They Called It Murder  (Cozy Mystery)

This story starts quite odd, since I did not get involved until they called it murder.

My name is Kate Wells. I am the top investigative reporter of the Inwood Feline Gazette. You may not have heard of us since we are not nationally known, but the news must be reported, even if it’s mundane.

The incident became known at six-fifteen in the evening on October 23. I must print that since that is what they agreed to have on record. Off the record, it was a slightly different story that I would prefer you to know.

The chief of the gazette, Elwood Rimm, sent me to Miss Dalila Burma's home. He informed me that this story would put our unknown paper up there in the big leagues. I really do not care for the big leagues, but it would be nice not to write a fluff piece.

I grabbed my pen and pad off my desk, then off I went, admitting to no one but myself that this could be a real letdown if I get the usual mouse stuck in a tree bit.

The town of Inwood has a population of one hundred fifty. Out of the one hundred fifty residents, a quarter were considered the W.C.C. (working-class cat). The rest inherited their money or came by it by luck. The houses were nicely spread out for privacy, and once a year, the whole town would gather to celebrate the founder of Inwood, Mr. Josiah Inwood. He was a big black cat who earned his money by slaving foreign kittens in cream shops.

Everyone pretends he is respectable, but we all know the real deal.

I drove up to the scene in my Kia Sol, and to my surprise, the town friar and the inspector were there. Inspector Chief Broadside was a cat with a dominating presence that matched his dominating girth, which is typical for that breed, I suppose.

The Friar Theaus was a fair cat, very easy on the eyes, and if he had not already been taken, I could name a few felines that would not mind scratching that tree. (Meow)
“Well, we were wondering when the gazette would send you here,” the inspector said without glancing my way.
“I’m glad to hear you were waiting to give me the info.”

“That is where you are wrong. I was waiting to ban you from the crime scene. No reporter is allowed near. Do you understand? Go against my orders, and you’ll be sent to the kennel.”

“Wow, it must be juicy. What happened, Friar?”

“It seems that someone has killed Miss Dalila Burma.”

“Friar, please. I’m trying to keep the incident as quiet as possible.” Broadside said pleadingly.
I could not help licking my lips. It only happens when I taste a delicious story. I took out my pad and began to write.

“Can I quote you?” The friar looked a bit uneasy about it. “I can say an anonymous source confided that Miss Burma was killed.” He relaxed after that.

“May I ask who found her?”

“You may ask, but you will receive no answer. So off with you Miss. Wells.”
“You are blocking the freedom of the press.”

“Yes, I am. For as long as I can.”

“You know I can help. People like to talk. I may stumble on some valuable info for you.”
“Not interested.”

As he refused my help, I noticed that Ida, Miss Marion’s house servant, was standing off to the side of the house in tears.

“Fine, inspector. I will get the story regardless of you blocking me. Mark my words: You will need my help before this is done.” I walked back down the lane, and I heard a low purr. When I turned around, they acted as if they had heard nothing. My guess is that it was the inspector. I caught him a time or two looking at my tail.