SIXTH PLACE – TEAGAN MORONEY! (SHORT STORY COMPETITION 2020)

Congratulations to Teagan Moroney for placing sixth in our first annual short story competition. Teagan delivered a very suave piece based on the “Whodunnit” topic. Teagan is a 19-year-old young gentleman from Durban. Here is his fine offering to our competition:

“VON MERCHT MANOR” BY TEAGAN MORONEY

Penelope paced the bedroom of her Constantia mansion. Visitors often referred to the house as “Von Mercht Manor” on account of its pretentious accompaniments. The Von Mercht Business Machines logo was emblazoned on the front gate, and the exorbitant collection of house staff cemented the validity of such a nickname. Penelope and her husband had lived here for the greater deal of their marriage with few concerns, fewer discomforts, and even fewer children, for they had none. It was a life to be envied by any, even the richer man. After five minutes of pacing, Penelope decided it was time for her to drive to the police station.

Being the moneyed man he was, Richard Von Mercht was well recognized by the community, and had a substantial influence on the happenings of the town. He was not averse to involvement in shady business yet made sure he did not find himself in bigger trouble. No more than ten months prior to his disappearance, Mr Von Mercht had been charged with claims of fraud and embezzlement, which were soon dropped after all relevant pockets were sufficiently padded. He was no straight arrow, but always looked after those in his neighbourhood and surrounds with great care. The news of his disappearance therefore brought great distress to Lieutenant Nkosi upon Penelope’s arrival at the station.

“I woke up alone in our bed at around 8 a.m. I looked absolu-, absolutely everywhere for him. He’s gone.” sobbed Penelope, as Nkosi began to take down notes.

Underpaid and overworked, the lieutenant usually showed little interest in his police work. He was lethargic and nutritionally well-endowed, to be polite. “Fighting for justice” was not at the top of his priorities, and he, too, was familiar with shady business. But the whereabouts of Mr Von Mercht was of crucial importance to the community, and to Nkosi himself, who regarded Richard a friend.

“You said his phone, wallet, briefcase, and keys are all still at the house? And his work coat too?”

Penelope nodded to confirm.

“Lieutenant Pieterse and I will follow you to your home to look for any clues and to ask a few questions before we begin the search for your husband. This really is a tragedy Mrs Von Mercht, and I pray there is a reasonable explanation for it all. We will do all we can to find Richard.”

After scribbling through a few forms, Penelope drove her Porsche Cayenne back up the hill, to the Manor.

Peering up at Penelope through the frame of the door, stood Nkosi, police uniform negligently draped over his body like a tent canopy. His armpits were a different shade of blue from the rest of the canopy – likely owing to his twenty-metre expedition from the top of the driveway, assumed Penelope. Over Nkosi’s robust shoulder, gazed Lieutenant Pieterse. His sharp jawline, tucked-in shirt, and well-trimmed beard insisted that the two men likely did not spend their free time in each other’s company. Mrs Von Mercht invited the juxtaposing pair to be seated in the sitting room where she used to practise her yoga. Being a childless housewife with a busy husband, and enough room to swing a giraffe, she often found herself involved in these types of activities. Recently she had begun to take less interest in yoga and had developed a habit of indulging in the medicine cabinet – she had dry-swallowed three Myprodol before the lieutenants had arrived.

The pair took their time to ask Penelope numerous basic questions about the house, Richard’s work, his health, and the reliability of the in-house staff. Mrs Von Mercht managed to answer most of the questions without breaking into tears. The lieutenants were well aware of Von Mercht Business Machines and its owner’s greedy tendencies – before the investigations had even begun, it was almost certain in both of their minds that this disappearance was likely at the hands of someone Von Mercht had financially deceived in the past. This subconscious decision, made in advance between the two lieutenants, had set the tone for a lazy inspection of the house. They knew that whoever had taken the millionaire from his home was probably a professional and would not be foolish enough to leave any trails of evidence behind.

They were torpid in their search, and shared little information with each other. Majority of their time was spent admiring the incredible luxuries of the property – the home theatre, tennis courts, golf driving range, and wine cellar. The house was enormous and if there were any clues left behind, where would they even begin to look? Little detective work was done before the men retreated to the sitting room. All urgency to find Mr Von Mercht seemed to have escaped the lieutenants after having glimpsed a mansion unlike any other they had seen before.

It was already mid-afternoon when detectives arrived to take fingerprints and check for any forms of DNA throughout the house. In the meanwhile, Nkosi and Pieterse took the opportunity to offer Mrs Von Mercht some company during her time of sorrow. She remained relatively quiet and paid little attention to the men; she had detracted herself from any type of decent communication with regular doses of Xanax throughout the afternoon. Over the previous months she had begun to look very unhealthy. Her skin desperately hugged her cheekbones and seemed to lack a great deal of nutrition. Mr Von Mercht had always been so tied up in business, he never took note of these types of things. Penelope was his trophy wife and as long as she did not gain weight, he did not care about her health. They were certainly not love partners.

By 7pm the detectives had left the scene. It had been a long day, and Mrs Von Mercht was more than ready for a tall glass of red wine. She offered the two lieutenants a glass each, which they both graciously accepted at the thought of enjoying some delicious wine without sacrificing their bottom dollar.

“We struggled to find much today besides a few strands of hair, which we speculate to be yours, and some fingerprints in obscure places. Tomorrow is a new day, though, Mrs Von Mercht,” said Pieterse, as he conservatively sipped his glass of “Von Mercht Manor Merlot”- a homemade blend.

“You have my trust, lieutenants. For all we know, the answer could be sitting right under our noses.”

As the men sped off through the gate, Penelope began to make her way around to the back of the mansion. She descended the stairway to a room she was very familiar with. Making wine used to be something she enjoyed doing, but Penelope had recently become far more interested in drinking it. Few visited the cellar besides her. Richard did not like her homemade wine and considered it “tacky crap”. He was more than comfortable with any other wine, as long as the price tag held three figures.

She needed a top-up, but that was not why she was there. Penelope pranced to the far end of the cellar, and climbed a ladder to remove the lid of a barrel that she’d had her eye on from the moment she walked in. A haunting smile curled up on her face as she glared through the opening of the barrel. Glaring right back up at her was the purple-stained face of Mr Von Mercht.

With a skip in her step, Penelope made her way back to the main house with the bottle she had just removed from the cellar. She poured herself a tall glass before playing “Lovely Day” by Bill Withers through the surround-sound stereo, and propping her feet up on a pillow. “Von Mercht Manor” was finally all hers, and all it had taken was a disguised mouthful of Xanax to take the old man down to the cellars.

It certainly had been a “lovely day”. 

WELL DONE, TEAGAN!

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