Somehow, Bessie has managed to fall asleep under the sheet, her arm around Miss Marple who is snuggled into her armpit. A tap-tap-tap snaps her awake. What was that? She bolts upright. Again, that tapping sound. Spinning her head left and right, she realizes it’s her new portable typewriter on her desk. It’s typing all by itself!
tap-tap-tapWhat was that?But how can that be? She glances at the clock radio. It’s four a.m.
But how can that be?She flicks on the bedside light and watches mesmerized as the keys dance on the paper in the typewriter all by themselves. As she stares, her thoughts race back. What is it I remember about four in the morning? Something special … something about …
What is it I remember about four in the morning? Something special … something about …A memory floods h
