Tuesday In Gunderville
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It was a bright and cheerful Tuesday afternoon when Boris Hatfield was murdered brutally in his garden.

What had begun as a lovely day, with the newspaper announcing the Gunderville Grizzlies winning the big game, soon became a sight for sore eyes, as the once quiet streets were filled with loud reporters trying to catch as much of the action as they could.

Everyone was curious as to why all these big city folks had dropped in unannounced, and the neighborhood had never been more busy. Mr. Lesterson's diner, which had only seven tables and two chefs, was frightfully overcrowded. Being the only diner in town, everyone was waiting to get in and grab a bite before returning to the scene of the action.

But what was the action everyone was so desperately trying to catch? Not a soul could tell, what with all the hustle and bustling about. That was, until a dark brown Ford sped down Lanchester Hill and stopped abruptly at the corner of Duce and Broadford. The door flung open, and out walked a man wearing tweed suspenders, a tan leather jacket, and a black beret.

The man was inspector Francis Danniham III, known far and wide for his spotless police record. He had put more criminals behind bars than there were posts lining the house on the corner of Duce and Broadford, the very house he had come to investigate.

The inspector walked briskly into the house and stepped inside. The floor was waxy and uneven, and the walls were stained with grape juice and other such things. Danniham marched through the parlor, out the kitchen, and finally, into the garden.

Lying face first in the petunias was Boris Hatfield.

Mr. Hatfield had on trousers and a patterned dress shirt, now covered in dirt. He was suffering from no obvious wounds, aside from his face, which was missing both eyes.

Inspector Danniham did a full examination, drawing blood, swabbing skin, and shoving his gloved fingers down and around Mr. Hatfield's rectal area, quite to the dismay of Audrey Hatfield, his widow who had demanded to be allowed to view her late husband's examination.

The lab results came back negative. It seemed that there were no substances out of the ordinary in the man, aside from a few poker chips that had managed to make their way into his bladder, but which, when asked about them, Ms. Hatfield claimed had been there for years.

It seemed as if no new evidence could be found to explain why Boris Hatfield had died that Tuesday afternoon in the middle of his garden. The only lead Danniham had was the eyes, and something didn't add up about it.

If it was a planned attack, who could have done it? Of all the witnesses and neighbors they questioned, everyone had a common lack of motive and all were able to be placed somewhere else at the possible time of the murder. The only person who was anywhere near the Danniham house between 9 am and noon that day were his wife, and a mysterious stranger named Earl who wore a hoodie and who no one recognized. Earl had been spotted sneaking around the corner of Duce and Broadford for a few weeks, always with a pair of binoculars. However, when questioned about the incident, Earl declined to answer, stating that he was unable to speak about the event, for it was too tragic.

With no reasonable suspects, the case seemed pointless to pursue. Even knowing valuable information like his dietary habits, which his wife described as being "meaty and caloric", or knowing that blue eyes, which Mr. Hatfield had possessed, were extremely valuable on the black market, as detailed by Earl, the answer was still very unclear.

The police force did a poll of the area to see if anyone could think of possible methods of the murder. The only solid guess was by Earl, who was becoming a useful resource. He postulated that it could have been caused by a temporary blockage to the windpipe, like choking on ice.

At the end of the investigation, Ms. Hatfield was disappointed to hear that her late husband's case was being closed. The only thing keeping her together was Earl, who had formed a quick and strong bond with Audrey not a day after the incident.

As the inspector got into his car and began to drive away from the agency, he could only imagine how warm of a heart a man like Earl had to have to not only be involved in a case he had nothing to do with, but to console and comfort those affected by it. We all need an Earl in our lives, and Ms. Hatfield was lucky to have hers.

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