Accident, Suicide, or Murder

Jerry Jackson stood alone by his darkened window. He glanced at his wristwatch. It was seven minutes before seven… And thus begins Dan Mahl’s classic intro to Accident, Suicide, or Murder, igniting a flurry of events that truly must be read first-hand to be fully appreciated.

He would go downstairs at seven–not six fifty-nine or seven one. He was a short guy, probably five-five or-six with a strong build. He could have done well at golf or tennis in his younger days. He was outfitted in fancy cowboy attire fit for a barbeque or watching a rodeo. His shirt was tan with fancy dark brown leather patches. It was tucked neatly into his blue jeans which in turn were tucked into his short leather riding boots.

His bedroom, on the second floor, was purposefully dark so he could watch all below and remain invisible. His butler, Oliver, was directing the parking to different areas of the massive lawn. As each person or couple emerged, Jerry made mental evaluations and then passed them on to Lydia as if she were standing beside him.

‘Not much longer, my dear Encyclopedia, before the fun begins.

'Oh my! Here comes Dolph and his pack. I swear that guy puts on a pound a day. If he were pregnant, he’d deliver a litter. Hell, if he fell on his stomach, I wonder if his arms would touch the ground. Now, Lydia, my dear, he’s betting big bucks on me to win. He wants me gone. He wants my job. Then, you know what would happen? He’d put on ten pounds a day. He’d blow up like a balloon in two months. Maybe that’s why his gang of three stay with him. Sure, that must be it. But who of the three would replace him?