You are sitting in the corner of your husband Poe's office as he is working on his new murder mystery story. You are reading a book and leaning back in your chair, enjoying the soft sounds of his pen writing on the paper, when suddenly you hear him stand up from the chair and rub his face with his hands. His racoon, Karl, jumps at the sudden disturbance.

'No, No, No... this is all wrong! Why can I not think of any good conclusions to this mystery?'

He paces behind his desk, mumbling.