Murder

I have to admit, I like a good murder mystery.  To me, a book just isn't complete unless there is at least one dead body.  I started reading Nancy Drew and The Bobbsey Twins, then graduated to The Hardy Boys when I was very young.  Somehow Nancy was just too much of a wimp, and the Bobbsey Twins were preachy.  Agatha Christie was far more satisfying.  

In my early 20's I discovered P.D. James, before she became so terribly long-winded.  I enjoyed her character, Cordelia Gray, and learned to live with Adam Dalgleish.  One of the most frustrating Saturday nights I can recall occurred when I bought the most recent P.D. James and was reading it in the bathtub after all the bookstores had closed.  Due to a misprint the last 10 pages were not in the book, and I had to wait until Monday after work to learn who had killed the student nurse.

 

I have also read a lot of true crime books, although Ann Rule has always been a little too preachy for my taste.  One of the most terrifying books I ever read involved the first American who was tried and convicted as a result of DNA evidence.  To make a long story short, he was stalking his victims to be sure their husbands were out of town, getting into their houses through tiny laundry room windows and then spending far too much time enjoying himself before they actually died.  Because of his geographic location it took the police a long time to figure out that the same person was murdering all those women.  Because the DNA evidence was overwhelming he was executed, but never confessed.  I read that book one night when my husband was out.  Our young sons and I were upstairs and all the doors and windows on the main floor were wide open because it was a hot day.  I was terrified, too scared to go downstairs until after my husband returned.  That was the last true crime book I read for about 10 years!

Occasionally when I can't sleep, I amuse myself planning my own murder.  I place myself somewhere perfectly ordinary, and then have a wonderful time plotting how I would die and who the murderer would be.  Of course, it's always a stranger, never one of my nearest and dearest (contrary to actual crime statistics).  I'd like to think that this hobby has made me a little more aware of my surroundings, but truth be told I'm generally so preoccupied with my thoughts I'm on another planet.