Trudy Todd's small country inn was rarely full, despite the innkeeper's vigilant eye to quality and comfort. Trudy just wasn't a good businesswoman-- not until someone happened to die on the premises.
On the fateful evening in question, three of the four guests were wandering around the first floor rooms. Trudy made sure their glasses were all full, then discreetly exited up the stairs. What a rich and spoiled bunch!
Trudy knocked on a guest room door. "Mrs. Wiggins?" she called out gently. Althea Wiggins had retired early, leaving her husband and friends to socialize without her.
When there was no response, Trudy pushed it open. Immediately, she spotted the quarter-sized water ring. And on her mother's antique mahogany table, no less. Trudy eradicated the rude blemish, then proceeded to turn down the bed. Halfway through, she felt the breeze. It was coming from the bathroom.
The large bathroom, originally a nursery, was blessed with a dramatic French door and a small balcony overlooking the flagstone terrace below. On the balcony floor, right by the railing, was a wet bar of soap. "Mrs. Wiggins," Trudy stammered, then peered over the edge. On the flagstones below lay the body of Althea Wiggins, her beautiful neck broken. Trudy was relieved to see that the cut crystal water glass in her outstretched hand was still in one piece.
The other guests were devastated by the tragic accident. Althea's husband, Jay, refilled his brandy snifter twice before his hand was steady enough to dial up the police. "They'll be here in five minutes," he announced.
Binky Quaker, Jay's business partner, seemed just as inconsolable. All evening he'd been drinking shot glasses of whiskey. But the tragic accident sobered him instantly.
Binky's wife, Mary, a plain, down-to-earth woman, had never been all that fond of Althea. But now, Mary put down her beer mug and became the picture of solicitude and mourning.
No one had seen Althea since she went up the stairs to bed and, when the police arrived, they were quick to label it an accident. If any of the guests had been thinking of suing Trudy for the deadly, misplaced bar of soap, no one said a word.
It was Trudy, in fact, who brought up the subject of money. "I know it wasn't accidental," she whispered to one of the three surviving guests. "How much will you be willing to pay for my silence?"
