The Accent Wall

 Welcome to the Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is to write about a mishap involving paint. Phil Yeats wrote this week’s story.

In April, 2024, he published The Body on Karli’s Beach, the third book in his Barrettsport Mysteries, a series of soft-boiled mysteries set in a fictional South Shore Nova Scotia town. For information about these books, and The Road to Environmental Armageddon, his trilogy about the hazards of ignoring human-induced climate change, visit his website: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/

 

The Accent Wall

by Phil Yeats

 

The new detective, a veteran from a big city force who was looking for a simpler life in a small town, crouched beside the body of the town’s wealthiest citizen. He confirmed what the messenger from the bank had reported to the police half an hour earlier. Albert Hopkins, the reclusive owner of a large house on the edge of town, had apparently collapsed while repainting the back wall. He’d been lying there for several days. His clothing was not paint-splattered.

Detective Johnson retreated to the doorway and surveyed the scene as he waited for the doctor. It didn’t look like a crime scene, which made him wonder why the police chief insisted he hurry over and assess the situation. Someone had pulled the furniture away from one wall. Decorations removed from the wall were on the dining table. A stepladder and a small paint-splattered table stood on a drop cloth that extended across the space. The step ladder shelf held a paint tray and roller with moderate quantity of dark green paint; the table, a paintbrush, a stirring stick, the lid from a litre can of paint, the prying tool for removing it from the can, and the rubber mallet for hammering it on again. Someone had applied a coat of dark green paint to a three-foot square patch in the upper lefthand corner of the previously ivory coloured wall.

Detective Constable Summers appeared at her boss’s side. “We’ve cordoned off the property as per the chief’s orders. Constable Kane is standing guard, waiting for the forensics unit, but I don’t understand. Why do you suspect foul play?”

Detective Johnson nodded toward the room with the body. “Does this scene look right to you?” 

Summer’s eyes slowly scanned the room. “Looks rather staged, and Mr. Hopkins isn’t dressed for the part of the painter, but…” She paused and scanned the room again, this time much more furtively, her eyes darting from place to place. “Where’s the can of green paint?”

 

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The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: http://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/