Word of the Day: swivet

swivet / SWI – vit / a state of extreme agitation, a tizzy
It took a while to figure out how to do this story. If I’m being really honest, I thought about it far too much. So much so, that the story itself was the last thing I thought about, which might also be noticeable. I further suspect that I might’ve developed a case of “toilet on the brain,” with all of these commode-centered stories.
The assembled crowd gasped, and glared at the butler, who jeered, “It’s the oldest dodge in the book. In formula fiction the one everyone suspects is the least likely to be the actual killer. I thought you all knew this, no one would ever suspect that I would be involve due to the simple fact that I was the obvious choice! Only I knew that Lady Penny had changed her will, leaving me the sole beneficiary. I just had to play dumb for a few weeks and take my just desserts. If it weren’t for that meddling investigator, I’d have gotten away with it all!”
“The killer is none other than Malcolm Jeeves, Ms. Penelope Crapper-Connor’s longtime lover and capable butler!”
There was silence in the large ballroom, where those assembled pondered these cryptic words.
“Perhaps it was her spurned lover, who arrived in a swivet, and strangled her in a moment of anger. Possibly, it was a member of her household staff, fed up with her constant, belittling attacks. Or, perhaps it was both…”
“Could it be her spoiled children? Unlikely. Each of them was far too absorbed in their own existence to entertain thoughts of murdering their mother in her bathroom, where she might be naked. Such a condition could not be observed by her spoiled offspring, who would not risk such a horrifying sight.”
“I am glad you all accepted my invitation. I know you all are eager to learn the truth of not only dear Penelope’s demise, but the death of her husband, Thornton. Unless, of course, you are the killer.”
As the dinner ended, and the nervous chatter grew in intensity, Polaski addressed the room of suspects. The butler fetched a microphone, so that everyone could hear.
The motley crew was assembled for a scrumptious dinner at the estate. Hosting the cast of dozens was left to the capable hands of K.C. Polaski, who promised to reveal the name of the murder.
Was Ms. Crapper-Connor’s death an accident? Was she the victim of matricide, or perhaps she decided a life as a toilet heiress was too much to handle?
Finally are the dark horse candidates, a gallery of household employees, including a much-put-upon cook, who endured the daily abuse of her employer’s biting critique of every morsel of food, a driver who had been fired for failing to stock the limo’s mini bar with cherries of sufficient size to fit on the end of Penelope’s nose, and a gardener who had been denied multiple raises over years of faithful service.
In the second tier of potential murderers is Penelope’s former lover, who had been strung-along for many years, waiting for Mrs. Crapper-Connor to accept his marriage proposal, and keep him in the manner to which he’d like to become accustomed.
The pool of suspects is Olympic-sized. In the shallow end are Penelope’s three surviving children. Ever since their father’s mysterious and unsatisfactorily resolved death, the three privileged and wasteful youths would benefit greatly from their mother’s untimely demise. True to stereotype, the eldest is known to have significant gambling debts, the middle child, an addiction to fashionable narcotics, and the youngest a knack for trusting scam artists, and had been “cut-off” from her trust fund.
Ms. Crapper-Connor was found dead in her bathroom, strangled by the long chain pull which activated her toilet’s flush. She had a number of bruises, suggesting that perhaps she had slipped and gotten caught in the cord. Such suggestions were made primarily by the main suspects in the case.
The bizarre murder of Penelope Crapper-Connor, heir to the enormous Crapper family fortune, has been puzzling detectives for nearly two weeks, but, one cunning Private Investigator claims that she will soon reveal the culprit, likely in at a dinner party to be held at the Crapper Compound.
As in:
Today’s Word:
As a side note, tomorrow (Jan 27) is National Crapper Day, the anniversary of the death of Thomas Crapper, the plumber most widely associated with toilet. He didn’t invent it, but, he had many innovations which made it more sanitary, and as the installer of the Royal privies, his fixtures became world renowned, and are not much different than the ones we know today.
In keeping with the Obscure holiday tradition, this story was inspired by today’s holiday, which is “Backwards Day.” I have a feeling you’ll notice. If you have ever felt disoriented, or that something was really out of whack, chances are, it wasn’t you, it was Backwards Day. Now you are forewarned.