The Visit

‘Doctor, can you explain how to commit the perfect murder?’

Clearing his throat, pushing his glasses along his nose, he frowned at the young woman opposite. ‘Why do you insist discussing this every week?’

She glanced around the room of couches and wandering lost souls. ‘Here’s the best place to talk about characters and do my research.’

‘You’re a … writer this month,’ he said, referring to the notebook cradled in his lap. ‘Writing about the perfect murder?’

She shrugged. ‘Sure, why not. You nearly succeeded didn’t you, Doctor?’

‘Excuse me?’ 

‘Your wife–’

‘Young lady…’ Lifting his pen in the air, he halted mid-thought then crossed his legs and leaned back. ‘I’ll allow you to indulge with this illusion. So tell me then, how did I commit this near perfect murder?’

She leaned forward and explained. ‘Start with a hallucinogenic, slipped into your wife’s cup of coffee, then let her drive you to work.’

‘Wouldn’t I be risking my life being contained within the same vehicle?’

‘You were safe at work when you sent her on an errand all the way across town. That’s when the drug took hold, resulting in your wife’s fatal accident and killing two others.’

‘Why would I kill my wife?’

‘For the insurance claim. The type of drug used, normally, would’ve gone undetected. They should have assumed it was her diagnosed phobia of driving on the freeway, driving an unfamiliar larger car, yours, while her smaller car was conveniently at the garage.’ Hands clasped in her lap, she sat back, asking, ‘Where did you get that hallucinogenic and how long does it take to work? Is there some specific weight ratio–’

‘Why would you want to know?’

She looked around as she leaned forwards. ‘I want to commit the perfect murder by learning from your mistakes.’

‘What mistakes,’ he scoffed, shaking his head, frowning.

‘At the coffee shop, the Barista spotted you adding white powder into a takeaway coffee cup, rambling about your wife’s preference to a certain type of artificial sweetener–captured on camera. And you purposely sent your phobic wife onto a busy highway?’

‘I can assure you, young lady, my wife is alive and well. Remember, I’m the Doctor here, and I want to know why you’d want to commit a murder?’

Leaning back in her chair, smoothing out her skirt, she faced him. ‘I don’t love my husband anymore and this way I’ll get a nice insurance payout. I’ll sell everything to go lie on some beach, drinking cocktails out of coconuts in Thailand, living like a pampered queen for the rest of my life.’

‘What about your family, Julie, what would they think?’ He glanced at his notes. ‘There’s your Father to consider?’

‘My dad wouldn’t care.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s got memory issues and currently serving a life sentence for murdering his wife.’ She stood up, placed her hand on his shoulder and giving a gentle squeeze. ‘I’ll see ya next week, Dad.’

(500 words)


Home Sweet Not - by Mel A Rowe

#HomeSweetNot #RuralromanticRamblings

Tea & Toast

‘Then he got shot.’

‘Ah huh.’ He nodded and sipped his tea. The cup’s base chinked as it rested on the saucer and was placed upon the kitchen table.

‘It was brutal. All that shouting and screaming. No one deserves to live like that, you know. Can only put up with it for so long, it had to be done. More toast, dear?’ She asked, pushing the plate forwards.

‘Ah, huh.’ He scraped jam on his toast then nibbled on the corner. Picked up the fine bone china with a scene of a rose garden and sipped off the gold-tipped edge of the teacup.

‘As I was saying, blood went everywhere and it had this rich metallic smell. Oh, and the back of his skull was obliterated all from this teeny tiny hole in the middle of the temple. So much blood, it just kept pumping like a burst underground pipe bubbling from the back of his half-head. It was so messy. Splattered bone and blood all over the wall like a tantrum-throwing toddler flicking a loaded paintbrush. But that smell, ugh, it was worse than any butchers shop. It was vile, I tell you.’ She then sighed and sipped her tea with perfect poise.

‘Ah huh.’ He nibbled on the crumbling sweet toast then washed it down with the tea.

‘So, of course, I came home showered and scrubbed myself raw. So, we’ll be having fish for the rest of the week, dear.”

‘Ah, huh.’ Again, he nibbled on his toast and sipped his tea.

‘I’ve put the gun back at the Gibson’s place. Boys that age shouldn’t keep guns in the street. Horrid man. Forever losing his keys while fetching that stupid ball and breaking branches off your apricot tree. I suspect we’ll have less this year to make jam, such a shame. It was such a nice neighbourhood… More tea, dear?’ She raised the teapot.

‘Ah, huh.’ He held up his cup and she poured.

‘So, to think, we’ll have gotten rid of two horrible neighbours and the silly street feud is no more.’ She reached for the side dresser and pulled out a package. ‘Here, dear, your new batteries.’

He picked the packet off the table, added the battery and flicked on his hearing aid. ‘Sorry, luv, miss much?”

‘No, dear, you’ve always been a good listener,’ she said, opening the kitchen curtains.

‘Why are the police lights flashing?’ Up from the table, he peered over the sinks and through the window.

‘Seemed there was a little murder last night, dear,’ she replied as she sat back sipping her tea hiding the slight smile behind the delicate china.

(450 words)
If you enjoyed this end to a street-fued you’ll enjoy :  Home Sweet ~ not!  
Where a lot goes on behind closed doors. Found here!