Mrs. Clara Peacock was simply beside herself. Murder was so vulgar after all! The stout elderly woman paraded to the library in her ball gown, absent-mindedly twirling her longerette through the air. She would be safe here, heavens knows that all of those ill-bred guests would never be the sort to read. Not that she would read, doing such was unlady like after all. She situated herself comfortably in a large leather chair and began to doze, snoring loudly and heavily.
The library was a dark room, with no windows. Rather it was floor to ceiling book cases with a smattering of armchairs and side tables scattered around. The only light currently emanated from the large gothic fireplace, lovingly carved from granite.
The murderer observed the slumbering ox through a hole drilled through the ceiling of the library. Sitting in the attic, they had been waiting to catch a suspect alone to test their latest project. Unfortunately the murderer placed too much weight on the plaster instead of the roof timbers, and a large section of the ceiling fell to the ground. "Darn," cursed the murderer.
Mrs. Peacock awoke with a fright. "I say, who goes there?" She declared, her face changing to a shade of red that was likely unhealthy. "it is impolite to sneak up upon a lady, especially one who is resting. My word, what a mess!" She rose up and strutted over to the plaster, examining it through her longerette. "I wonder what happened?"
"Better late than never," thought the murderer, and they dropped the horseshoe through the hole in the ceiling. It rapidly picked up speed until it wedged itself between Mrs. Peacock's tiara and Mrs. Peacock's wig.
"I have a terrific headache," stated Mrs. Peacock. She landed upon the ground with a sound like a sequoia being felled.
When the guests assembled for tea that afternoon, they assumed Mrs. Peacock had been murdered when she did not arrive late. No one went looking for her however- they did not wish to be chastised for not waiting for her.