I’m quite hopeless at guessing mysteries – I usually read them for the setting anyhow. But I won the funniest entry prize in the Sanguine Gryphon’s contest “She was all in Stitches.”
Here’s my entry:
The old lady sighed in exaspiration at her tea: couldn’t that girl even
spike a drink properly? Oh the incompetence. And her yarn choices,
completely inappropriate for avoiding trench foot, or whatever handsome
soldiers were prone to in these modern wars. She took another sip, it
was so soothing. Would her companion be of any use in guiding her girl?
Silly, superstitious dear. I’d better live another decade or so to make
sure no one does anything stupid around here. One more sip wouldn’t
hurt, it’s not as if morphine is one of those nasty drugs.
Overconfident to the end, she did not put away her needles, and barely
noticed when she fell onto them.
Now I have fun e-mail to look forward to!