Excerpt: Of Art and Murder

She shivered a little as she noticed that the rain the weather report had been calling for tonight looked to have decided to be sleet. Not a fun night to be out there. She was glad to be inside the warm lobby.
But where was Mr. Astird? Surely he would hurry back if he was still out walking. It is one thing to take a walk in a cold November night to clear your head, and quite another to slog through a storm of wind slung sleet. She pushed her way through the revolving door and screamed.
There, lying on the sidewalk, just outside the field of vision provided by the lobby windows was Mr. Astird in a pool of blood. Penny rushed over but froze a few feet away. His eyes were open, staring up at the sleet falling from the night sky. The blood was no longer flowing from the deep gash across his throat. Jagged shards of dark glass floated like islands in the lake of blood, broken pieces of the murder weapon; a Hendrick’s gin bottle. The cap was still sealed. The unopened bottle had been smashed and the sharp edged glass slashed across Mr. Astird’s throat in one very powerful stroke.