"Judging from this toppled begonia and the tidiness of the rest of the house, I'd say he was strangled right here in the living room," Sergeant Armand Tankks said.

    Lieutenant Aere Rand nodded in agreement as he studied the red welt around Ralph Mort's neck. The abrasion appeared to have originated from a spaghetti-thick wire. The deceased was in his early thirties, though his graying hair seemed to indicate otherwise.

    "Suspects?" Rand asked.

    "Three--all cousins from the victim's mother's side, who share the same motive."

    "What is it with relatives these days? Isn't blood supposed to be thicker than water?"

    Tankks sighed. "I guess blood also boils.... Anyway, the first suspect is Sara Hoek; she rents Mort's basement suite. Harry Maird rents out the attic. And Neil Kastle, the third--and hopefully only other--suspect doesn't live here, but used to. The house had originally been left to him by their mutual grandmother--created major animosity between the cousins--but then his business went bankrupt, the bank foreclosed, and our victim here outbid Hoek and Maird to own the cherished family manor."

    Rand raised an eyebrow. "And now," he said, "Mort's dead, meaning the house will be on the market again. Has the whole clan been rounded up?"

    "Yes, sir. In the next room."

    "Let's have a few words with them."

***

    "I was at the front door," Kastle said, "putting on my shoes." He glanced down, drawing the officers' eyes to his feet. His left foot was shoeless. "I heard something fall, so I rushed into the living room."

    "Yeah, right," Maird said. He resembled a shorter, darker-haired version of the deceased.

    "Why'd you say that?" Rand asked.

    "Neil never rushes. Besides, if he did, how come he didn't see the murderer?"

    "Because the murderer went upstairs or downstairs before I got there."

    Rand set his best steely gaze on Maird. "Where were you at the time of the murder?"

    "In my room, eating pizza and watching TV. I rushed down when I heard Neil shouting bloody murder. I nearly choked on my last bite of pizza when I saw Ralph lying there. Neil just stood there--in shock or something--so I called the police. I haven't even had a chance to turn my TV off."

    "A unit was in the area," Tankks said. "Arrived in under four minutes."

    Rand nodded, then questioned Sara Hoek. "And where were you, Ms. Hoek?

    "Downstairs minding my own business, like always."

    "She claims she never heard a thing," Kastle offered.

    Hoek plucked a tissue from a nearby box, and dabbed at her eyes. "Ralph bought this house right out from under Neil," she said. "Did you know that?"

    "Yes," Rand replied.

    "He could've loaned me the money to save my business," Kastle exclaimed, "instead of stealing my house!"

    Hoek rolled her eyes. "Oh come on, we all wanted this house."

    "Exactly. You and Harry wanted it so much you rented space in it. And now Ralph's dead...."

    "How dare you...." Hoek and Maird said in unison.

    "Simmer down," Tankks said, "there'll be no more pruning of the family tree today."

    "Well put, Sergeant," Rand said. "I'm going to check out the renters' living quarters. Wait here."

    When Rand entered the attic, he discovered that the TV was indeed on, and there was a pizza box missing slices in the small bar-fridge next to it. He sat on the edge of the bed, ran his hands through his thinning hair, and looked around at the guitars, flutes, and other musical instruments that cluttered the room. So Maird's a music lover. But did he love his cousin?

    The basement was pristine, leading Rand to conclude that Hoek must indeed spend a lot of time there. But was she happy living beneath the house she loved?

***

    "I can see how grief-stricken you all are," Rand said upon his return. The three suspects were eating sandwiches, and Tankks was drinking a glass of water.

    "I was on my way out to lunch," Kastle said.

    "I hadn't eaten lunch either," Hoek said. "And besides, if grief hinders appetites, why do they always serve so much food at wakes?"

    "Yeah," Maird said.

    "Pizza not enough for you?" Rand asked.

    "Oh, I'm just nibbling," Maird said. Indeed, he only ate the centers.

    "I've never seen you eat a crust," Hoek said, as she absently scratched a welt on her right hand. "Not even the sugarcoated ones on grandma's apple pies."

    Rand took Hoek's hand into his and examined it. "What happened here?" he asked.

    "Just a cheap oven-mitt."

    Rand tilted his head. "An oven-mitt did this?"

    "Of course not. The material's worn away, so when I pulled my muffin tray out of the oven, the tray burned me through the mitt."

    "I never realized baking could be so perilous."

    "It's just a little burn-- Hey! Are you suggesting I got this another way?"

    "I'm not suggesting anything. But once we find the murder weapon, you can be sure we'll check it against your burn."

    "Blech," Kastle said, holding up a bitten muffin. "If she baked these for Ralph, she was trying to kill him."

    Tankks pulled Rand aside. "Well, Lieutenant, who do you think did it?"

    "Could have been any of them. They all want this house, and they were all nearby."

    "What about the murder weapon?"

    "That's the question."

    Rand stared over at the snacking suspects. Suddenly, he grinned. "Hmm, that could be it."

    "What could be it?"

    "I think I know who's not telling us the truth."

    Tankks shot his lieutenant a questioning look.

    "Ms. Hoek's comment about Maird never eating crusts reveals an inconsistency in Maird's story. He said he 'rushed' downstairs while still chewing pizza when Kastle shouted. Judging from his eating habits, I should have found pizza crusts somewhere. Yet, I didn't."

    A subsequent search of the attic uncovered a loosely-strung guitar string. Tests later confirmed it contained traces of Ralph Mort's blood. Apparently, Harry Maird had been tired of paying rent.