I'm Not the Only Murderer in My Retirement Home

Carol hadn’t a clue of the history, but to her it looked like a converted grand hotel, at least a hundred years old. Now Carol could hardly be bothered to get up and find the TV remote, let alone chase down a man, knock him to the ground, stab him in the neck, drag him into the van, take him for a drive, bury him in the woods, clean up, and leave a clue for the police to make it interesting. A home full of investigators but it had been Carol who had cracked the case. In the end she’d opted for the crossword club over white supremacy.