Past Imperfect — #580

Evelyn: “I still don’t understand why you brought me down to the station.”

Detective: “Well, we’re investigating a homicide that took place two hours ago at Chez Vache Heureuse, that fancy restaurant over on Snooty Lane.”

Evelyn: “A homicide? Goodness. Was anybody hurt?”

Detective: “I guess you could say the victim was hurt. Because he’s dead. That’s generally what happens in a homicide.”

Evelyn: “Dead? How dreadful! Well, thank you for letting me know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for drinks at Bar Vapid.”

Detective: “Not so fast. We have some questions for you.”

Evelyn: “That sounds really swell, but I truly am pressed for time. Perhaps you could send me an email and I’ll have someone on my staff get back to you.”

Detective: “Oh, I can speed this up a bit. Did you murder Monsieur Crumpet?”

Evelyn: “Hmm. Not that I recall. And who is he, by the way?”

Detective: “Monsieur Crumpet was the Pastry Chef at Chez Vache Heureuse. He’s the one who got hurt in the homicide.”

Evelyn: “I see. Well, I certainly didn’t have anything to do with it. I’ve never been to Chez Vache. I don’t frequent restaurants with less than 2 Michelin stars.”

Detective: “Chez Vache has 3 stars. Well, they did until their kitchen became a crime scene. And we have security-camera video showing you leaving the back door of that kitchen three minutes before Monsieur Crumpet’s crumpled body was found by a very surprised sous chef who was only trying to find some imported shallots.”

Evelyn: “Well, that’s absurd. I would never use the servants’ entrance. It’s beneath me. Besides, you can’t show that video in court because I didn’t give you permission to use my copyrighted likeness.”

Detective: “I believe we can work around that angle, given the circumstances. So, you admit that you were there?”

Evelyn: “I’m not admitting anything. That video could have been altered by the fake media.”

Detective: “What about the 14 witnesses in the alley who are willing to testify that they saw you totter past them in your Louboutin 12-inch heels?”

Evelyn: “Everyone knows you can’t trust people in alleys. They’re all on drugs and welfare.”

Detective: “The 14 witnesses are all members of a church choir who were taking a shortcut to the Nellie Oleson Theater, where they are performing in a revival of ‘Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat’. Well, they were performing. Right now they’re giving statements in another interview room, the one we don’t use for murder suspects.”

Evelyn: “Then I should be in that room, because I’ve done nothing wrong and you haven’t provided a shred of solid evidence.”

Detective: “Perhaps you don’t understand what solid evidence means. Do you listen to a lot of talk radio?”

Evelyn: “I understand that everything you have presented so far has been circumspectful evidence and it proves nothing.”

Detective: “Circumspectful? Holy cow. I hope you testify in your own defense during the trial. I’d love to see that mess.”

Evelyn: “There’s not going to be a trial. At least not one with me in it. You haven’t proven anything.”

Detective: “Well, I wasn’t quite done yet. There’s more.”

Evelyn: “More lies?”

Detective: “More evidence. The autopsy reveals that Monsieur Crumpet was bludgeoned to death by a giant tart.”

Evelyn: “Well, then. Your killer is a prostitute. Why are you wasting time with me when there’s a slasher slut running amok?”

Detective: “A giant apple tart, one that Monsieur Crumpet had just pulled out of the oven before someone used him as a piñata.”

Evelyn: “This has nothing to do with me.”

Detective: “On the contrary. We initially couldn’t find the murder weapon, but then we reviewed the security footage. The killer slipped out the back door with the murder weapon.”

Evelyn: “I repeat, nothing to do with me.”

Detective: “Then the killer walked into this station, still carrying the weapon. And now the killer is sitting before me.”

Evelyn: “That’s ridiculous. I don’t have any weapons.”

Detective: “It’s on your head.”

Evelyn: “My head? I’ll have you know I’m wearing the latest chapeau from Yves Saint Larry. It’s a one of a kind.”

Detective: “Well, it might be one of a kind. But it’s also a giant apple tart. I can smell the yeast from here. And a nice dash of cinnamon.” He raised his voice. “Detective Oskopy? Please read Ms. Ankers her rights and then escort her to booking.”

Evelyn: “I can assure you that this isn’t over. I’ll have your badge when all is said and done.”

Detective: “Good luck with that. In the meantime, I’ll have your tarty tiara. Please leave it with me so we can mark it as evidence, and not the circumspectful kind.”

Evelyn rose up in a haughty manner and ripped the tart off her head, releasing an aroma of cinnamon and guilt. “Fine. Take it.” She plunked the enormous confection on the interview table. “And for the record, this damn thing was under-cooked and it took forever to get the job done.”

Detective: “Well, that sounds like most of the stories scribbled by the writer of this piece, so I’m not surprised. Anyway, have a nice day, and enjoy your time in the holding cell where no one cares that you have 12-inch heels.”