The Masterpiece Murders #6

I'm back!

                Her name was Cynthia Weaver, and her friend was Maria Vermeer. Her friend was than three blocks from my neck of the woods. I assumed the bruiser was still skulking around my building like a bad smell; I’d deal with him later. When we got to the place I was amazed. It was lusher than Dean Martin and twice as suave. The red brick building was three stories tall with two generous windows on every floor. A small tree sat every few feet guarded with a small metal cage, most likely to protect from dogs. After a few flights of stairs she pointed to a door with a trembling hand, unaware of the fate of her friend. I motioned a finger to my lips and gave a short gesture for her to stay put. I pulled out my gun and gingerly pushed open the already ajar door and on the other side was a sight to behold. There she was, looking like something straight out of a museum. She was draped in a flowing cloth, lying on her side facing away from the door. I slowly drew upon her to check for any signs of life. What I found shook me to my deepest part. She was grinning; it was a sort of unnatural smile that made a person’s blood run cold. I’d have a chat with an old friend of mine about what caused it. I was transfixed on that smile until I heard a muffled yelp from the doorway. I looked over to see Ms. Weaver outside the door clutching a hand to her mouth at the shock of seeing her friend in such a way. I couldn’t say I blamed her, I nearly emptied my guts when I saw my first dead body. Luckily for us the body was fresh, the smell of death hadn’t darkened this home…yet. I wanted to look around before the police trounced about the place like a bunch of animals but I had to tend to Ms. Weaver who appeared she was about to collapse. It isn’t every day you’re forced to see a friend turned into a beautifully tragic masterpiece like the one that lay before us that day.