"It's a novel. See that's the author's name

"It's a novel. See that's the author's name on the cover.", Tess was excited. "I don't get it. One person wrote it? How's the gameplay?" I tried to show interest. "Just start here.

Page 1, you see? This is how it works, you take your little finger and lift the page like so, wow..... you did it..... now you read. Top to bottom, left to right, ok?" Tess was ama

lgamated into the pages of the story. With the Times New Roman enlarged print running across her body, Tess struggled to free herself from the book bind. A militant librarian place

d her on the "Recommended Reading" shelf for senior citizens. Although Tess was bound, she was also determined. She wanted Young Adults to check her out, not old geezers. She

convinced one of the vampire books to switch jackets with her and then threw herself onto the floor. Sure enough, not 2 minutes later Tess was purchased by Wally Turkis. Wally

secretly read Thomas Hardy novels on the train hidden behind a lad mag. Tears streamed down his face at Tess's heart rending tale of betrayal & turnip harvesting. But Wally Turkis

had his own literary ambitions. He stocked up on scotch, bourbon, and Irish whisky (variety does wonders for range) and locked himself in his cheap Tulsa rental. After one year,

he was dead. Nothing was written except mindless jibberish that even flim-flam soothesayers trying to score a buck wouldn't pretend to understand. But that leads us to his

Death. Who did it? The butler, maid, his step son, wife, and widowed neighbor were all listed as suspects. They all had a motive, but only one of them coulda done it. Who did it?

Stumped, I relied on the old Poirot method. "They all did it!" I declared. "Let them go free." Jaws dropped. Mine did too, but only for some Pączki. "Om. Nom. Narm. Nahmf."