I zoomed around the corner into the driveway of Mrs. Hathaway, and turned off the roaring engine of my 1956 Rolls CanHardly. The motor sputtered to a halt with a painfull gasp and fell silent. I climbed out of my car with a grunt and quickly buttoned up my overcoat to stave off the bitter cold of the winter night. The fog was so thick that I could cut it with a knife, but I used a spoon because I wanted to get every drop.
Moonbeams danced across the lawn flamingos as I advanced up the path to the front door. I was just about to ring the doorbell when a woman screamed and a series of gunshots rang out! I quickly looked up, and out of the second story window flew a woman's body, landing with a plop in the begonias. It was Mrs. Hathaway. I knew immediately that this set of circumstances was probably due to an act of foul play, as her body was riddled with bullet holes. Also, the begonias were ruined.
"Did I come at a bad time, Ms. Hathaway?" I asked, as I attempted to staunch the flow blood from her wounds with my monogrammed handkerchief.
"Who are you?" Mrs. Hathaway gasped, grimacing in pain.
"Oh, forgive me. We haven't been properly introduced." I said. "Call me Zaius."