Harper is brightening up his yard.
Spring Spruce Up
Every spring morning, after his wife leaves for the day, Harper strolls outside to his yard to see what needs to be done.
“I should clear out the dead leaves and such from the gardens and dethatch the lawn,” he muttered as he scratched notes to himself in a pocket notepad.
“Hi, neighbor!” Harper heard.
Inwardly he cringed at the suave voice like cream. Pretending he hadn’t heard the greeting, Harper continued to make notes to himself. His neighbor was nothing if not persistent.
“Where’s your better half today?”
“She has some kind of club meeting, lunch with her girlfriends, then shopping.”
When the voice snorted with laughter, Harper looked at him.
“Saw her yesterday, did I tell you? She was at a meeting all right, but it was with a young, handsome fella and they were looking more than friendly,” his neighbor said as he leaned on the fence between their yards.
“Did she see you?”
“Don’t think so, she was pretty busy!” Again the dirty laugh rang out.
They chatted about gardening briefly. When he could do so politely, Harper said goodbye and went to his garden shed. Pulling out a spade, he began to dig near the back wall of the house.
When Ellen came home, Harper was sitting in his favorite chair, sipping Scotch.
“How was your day with toy boy,” he asked.
She tried to speak, but Harper pulled a pistol and shot her once in the heart. He caught her before she could hit the floor and carried her outside. Dropping her into the hole, he filled it in. In the soil he planted, bleeding heart, forget me nots, hearts-ease and nightshade. As he turned back to the house, he heard:
“Hi neighbor!” from a shadow near the fence.