"Must we go?" Francis asked. He was totally against the idea. He was putting on a tie.

   "Yes, Francis, it's my uncle's funeral." I answered, adjusting my cufflinks.

   "How'd he die?" Francis asked.

   "Apparently, he took the combination of the wrong pills. He drank it and his assistant gave him a swig of coffee and he was found dead in his office. Purely accidental." I said.

   "And which one of your crazy uncle is it again?" Francis asked.

   "He's an author, and he's not crazy." I said, straightening my bow tie. I had my trusty black suit on for funerals, weddings, and special occasions. I had a red one for investigations in case blood got spilled and no one would notice it on a red suit.

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   "Hmm...very lively for a funeral. Sure it wasn't your crazy uncle?" Francis asked.

   "Yes, I'm sure. But I'd like to talk to the assistant. Something is a bit fishy here..." I muttered. I looked around the room. The only problem was, I had no idea who his assistant was.

   "Oh no. You're not going to go all detective at a funeral, are you?" Francis asked. He was preventing something that couldn't be prevented.

   "Yes, Francis, I am. But I have no idea who his assistant was. But I do know a way to find out." I said. I smiled.

   "Don't tell me you're going to ask every single person." Francis said.

   "Don't have to. When the service starts, I'll either go first or I'll just force them to go next by calling out their name. I'm sure they've come to this funeral." I said. Now, all I had to do, was wait.

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   "I loved my uncle very much." I said. I really did. Uncle Larry was one of my favorite of my ten uncles. My mom was the only girl of six children, and my dad had four brothers. I was basically in uncle heaven. And, of course, so was Larry.

   "I don't know what I'll miss the most, Uncle Larry, or the stories he came up for me." I finished. Claps of grief and sadness went through the halls. Now, my plan had to be executed now or never.

   "But, I do know who else who hasn't said any words yet. Uncle Larry's assistant! Please, say something!" I shouted into the audience. Not obvious enough to seem like I didn't know the person.

   "Come on, don't be shy!" I said into the microphone. Then, a slender woman stood up. She had black hair and looked up at me. I kept my act up and continued to smile. She smiled and stuttered a few words.

   "Alright, if you insist..." she said, barely audible. She walked up to the podium from the pews and talked into the microphone. I stood back, behind her.

   "Hello, everyone. I'm Mr. Larry Harison's assistant. My name is Joan Corrigan and I was the..." she said. Then, she broke down into tears.

   "I was the one who found him dead!" she cried. Then, she ran off the stage in a rush towards the bathroom. I stepped down from behind and back to my pew. Another woman went after her, and I felt like she was important in some way. Well, only one way to find out.

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The burial ended about an hour later. The service was for another hour and a half, so I had to make my move. I shuffled through the crowds and found no trace of the woman. What I did find though, was the lady who went after her when she broke down into tears. I decided she was the only connection for now, so I had to start with her.

   "Excuse me, ma'am." I said to her. She turned around and strikingly had somewhat the same feautres as the assistant. Her hair, complexion, everything, was basically the same.

   "What can I do for you, young man?" she asked.

   "Umm...do you know Uncle Larry's assistant?" I asked.

   "Yes, Joan Corrigan. I'm her sister, Mira." she answered.

   "Oh, you are? Well, do you think Uncle Larry's death was an accident?" I asked.

   "Well, I guess. I can't say for sure. Joan was the only one who witnessed it. She even told the police tube pills Mr. Harison took and where he was." she answered.

   "Does your sister have any ties to Uncle Larry?" I asked.

   "Well, his company was a publishing company. In his spare time, Mr. Harison would write stories and ask for our input. He used the pen name Keegan Morrison. We, meaning the company, gladly read his work and praised him. He was a spectacular story teller." she said.

   "You work at the company too?" I asked.

   "Yes, me and my sister Joan were one of his three assistants. Another was that man over there, in the spotted tie. Mr. Phillip C. Moore. He almost talked to Joan as much as I did." she said.

   "Alright, Mrs. Corrigan, thank you for your assistance." I said.

   "That's what I do, assist." she smiled. I left her and went towards Mr. Moore. In my mind, I was thinking. Could Joan have done it? Maybe poisoned the coffee with the pills? Or even Mira or the other assistants? No one had any real motive just yet. Jumping to conclusions is what distinguished a good detective from a bad detective. Like Holmes once said, insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories instead of theories to suit facts.

   "Hello? Mr. Moore?" I asked. I tapped the man on his shoulder.

   "Why hello there!" he said. He had a thick British accent.

   "You are the late Mr. Harison's assistant, right?" I asked.

   "Yes, young fellow, one of three. Me and Joan and her sister Mira." he answered.

   "So, did you know Mr. Harison well?" I asked.

   "Well, pretty well if I do say so myself. I knew that old chap. He was such a playboy but a sensitive and talented writer. Did you know her played the piano?" he asked. I didn't know, in fact. The man's assistant knew him better than one of his family members did.

   "Of course!" I said.

   "How? He said he never told anyone." he questioned. Yikes, had to fast talk my way out of this.

   "Oh, his hands. They are consistent to a person who played and practiced a piano. Plus, I walked in on him once. Secretly, of course." I winked.

   "Very, good young fellow. You'd make a good detective." he said.

   "If you say so." I said.

   "Anything else, my young detective?" he asked, giving me a noogie.

   "Yes, two things. Do you think Mrs. Corrigan, Joan, had any motive to kill Mr. Harison?" I asked.

   "No, not really. She was a bit stressed for some odd reason she wouldn't tell me. But, other than that, no." he said.

   "Thank you, Mr. Moore." I said.

   "Didn't you say you needed two things?" he asked.

   "Ah, yes. I did. Here." I handed him a business card.

   "What's this?" he asked.

   "Duke Harison. Private Investigator." I said walking off.

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I had a small feeling that this would happen.

It was two days after the service. Any reason though, I felt this would happen.

   "So, Chief Warren, how was she killed?" I asked. There was Mira Corrigan. She was slumped over on her couch. According to a quick look, she was poisoned.

   "There are some drinks on the table. We think poison. No outside wounds visible." the Chief said. He inspected the glass.

   "Who was here?" I asked.

   "Only Mr. Phillip Moore here." he pointed. Phillip gasped. I smiled on the inside.

   "Hello, Mr. Moore. Long time no see." I said.

   "I'm innocent, Duke! I requested you by name to investigate!" he shouted.

   "He did." the Chief whispered.

   "Hmm...Who made the drinks?" I asked.

   "Why, her sister Joan did. She went, got two glasses, had two ice cubes in each, I believe, and gave me and Mira each a cup. But, Joan couldn't have possibly poisoned it!" he cried.

   "What makes you say that?" I asked.

   "Why, she took a sip of Mira's drink herself!" he cried. I looked at him. The police chief looked at me then at Mr. Moore. Then, suddenly, a policeman came through the door.

   "Hello, sir. We've found Joan Corrigan. She's still alive and coming. She'll be here in two minutes or so." the policeman said.

   "Thank you, officer. Well, Mr. Moore, you've just proven yourself guilty. In fact, since Joan took a sip of the drink, she's possibly been poisoned as well! She's a dead man walking!" the chief cried.

   "Hmm..." I said. It didn't add up. Why would Phillip poison Mira? He had no motive. I'm sure of it. I'm missing something. I have to be. Maybe there's a clue in this apartment...

   "Hmm..." I muttered. I looked everywhere. I looked in the closets, the hallway, the bedroom, and bathroom. Nothing much to go on. Then, I looked by the front door. Three pairs of woman's shoes, and one pair of a man's shoes. I looked at the shoes carefully, each noting their size. I looked at Mr. Moore and then back at the shoes.

   "Chief," I said, "I've just solved the case."

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   "You did, Duke?" he asked.

   "Yes. The murderer...is Joan." I said. Everyone gasped.

   "That can't be! She drank poison! She wouldn't deliberately try to kill herself!" the chief cried.

   "You're right. She just needed an alibi to point suspicion towards Mr. Moore, here." I said.

   "What! That's impossible!" Mr. Moore shouted. Just then, Mrs. Corrigan entered the room.

   "You guys wanted me?" she asked. Then, she looked at me in astonishment.

   "You're...You're that kid who wanted me to speak a few words at the funeral!" she cried.

   "Yup! Ace Detective Duke Harison here." I winked.

   "Why have I been called here?" she asked the chief.

   "Why, because you're a murderer." I said.

   "What! That's insane! I'd never kill anyone!" she cried.

   "But you've already killed two people." I said.

   "What?! Two people?!" the chief cried.

   "Yes. Mira Corrigan and Larry Harison." I said.

   "But...she found the body! We took an autopsy! She has no motive!" the chief cried.

   "Plus, she took a sip of the poisoned drink that Mira drank!" Phillip cried.

   "I drank poison?" she asked.

   "Yes. Poison you put yourself." I said.

   "That's impossible! I saw her! All she did was sip right there, in front of the TV where you're standing, put the glass down and leave! She couldn't have poisoned it between her drinking it and leaving!" Phillip cried.

   "Well, it's pretty simple actually. Here's what happened." I said.

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   "First things first. My uncle. The only witness who saw him die was Joan. She seemingly has no motive, but we'll get to that later. She could've easily poisoned the man. She brought him the coffee to wash down the pills, am I correct?" I asked.

   "Why, yes. I did." she said.

   "Now, you attended the funeral, you didn't plan on me being there. I found out how you were tied to my uncle's company and something else very interesting." I said. I took her hand and examined it.

   "Just as I thought. You are a pianist, aren't you?" I asked.

   "Why, yes, I am." she said.

   "Thanks to observation and Phillip here, I found out my uncle was a pianist as well." I said.

   "How in any way, is that a motive?" the chief asked.

   "That's the fun part. See the shoes over there by the door?" I asked.

   "Yeah, there are three pairs of women's shoes and one pair of man's shoes." the chief said.

   "Simple. They're Mr. Moore's." Joan said.

   "Umm...mine are on my feet." he said. They were on his feet.

   "Now, they could still be Mr. Moore's, but who brings two pairs of shoes when they visit for the evening? Plus, they're size ten in mens. Way too big for Mr. Moore here." I said.

   "That's right. Mine are only size six in mens." he said, taking off one of his shoes. The chief inspected it and looked at me.

    "That's still not a motive!" he said.

    "Correct. But who's shoes are they?" I asked. Everyone shook their heads.

    "Why, they're the late Uncle Larry's of course!" I said.

    "That's right...Mr. Harison did mention he was teased in high school about his feet. People would call him Bigfoot and stuff like that." Mr. Moore mentioned.

    "There's no way to prove that!" Joan cried.

    "We'll just get some shoes and match up the sizes. No big deal." I shrugged.

    "Still not a motive." the chief said.

    "You still don't see it? Mrs. Mira Corrigan and Uncle Larry were lovers!" I cried. Everyone looked at me wide-eyed.

    "And, of course, our pianist and lover of writing Joan Corrigan also loved Uncle Larry." I said. She looked at me in surprise.

    "That's absurd! How could I love that buffoon?!" she cried.

    "It's only a theory, though. I can see it as two scenarios. A, Joan caught Uncle Larry and Mrs. Corrigan together or B, Joan was rejected by Uncle Larry and revealed who it was."

    "That's impossible!" she cried.

    "No, it is possible...It's a motive to kill your sister and Mr. Harison...you did have access to his medication...but Duke, Mr. Moore here still doesn't have an alibi to kill Mrs. Corrigan." the chief said.

    "That's the best part!" I said.

    "How is it possible? She drank it herself!" Mr. Moore cried.

    "He's right." Joan said.

    "Simple. Phillip, didn't you say there were two drinks, each with two ice cubes, right?" I asked.

   "Yes, that's right." he said.

   "Look at the drinks. It's been at least an hour or so since Joan made the drinks, correct. Maybe fifteen to twenty minutes since we've been called, right?" I asked.

   "Yes, that's right, Duke." the chief said.

   "The ice has melted, right?" I asked.

   "Yes, it has." the chief said.

   "Easy. Poison was in the center of the ice. Joan drank it while the ice hadn't melted yet. So, she thought she'd have an alibi. But, she forgot one thing." I said.

   "What is it, Duke?" the chief asked.

   "Well, she poisoned it by freezing the center of the cubes, right? Then, traces of poison would be in the ice cube tray." I said.

   "Sir, we've just found this in the kitchen trash." a policeman said. It was an ice cube tray.

   "Look for prints on the tray and traces of poison. That'll tie Ms. Corrigan to that tray." I said.

   "Looks like you're the guy." the chief said.

   "I'll say nothing." she said.

   "Book 'em." I said. The police chief took his handcuffs and arrested Ms. Corrigan and walked out of the apartment.

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Joan Corrigan's prints were found on the ice cube tray. Video from the publishing company was found that showed Joan tampering with Mr. Harison's medication. The shoes were also matched up and the sizes were the same.

Case Closed.