window. 

 Her mind started racing, all horror and nausea forgotten. This was a mystery. She liked mysteries. If the glass from the window was outside, then it had been broken from inside. That meant the murderer- Azula was certain that this was a murder- probably used the window as an escape route. Did the culprit jump, or perhaps use the ladder to climb down? That didn’t make sense, though, somehow. Why go to all that trouble to set up an escape beforehand, when they could have just jumped? The front door hadn’t been forced, either, she saw that when she had walked in, and Quira had the only spare keys.

So how did they get in? She racked her brain for answers, and a thought occurred to her. The footprints! Azula raced down the stairs and into the sitting room, where a widescreen TV hung above a large, ashy hearth. She rushed over and examined the floor in front of the fireplace. Just as she expected, there were more footprints- coming from the hearth! 

 All the prints on the stairs weren’t dirt, they were ash! The murderer, using the ladder to get up, broke in through the open chimney. That meant they would have to be fairly thin, and strong. 

At first, Azula was excited to be finding so many clues, but then she realized something, and her heart sank.

 Their village, Fruit Salad, was small. She knew everybody. That meant that the murderer was somebody she knew. She thought about Quira, Thomas, Arthur, Bea, Grace, Oliver. Nobody from out of town would have any motive to kill Melanie. They didn’t even get any out-of-towners. The murderer could be anyone.

not anyone. Azula turned her attention back to the boot prints. Most of them were so smudged they barely resembled a human foot, but she found one that was pretty clear. She leaned so low she almost face planted, but she saw it- a miniscule, backwards 15 on the boot. So the killer wore a shoe size 15! She reeled in her excitement and composed herself, then walked back outside where villagers waited anxiously. She met the eyes of every single one of them. They were all her friends, but she couldn't help but think, One of these people is a murderer. 

"Melanie Cantaloupe is dead," Azula announced. "Stabbed, probably in the early hours of morning." 

"S-stabbed?" Bea asked timidly, her dark chocolate brown eyes glittering fearfully. "You mean… intentionally?"

"Yes." Azula said curtly amid gasps and wails from the onlookers. "I fear there is a murderer among us."

At this, everyone in the group shot away from the others, eager to distance themselves from whoever the killer might be. 

"Any idea who it might be?" Mayor Tom Mato asked nervously. 

"Well, whoever it is wears a shoe size 15. They also left small amounts of blood that we can analyze." Azula replied. 

The group scrambled to check the bottoms of their shoes. 

“In an effort to identify Ms. Melanie’s killer, I request an opportunity to search your houses for clues.”

Mr. Mato looked troubled. “An informal, citywide search warrant? Isn’t that a bit much?” But Azula was the only one who could hear him over the din of many people shouting their approval. 

“Right, then.” She said importantly.” I’ll go down the street, starting with number 1. 

Azula’s search was mostly fruitless, but she couldn’t take a break. What if the murderer hid any evidence at another location? Suddenly, it seemed laughable that any self-respecting killer would actually hide evidence in their own house, but she wanted to exhaust every possible source of clues. Melanie had been very dear to the entire village, not least of all Azula. As she worked, Mr. Mato followed her around, until she finally asked him to go supervise the analysis of the blood samples. With him out of her hair, she started to work more efficiently, but she found nothing until she got to number ten, where Bea lived. Azula found a pair of boots. She checked the bottom, and, sure enough, they were size 15, and covered in ash. She reported her finds to Mr. Mato, who then detained Bea.

Azula couldn’t believe it! Quiet, bookish Bea, who worked at the Orchard Library, a murderer! And Azula had always thought that Bea and Melanie got on quite well. 

 Thirty minutes later, she was in a small, dim room with Grace Vine, Mr. Mato, and Bea Nanah herself. 

“It wasn’t me!” Bea sobbed. “It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me!”

“Do you have any evidence to prove this claim, Ms. Nanah?” Grace asked over the noise of Bea’s shrieks. “Because we have plenty of evidence to disprove it!” She slammed the ashy boots on the table. 

“I’ve never seen those boots before in my life!” Bea cried. 

“Oh, really?” Grace shot back. “Because these were found in your home!”

Bea only wailed louder. 

“Well,” Mr. Mato said, “The evidence does seem fairly concrete. I believe I have no choice, Ms. Nanah, but to sentence you to-” 

Before he could finish speaking, Dr. Oliver Branch burst into the room. “Stop!” He said breathlessly. “It wasn’t her, Ms. Berry, it wasn’t her!” Everyone but Bea raised a questioning eyebrow. “Explain, please, Dr. Branch.” Grace said. 

“We analyzed the blood samples on the window. It came out O+, and Bea Nanah is A+.”

Azula frowned. “What if that’s just Melanie’s blood? The murderer surely had some of her blood on them, some could have come off on the window.” 

“No, Ms. Berry.” Dr. Branch said. “We saw to that already, Ms. Cantaloupe is AB-. In addition to that, we measured everyone’s feet. Bea isn’t a size 15.”

“Then who is?” Azula asked. 

Dr. Branch shook his head. “No one, Ms. Berry. No one in the village is a size 15.”

Azula, puzzled, thought for a moment. Then she asked, “Is there anyone above size 15?”

“Just one.” He looked sheepishly at Mr. Mato. 

“Size 17!” The mayor said proudly.

Azula looked back at Dr. Branch. “The culprit might have intentionally worn too-large boots to throw us off the scent!”

“Well, it worked,” Grace muttered bitterly, releasing Bea from her handcuffs. The librarian broke down in renewed sobs, this time from relief. 

Something else still bothered Azula, though. "If it wasn't Bea, then why were the boots in her closet?"

 "Probably as a diversion," Grace reasoned.

"This guy is even better than we thought," Azula said."Dr. Branch, you know everyone's blood type?" He nodded." Any matches to what was on the window?" He nodded again.

"There were only two O+ that we could find, Aubrey Jeane and Arthur Sparagus."

"I'll have them brought in immediately," Mr. Mato said solemnly.

Azula had finally narrowed it down to two suspects- just two! Yet she was still frustratingly far from figuring out who the murderer was. Neither Aubrey nor Arthur would provide any evidence, they just flatly insisted that they did not kill Melanie Cantaloupe. After an hour and a half of fruitless grilling, interrogations were temporarily halted, and the group dispersed. Azula decided to clear her head by returning to the crime scene.

She sat on Melanie's couch and thought. Just thought. She let her mind drift in whatever direction it wanted.

She thought about the woman Melanie had been, a 35-year-old who loved collecting vintage trinkets and dusty antiques. Heck, the very couch Azula was sitting on was probably from fifty years ago. She thought about how all the chimneys in Fruit Salad should probably be retrofitted with grates, to let smoke out but nothing larger than a fly in. The murderer had, after all, gotten in through the chimney, despite how narrow it was.

How narrow it was… 

Azula cursed herself for not thinking of it sooner. She raced upstairs, taking out her phone as she went. She burst into Melanie's bedroom, where the body still lay. She grabbed Melanie's hand and examined her fingers, where a large raw diamond on an ornate gold band should have sat. It wasn't there. Melanie's ring was gone!

She finally knew who the murderer was. Arthur Sparagus was struggling with paying rent. She knew this, Arthur himself had confided in her. A ring like Melanie's would be very expensive. And Aubrey could never have fit down the chimney, Arthur was the only possibility. Azula never would have imagined that he was capable of murder, though.

She called Mr. Mato as fast as she could, but no answer.

"Tom, it's Arthur! Arthur Sparagus is the killer! It's him! I'm at Melanie's! Please call me back!" 

Azula was putting her phone back in her pocket when pain flared in her lower back. Sharp, agonizing pain. She looked down just in time to see a scarlet blade slipping out of her body.

She turned, already lightheaded from blood loss, to see to the face of Arthur Sparagus himself.

"Arthur," Azula said, somehow managing a snarl. Next to her, her phone buzzed and her ringtone sounded. She glanced at the screen and saw that Mr. Mato was calling her.

Arthur stepped on the phone, crushing the screen under his heel.

"Azula Berry," he sneered. "A pleasure."

Azula's knees buckled. "Wish… I could say the same to you," she groaned. 

He twirled his knife in his hands lazily, the blade crimson with Azula's blood.

"I liked you, you know," Arthur said. He sounded disappointed, like she was a puppy who wouldn't do the trick he wanted. "But I can't have you giving away my secrets."

"Too late," Azula growled, her vision growing dim. "I've told the mayor. You won't escape justice, Arthur."

He smirked at her. "We'll see about that," he said quietly. Then everything went black. 

When Azula wouldn't return his calls, Tom feared the worst. He drove as fast as he legally could, bringing with him a small police force and an ambulance. 

He arrived at Ms. Cantaloupe's house in time to see Arthur Sparagus walk out of it, deftly twirling a knife. Tom's heart clenched when he saw that the knife was covered in blood. 

"Where's Azula?" Tom called.

Arthur shrugged. "Inside. She'll be happy to see you… Or maybe not. She's lost a lot of blood."

Tom wanted to rush in there himself, but he motioned for the paramedics to go instead. He also silently instructed his police officers. 

"Do you surrender, Sparagus?" He said in his most powerful mayoral voice. 

"Of course not. I'm not going to jail because you Fruit Salad people are even nosier than I thought."

Tom faltered. "You say that as if you're not from Fruit Salad."

"I'm not! I'm from Vegetable Salad. Things got kind of hairy over there, so I came here instead. This dump is so small I'm surprised I didn't get caught sooner. You must be even dumber than you look."

Perhaps Arthur would have said something else, but just then Tom's police officers came through. They jumped the killer from behind and snapped on handcuffs.

"You know, Arthur," Tom said smoothly, "I guess you're even dumber than you look." He would have gladly watched the officers deal with Sparagus, but he had other matters on his mind. He turned toward Ms. Cantaloupe's house in time to see the paramedics carrying Azula out on a stretcher. Her face was milky pale and her clothes were stained scarlet.

"Is she-"

"There's a pulse," a paramedic said grimly," but there won't be for long. We need to get her to the hospital."

Razzane Berry wanted to cry when she heard the news. Her relationship with Azula had always been somewhat strained at best, but she loved her sister more than anything. 

What an idiot, she thought. Azula loved mystery novels so much she was practically obsessed.

Scratch that. She was obsessed. Azula probably stepped up the second she heard about the murder and played detective. Then again, Thomas did tell her that Azula solved the mystery and caught the criminal- just like in one of her books.

When Razzane arrived at the Fruit Salad Hospital, she nearly ran into the clerk's desk.

"Where's my sister? Azula Berry?" She gasped.

The clerk gave her a concerned look. "Room 408, Intensive Care Unit.

Seeing her sister hurt was even worse than hearing about it. Azula's face was so pale, Razzane really did cry, then. She gave the doctor a significant glance. It was Branch, coincidentally.

Dr. Branch shrugged sadly. "It's too soon to tell whether she'll live," he said. "Azula lost a lot of blood on the way in. I've cleaned and dressed the wounds as best as I could, but…" He put his head in his hands, and Razzane saw how tired he was. "My hopes aren't high."

Razzane choked back a sob. She sat down next to Azula, took her limp hand, and studied her sister's face as the heart rate monitor beeped slowly.

Azula died from her injuries later that night.

 There was a heavy gloom in the air a week later, as a somber crowd clad in black gathered together in the Dark Apple Cemetery. 

"We- we gather here today to mourn the lives of Azula Berry and Melanie Cantaloupe." Mr. Mato's voice was hoarse.

"Both of these deaths are the work of none other than Arthur Sparagus, who first killed Melanie for her diamond ring, then Azula later the same day for figuring out who he was." 

The mayor took a shaky breath before continuing. "Yesterday, many of us lost more than one valuable friend, and Razzane here lost a sister."

She shuffled up to the podium where Mr. Mato spoke, her eyes red and puffy.

"Azula loved mysteries," she began in a tremulous voice. "She would be very happy right now to know that she finally solved one herself, and that the murderer was apprehended. He'll go to prison… where he won't hurt anyone else. M-my sister's sacrifice was n-not in vain." After this, Razzane was crying too hard to say more. 

One year later, Razzane had moved into Azula's old house, where she could visit the cemetery everyday. She regretted that their relationship had been so poor while Azula was alive. She regretted that she hadn't had a chance to say goodbye. The last time they had actually spoken was a month before Azula died. 

She sat at her kitchen table, sipping coffee, contemplating this, as she did every morning, when a knock interrupted her thoughts.

She opened the door to find the mayor looking at her. He seemed nervous.

"Tom? What are you doing here?"

"Good morning, Razz. You should- you should, ah… turn on your TV." Then he anxiously closed her own front door in her face. 

Razzane was puzzled, but she did as he asked. She powered on her TV just in time to hear a reporter say,

"-convicted murderer Arthur Sparagus, who was imprisoned a year earlier for multiple charged involving theft, assault,  and homicide has broken out of prison. He was last seen near-"

Buttherestof thereporter'swordswere drowned out by Razzane's incredulous shriek.

"WHAT?"