“Why did you kill your uncle, Petula?” Abby asked calmly.
“I didn’t!” she protested, holding out her hands, palms up.
But Abby didn’t believe it for a second. She knew Petula had lied to her.
Pointing out of the bay window, Abby asked: “Can you see the sun setting over there?”
“Of course I can, I’m not blind!” Petula huffed.
“That means the bay window faces west,” Abby said. “The sun <rises> in the east, and yet you claim to have seen it right before you discovered your uncle’s body. You can’t have done. You didn’t need a reason to be looking into the dining room, Petunia, because you were already in there, murdering your poor, kind-hearted uncle, weren’t you?”
Petula looked utterly flummoxed. Then she simply gave in. “Gerald was haemorrhaging my inheritance with this place,” she hissed. “I begged him to cut his losses and sell it before there was nothing left.”
“But he wouldn’t listen?” Scotty asked.
“No,” she sighed, suddenly deflating. “He felt sure business would pick up. I knew if he was out of the way, I’d inherit the place and then I could sell it while I still had the chance.”
“But instead, you’re going to jail,” Abby said, cuffing her.
And with that, the sun finally disappeared below the horizon, and darkness fell.