Murder in the Swiss Alps
I was startled by the scent of gardenias. Somebody snuck into the room and changed the flowers in the vase while my back was turned. I was alone. The door was still locked.
I stepped out onto the balcony. I am somewhere in the swiss alps. I have no idea how I know that to be true. I can’t even remember my own name. Across the lake a young woman steps out onto a balcony similar to the one I am on. She is drinking coffee made from freshly ground beans from Sumatra. She is so far away it is hard to tell what she looks like. But I know what kind of coffee she is drinking. I know what she looks like in precise detail. I know that her name is Sylvia. I know that her husband will be coming home soon. He has a gun. He is going to murder her and make it look like a burglary gone wrong.
I must warn her. Alert the police. Do something. But I am locked in this room and I can’t get out.
While I was on the balcony somebody brought my dinner. I do hope that there is red jello for dessert.
The old man was here again.
He seemed pleased when I told him about Silvia. I was quite relieved to learn that she is not really going to be murdered. He said it would be good for me to write about it.
He asked me if I knew who he was. He told me his name. I should have written it down.
He is going to ask me what it is when he come back again but I have already forgotten what it was.
We went over to the typewriter he had a bundle of paper a large stack of crisp white sheets. He gathered up what I had written and seemed quite happy to see how hard I am working.
While my back was turned somebody brought my dinner. I love red jello. I do hope they didn’t forget the red jello.
