A Meditation on Murder by Kath Norgrove

The scream seemed to be coming from one of the treatment rooms that sat in the middle of the retreat's largest  lawn: a timber and paper Japanese tea house that had been christened the 'Meditation Space'.

Holly Green was first to awaken, her hazel eyes peering through a wild tangle of curly golden-blond hair at the sight before her. The victim, Francois Faulkner, who had been leading the meditation session, had an olive complexion, curly dark brown hair in a long braid, and green eyes. He was now pale, face-down on the floor, covered in blood. Standing over him, with a knife in her hand, dripping with blood was little Penny Lane. Staggering backwards, she screamed again, and dropped the knife, shaking. Her already pale complexion had turned grey. The second scream aroused the others that had shared the space with them.

Kaira Wittyflower, Francois's partner who had heard the second scream from the house, raced towards the tea house. She was very tall, somewhat thin, and wearing a red and black checked shirt with scruffy denim shorts. The door was locked, from the inside, as was standard practice. She knocked on the door and it seemed an eternity before anyone came to the door.

Inside the scene was chaos. Blood was everywhere. Francois lay face forward with a knife wound in his back. The mediatation group were awake but somewhat disorientated and confused. Kaira called the police immediately.

As the police drove up the gravel driveway in convoy, their blue lights flashing dimly in the bright sunshine, they could see that the main hotel building was an old plantation owner's house. Detective Inspector Felicity Blacksmith, average-height with chocolate skin, black hair and blue eyes jumped out of the passenger side of the open-topped jeep as soon as it stopped. She was followed closely by Detective Sergeant David Vader, a forty-ish man, skinny but handsome, in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses. His rumpled look and relaxed manner suggested a man in whom casualness ran deep, but he was a great detective.

Pulling up in a battered old car behind them was Dr Kattykitt Norson. No one knew her real name but everyone called her Kattykitt. She was in her mid-fifties with many years experience as a forensic pathologist. She was still described by all her knew her as beautiful. To her 50 was the new 40 and many people thought she was indeed 40. She found a large clump of shade that was thrown by a broad, hulking tree and parked underneath it, aware that within the hour the car would be like an oven in this heat.

Kaira ran over to meet them, trembling. It was clear she'd been crying. She led them to the meditation space that sat shimmering in the middle of the lawn ...

(first published on 1st September 2020)