Rain drummed against the glass while Arthur poured his gin. One single shot echoed through the library at midnight sharp. He dropped his heavy glass and fell onto the rug. Red wine or fresh blood seeped into the floral pattern. Someone stood behind the velvet curtains holding a smoking gun. The silver clock ticked slowly as the light began fading. Dead men tell no secrets beneath the cold winter moon. Mrs. Gable entered the room and let out a scream. Her husband lay still upon the floor like a stone. Every shadow held a killer waiting for the next strike.