Literary Justice

Literary Justice
By T. Delaplain

Everyone hated Vic. A lecher, a liar, a thief—he’d burned every bridge in their circle. So when he turned up dead at the reunion, stabbed twelve times, no one was surprised. Except the police. They looked at the shocked faces, the teary alibis. But Janice knew exactly what they’d find: eleven sets of fingerprints, one knife, no clear culprit. Just like Murder on the Orient Express. Because she had planned it that way—cliché, poetic, perfect. She’d whispered the right suspicions, nudged the right grudges, provided the sedative and walked away scot-free.

Photo credit to David Stewart

***Get your knives out and join us on this bullet train we call Friday Fictioneers. Our host Rochelle Wisoff Fields will give you 100 words to make your statement. Do you have an alibi?