Twas the night before…

By Tracy Kiely

(with apologies to Clement C Moore, who I have been informed, just rolled over)

Twas the night before Christmas

And Elizabeth was tired

For there was yet another murder

In which she was mired.

The body by the chimney was once known as Claire

A lovely, albeit rather bitchy, multi-millionaire

But now poor Claire lay quite dead

The result of a nasty blow to the head

Claire had gone down in search of a nightcap

And had instead stepped into a deadly booby trap

Her subsequent fall had made such a clatter

That the guests ran down to see what was the matter

Although she was still sleepy, Elizabeth could see in a flash

That one of the guests had done something horribly rash

For Claire’s husband, the news was quite a blow

And he had to be calmed with a healthy dose of Bordeaux

Claire’s sister, Kelly, was the next to appear

But Elizabeth saw that she refused to draw near

Claire’s mother-in-law took in the scene and appeared rather sick

Her face grey, she leaned heavily upon her walking stick

But because Claire had a personality that could inflame

Elizabeth suspected that much of this grief was a game

It was no secret that Claire was a vixen

But was that reason enough to bash her head in?

Elizabeth considered the suspects; considered them all

From Claire’s husband, sister, even her mother-in-law

That her husband seemed devastated was no lie

But though he wept, his eyes were bone dry

Claire’s sister, Kelly, seemed equally blue

But looking down, Elizabeth saw that something was askew.

And then in a twinkling, Elizabeth suspected the truth

But could she come up with the proof?

Turning, she ran up the stairs with a bound

And searched the Inn’s rooms all around.

Within minutes she spied a slipper made for a dainty foot

All dirty and covered with ashes and soot

To the living room she then ran back

And hoped the inspector wouldn’t think her a quack

His eyes, how they twinkled, his dimples, how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, and not from the sherry

His droll little mouth did then bestow

A smile much warmer than his initial “hello”

Turning to Claire’s sister, somber in her nightgown sheath

The inspector asked to see her feet beneath

Oh, and how then things did change for Miss Kelly!

And she began to quake like a bowl full of jelly

Kelly took a quick step back toward the bookshelf

Her sly face now like a murderous elf

In the blink of an eye, she turned and fled

Yelling all the while that her sister deserved to be dead

Claire’s husband now went berserk

Crying his love for Kelly (for he was a jerk)

He tried to punch the inspector in the nose

While yelling a word that I can’t here disclose

The inspector leapt back and seemed to bristle

But he shot after Kelly, as fast as a missile

And I heard him exclaim, as he ran into the night

“Come back here right now! I must read you your Miranda rights!”