Edna wasn’t exactly made of money, but she could get by well enough in her old age. She still had her independence and lived in the same house she and her late husband had bought many years ago.
The only problem was that the garden, although not huge, had become too large for Edna to manage on her own. She figured that if she made a few adjustments on her grocery bill (for example, who really needs fabric softener in the washing machine every time?) she could afford to have a man come around once every couple of weeks and tidy things up in the garden.
Edna had been a keen garden and was especially proud of her raspberries. She had cared and fostered them for at least forty years. The harvest of raspberries each year was a phenomenon to be admired.
And then the very worst happened. The man pulled out her raspberries and threw them away. He was “tidying up”.
In her youth Edna had read a story by Guy de Maupassant (about a fisherman dozing on a riverbank being hit over the head with a spade and his brains seeping into the creek). She wasn’t a spring chicken (Edna) and had gone to school in the days when they were made to read proper books.
And then she saw her opportunity. The man she hired was kneeling down weeding the garden where the raspberries had been. There was a spade stuck in the soil next to him. Edna went out and spontaneously grabbed the spade. She raised the gardening implement high.
An old lady (or man) doesn’t have much strength but the weight of a heavy spade should do the trick and slice off the top of his head.
Edna missed. She hit him fairly lightly on his arm. It caused more of a bruise than a scratch.
The man packed up his gear and said he wasn’t coming back. That was that. Enough was enough.
To some people murder comes natural; others need a lot of practice. One can’t blame Edna for missing; it was her first attempt. Maybe she’ll have better luck next time.
I think a light handgun will be Enda’s next purchase from what she saves on the fabric softener.
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Yes – fabric softener is so hideously expensive these days.
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My, but the gardener was quite harsh to Edna. It’s so hard to find good help these days.
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It will teach her for not being more ethnically and culturally sensitive towards raspberries.
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Oh, well, I suppose that over the course of forty years she had given many people raspberries.
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Ha Ha!
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Edna now has time to plan more carefully. For example, how is she to dispose of the body, and ensure she is never suspected of the crime. She can also start building up her strength for the task ahead. During that time, she has to win the gardener’s trust so he comes back to work on her garden. Or, she could just take up knitting, or get a cat.
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Apparently for 40 years the raspberries were delicious because the raspberry patch was where she buried her late husband. She had stabbed him with a Number 9 knitting needle (3.75mm).
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Aha! A good use for that size of needle.
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The gardener can’t run forever. Sooner or later fate will catch up with him.
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The pumpkin’s running, the cucumber is running, the strawberries are running, and now the gardener. Will it ever end?
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Not until midnight.
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Perhaps she should make amends with the gardener by baking him a “raspberry” pie.
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That sounds very (f)arty.
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Golly, if he’d pulled out my raspberries, I would have hit the mark.
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Take it out on the rabbits!
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I am not surprised at Edna’s rage, nor at her feeble attempt to murder the fool that fizzled out like a wimpy balloon in the sun. Edna needs to forego some of the luxuries of like washing and bathing so that she can save enough for importing some nerve agent from Russia.
I liked the realism of the story. It is not difficult to hire fools like those these days.
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The Nerve stuff from Russia is a good idea – but I wonder if they any to spare?
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I am sure they have. You only need to access the right agent.
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Edna should have watched the murder mystery where the gardener was poisoned by pricking his finger on a rose bush, and left the spade-murdering to professionals. -wait; she could skimp on softener for another month and get a hit man.
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The hitman is an excellent idea – and as I said to Max (badfinger) in the comments – Softener is so hideously expensive these days.
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If she gives it up entirely, she could afford two.
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Now that she has no canes I don’t suppose she’s able to whip him into shape or even to blow raspberries. Perhaps a discrete call to his wife asking her if her husband always gardens with his pants down might help.
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Ha ha!
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I suggest she use a rock!
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And ruin her beautiful rockery?
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She can just wash it off and put it back. Who would know?
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Ah! The voice of experience!
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