“Welcome to the committee meeting. You all know why we are here,” stated Mma Ramotswe.
“Another four books have been murdered! This is our school library!” wept Anne, her face buried in Timmy’s thick fur coat.
“How were the killed?” asked Miss Marple inquisitively.
“Drowned!” announced Mma Ramotswe.
“Good heavens!” cried the Famous Five.
“Who had the means, motive and opportunity?” mused Miss Marple.
“We should discuss this over a nice cup of red bush tea,” stated Mma Ramotswe.
“No! Ginger beer is the solution,” exclaimed Julian.
“Be quiet and use the little grey cells,” shouted an exasperated Poirot.
“Who were the victims?” inquired Miss Marple. She was surprisingly involved in the conversation, given, to the untrained eye she appeared to be hugely engrossed in the cardigan she was knitting.
“Our dead friends are: Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone, Swallows and Amazons, Carrying the Elephant and Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief.”
“Brilliant! I am already 1/7 dead!” snapped Harry Potter sarcastically, his patience obviously wearing thin.
“I think the butler did it,” interjected Poirot.
“No, it was all to do with a secret marriage, I must just head down to Somerset House,” exclaimed Miss Marple.
“We think someone must be hiding behind a secret panel,” declared the Famous Five.
“I think you’ll find that the culprit is 5ft 3, has a slight limp and a scar above his left eyebrow,” came a voice from the left.
“Oh come on, Sherlock, this is a girls’ school,” chorused everyone.
“We need to look at when these murders have taken place,” stated Mma Ramotswe.
“The last time was in July,” sobbed Anne, Timmy’s coat was now sodden. “I remember it so well because I was awake most of the night. That horrible storm was really fierce!”
“So nothing took place over the summer holidays? How interesting…” mused Mma Ramotswe.
“It must be one of those awful governesses!” shouted Blanche Ingram passing by on her way back to Classic Fiction section.
“She must mean mistresses,” piped up Darrel, from the Malory Towers CD box set.
“You may be onto something with that storm in July, Anne, there was an utter deluge last night too,” murmured Mma Ramotswe.
“What do all of those books have in common? Any ideas? Did they even know each other?” questioned Mma Makutsi. “They did! Their authors are Ransome, Riordan, Rosen and Rowling! They were neighbours!”
“Hold on, look at the floor! There are these muddy splash marks everywhere! Did anyone see how they got there?” asked Sherlock Holmes.
The next morning, a note was found on the Librarian’s desk.
Follow our instructions and there will be no more deaths:
Get someone in to fix the roof.
There is a crack in the glass above the R section of books in the fiction area. When there is a heavy storm, rain comes through the crack, and drowns the books on the top shelf. Until it is fixed, please may we have an umbrella?