Killing Arty Mugworth
“Are you ready for the first question?”
Plonk. Arty Mugworth´s face landed slap-bang right in the middle of his shepherd´s pie, and his pint of Old Peculier spattered across the table.
“Come on, let´s have it,” a jittery woman hissed.
“Shouldn´t we just check if Arty´s okay first?” Peter Gotright tried.
“Nope. Let´s get on with it.” All the concentrated pub guests shook their heads, some quite vehemently.
“What was the name of Philip Marlowe´s first girlfriend?” Gotright asked.
At the table next to Arty´s, Vera Stronghope shrugged a few drops of Old Peculier off her crumpled mac.
“Finally a fair chance to win this year´s pub quiz, pet” she whispered to Charlie Fox next to her.
PS: I had a good, long blog round today, but I had to give up commenting on a couple of Blogger blogs. Sorry; I´ll be back some other day.