Out of Order Murder Mystery

By Bert Paul

Take everything you've ever known about mysteries, and get ready to toss it out the window. Preferably at the neighbor who stole your newspaper this morning. Go on. We'll wait here.

This story is a spoof of murder mysteries and courtroom dramas, with a bit of science fiction thrown in. It is told, well, out of order. Hence the title. Because of that, the victim finds out ahead of time that he may be murdered and has a chance to take evasive action. Naturally, things don't go well.

Many of the characters come to realize they are not in real life, but have been caught up in "a stupid Uncle Bert story." Yet, they know the only way out is to proceed through the story to the end. Action alternates back and forth between courtroom drama and events happening outside the courtroom. And some actions even happen before other actions start. Or end. Or, in the middle of other actions.

Who will live, who will die and who will escape having to end up in another one of Bert's stories? Will anyone actually get to go on vacation? Whodunit?

A laugh-out-loud, madcap short story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Untreed Reads
• Release date: Mar 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781611872910

Book preview

Paul

Chapter 1. In court already?

Order in the court! growled the judge, looking around and banging his gavel. He was slightly confused, since there was no real disturbance in the court. In fact, there were very few people at all in the courtroom. But he felt he had to say something, and that was as good as anything. He scowled sternly over the top of his reading glasses. The judge hoped he was doing a good job of looking authoritative and in charge, because he really didn’t have the slightest idea what was going on. He didn’t know what the case was about, or indeed which case it was, and he didn’t know where they were in the proceedings. Was this a preliminary hearing? Was it jury selection time? Was the trial in progress? Or was it time to proceed with sentencing? And what was the crime, anyway?

All these things preyed on his mind. He really wished he’d been paying closer attention.

For the moment, he turned his attention to the attorneys standing in front of him. They were looking around, nervously. They looked around the courtroom. They looked at each other. They looked at the judge. In reality, they were as puzzled as he was.

Your honor, began the defense attorney, we—my client and I—are asking for a continuance.

I object, said the prosecuting attorney, but in a rather tentative way. She didn’t really object, because she, like the judge, had no idea what was going on. But as the prosecuting attorney, she felt obliged to object to whatever the defense attorney wanted. That’s how it works on TV, anyway, she reasoned.

Hold your horses, said the judge to the assistant D.A. The judge turned to the defense attorney. On what grounds do you want this continuance?

"Well, your honor, you see…here we are in the courtroom, and we really don’t know what’s going on. Do we? What trial is this? Is it a trial? Look around. We don’t have a defendant. We only have one juror in the jury box. There are no witnesses. I think we need more information before we can proceed. I can only assume my client—whoever he or she may turn out to be—would not want to go any further until we have a clear idea of the circumstances," said the defense attorney.

Well, counselor, said the judge, turning to the assistant D.A., what do you have to say about this?

The assistant D.A. cleared her throat. She rummaged through some papers in her briefcase. Well, it appears the only information I have is that this is a case of murder. We have a victim, an elderly Mr. P of T-Ville. But we don’t seem to have much else.

I object! cried out the lone juror in the jury box.

You can’t object, said the judge. You’re a juror. Your job is to listen quietly and then give a verdict based on evidence presented. Once we find some evidence to present.

I don’t care, said the elderly juror. I object anyway.

On what grounds? asked the judge, frowning deeply, but briefly. If he frowned too long, he got a headache. He didn’t like headaches, especially since at his age, most of his other parts—joints and muscles—ached much of the time anyway. He hoped it was almost time to retire.

On lots of grounds, said the juror. "Mostly, I object to being called for jury duty again. This is the fifty-sixth time in the last sixty-some years, since I turned eighteen, that I’ve been called—and had to serve—on a jury. Seems like some other folks I know who never get called should take a turn now and then."

Fifty-six times in sixty years? said the judge. How did you get out of jury duty those other four times? He made a note on his pad to have the juror investigated to see if he got out of jury duty four times because of a trumped-up excuse.

I was serving my country in the U.S. Air Force, said the juror.

Well, muttered the judge, I suppose that’s all right. But the jury pool here in this rural area is quite small. You must expect to be called more often than people who live in heavily populated areas.

But I am also over eighty now, said the juror. "It’s tiring for me to drive all the way here, listen