Saturday, July 19, 2008

Out with a Birdie


Harold pulled at the planks covering the door. “What was this room?” he asked. “You’d think a scullery from its proximity to the kitchens.”

“It was a clubhouse,” said Jasfoup, taking a rotted green plank from Harold and placing it neatly in a pile, ready to be burned. “It was boarded up when Sir Michael died suddenly from heat stroke.”

“In England?” That can’t be in the top ten natural causes list.” Harold pulled off the last of the boards and pushed at the door. “What sort of clubhouse?”

“A golfing clubhouse.” Jasfoup peered over is shoulder. “Sir Michael built an eighteen hole course over the grounds and used to invite his friends over to play.”

“I say.” Harold pulled out a mouldy canvas bag. “Were these his clubs?”

“They were indeed.” Jasfoup pulled out a putter. “In fact, this is the very one that got heated to 400 degrees just before he died.” He looked at Harold’s expression. “What? It was an accident.”

2 comments:

aims said...

Jasfoup's last line cracked me up! Trickster!!

Leatherdykeuk said...

Heh! Thanks :)