The Last Will and Testament of Geralda Connors
My name is Elisha Crow and I hate my job.
I'm waiting in my office, a sealed envelope before me on the mahogany desk.
I glance at the potted plant, plastic since the real ones keep dying on me. Then at my Harvard's law degree nailed to the wall.
Geralda Heather, nee Connors, died last week, alone in her villa. Her husband left her with twelve million bucks, which she held very close, and a vast hatred towards humankind, which she spread passionately. She died with locked doors and closed windows; dogs and gardener outside on the lawn. No signs of a struggle. She had a weak heart.
I adjust my special glasses and examine my guests.
Sprawled on the sofa as if it belonged to her alone, Brigitta Connors scowls at me. She disapproves of any skin color but her own, and I'm black, wearing a suit that she decided I've stolen. She's the victim's sister, but they weren't on speaking terms. She has the only spare keys to the villa and an alibi.
Sitting rigidly on the small chair near the window, once-violin-prodigy Pearl Heather wilts under my scrutiny. She ran away from home in her teens. She's bald, wrestling with one of the bad cancers. Lost her flat and savings to the medical bills. She's the victim's estranged daughter. She has no friends, no prospects, a pair of lovely eyes and a motive.
Shuffling his feet and glancing at the armchair wondering if it's all right to sit down is John Cotter, the gardener. Employed by the Heathers for fifty years, and they weren't kind people. He's the key witness and a stubborn one, insisting nobody came to visit on that fateful day.
My cell phone vibrates and I glance at the screen. Finally!
Aconite. How did you know, you old fraud.
It's Francine. So bright, so full of life. I wish she'd let me date her, but she's too smart for my cheap lies.
I type: 'I had a hunch, Fran.'
Bull. And I'm Lieutenant Brown to you. Where are they now?
'They're all here. I'm about to start.'
We'll be there in thirty minutes. None of your theatrics, you read me?
'Can't promise that.'
I'm warning you, Crow!
I put down the phone. Sighing, I take off my special glasses, clean them with a handkerchief and leave them on the desk.
I blink as my vision clears. I see Brigitta, looking bored and haughty. Pearl, gazing dreamily at the sky outside. John, who settled for balancing uncomfortably on the armrest.
And the pale specter of Geralda Connors, my client, staring at her killer. She's livid.
I hate my job. I wish it was a job I could quit. You can stop an investigation; you can exit a tribunal. But anywhere I run, I'll still be a psychic. And the dead can tell.
"Ladies and gentleman; thank you for coming," I begin. "Before I read the will, there's a story you need to hear."
"Lets start with you Ms Brigitta Connors. Are you in a relationship?"
She bristled at the question. "You.. Why is that relevant?" She spat.
I sighed and continued. "Ms Connors, you work two blocks from the Heather residence. You were previously staying there for, let me see.. six years. That is since the deceased Geralda Heather was widowed. So what happened in June to make you leave her. And stop speaking."
Brigitta stood up, her body humming with anger or frustration, probably both. "I am not the killer. Even somebody as... You checked my alibi I was upto my elbows in paperwork and clerks. And please do not suggest I hired someone, all I have is $1200."
Again I sighed, I am good at showing my impatience in a proper lawyer-ly fashion. Even without the glasses I could see the specter spread its mouth in a cackle fit for the Witches of Salem. " Mr. Cotter here reports to receiving a parcel from you for your now deceased sister. Will you explain it please so we can get on with the process."
Brigitta sat down with a huff. I was surprised at the dampness in her eyes but kept quiet. Pearl spoke up."If there are no questions can I go now. You can text me the summary of the will."
I thought a sigh was needed but repitition takes away the effect. So I asserted my authority, ( as seen in the positive motivation video by 
"Go on Ms Connors."
Brigitta started to speak. "We had always fought- on what to watch, which senator was good, which chilly to buy, the thermostat setting,.." "Yes go on." I urged
"I left because she confessed to me that Paul heather was going to propose to me on my nineteenth birthday, but she had enticed him away and gifted me the three day tour of New York. I loved my sister- cranky and all but I needed time to digest this information. Then she stopped taking my calls. Just like that. And I decided not to go back for a few months, till she comes to her senses. Then last week I saw these salty cheese biscuits, fresh baked. Just like we used to enjoy way back. So I sent her a pack."
I turned to Pearl "You were there when the deceased open this packet."
"Yes. She had them all at one go and then went to bed, she wouldn't talk to me. so I left"
"Ms Pearl you know that Geralda's specter is in this room"
Pearl acted confused. "This is what happened really."
"You were arguing when Mr. Cottor brought in this package."
Pearl replied. "She was always stingy about my treatments. Always, this was nothing new."
Now I sighed again, cannot be avoided you see. But the effect was broken by the entrance of the enchantingly beautiful Lieutenant Brown.
I held up my hands. "Just finishing. It was you Pearl who opened the packet and dumped spoonfuls of Aji-no-moto inot it. Probably wanting to spoil the taste. But Geralda's taste buds have long been wasted." I looked at Brigitta for corroboration. She nodded sniffing. "And that is what led to the untimely heart attack.- consuming a heap of monosodiumglutamate." I declared.
"Manslaughter" Francine mumbled.
"Now to read the will Mrs Geralda Heather, nee Connors, leaves all her property to be divided equally between her daughter Pearl and her sister Brigitta with the gardner/ caretaker receiving a bonus of $20,000."
The specter satisfied finally started to dissipate.
The contest: https://steemit.com/finishthestory/@bananafish/finish-the-story-contest-week-34