Inspector Goodstone and the Case of the Murdered Artist

by Shells Walter

Inspector Goodstone looked at the painting once more.

"I don't understand what is so special about this painting." The Inspector tilted his head sideways to look at the painting from a different angle.

"It has to do with the brush strokes of the artist, sir," the man with the wide brimmed hat replied. He followed the painting with his fingers, not allowing even one to touch the colorful oil painting.

"Mr. Frots, I still have no clue why someone would kill for a piece of art." The Inspector shook his head. He turned as he heard a clinking noise.

A man with a white shirt, pressed black pants, whose hair was neatly trimmed, walked into the room. The clink of his ice-filled drink glass was the noise the Inspector had heard. The man held out a free hand to the Inspector.

"I'm sorry I've kept you waiting Inspector. It has been so chaotic here since my Sara passed away; everyone is either too afraid to stay here, or have just outright quit. I've had to learn to do things I've never done before." The man sighed and sat down on the black leather chair facing the Inspector and Mr. Frots.

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