“It’s been bad enough having that young police sergeant around asking questions all the time, but now we have to put up with young Tom (no offense meant, Miriam) and that walking catastrophe, Hattie Hercules? How on earth are we going to cover our tracks from three of them?”
A rumble of echoed concern Mexican-waved itself around the living-room, packed beyond capacity, with bottoms perched on every available surface; the coffee table littered with half-empty teacups, mugs (where the teacups had run out), and a very disappointingly empty blue-pattern-china plate, showing only a few gingery crumbs remaining.
“It’s really very simple – we just stick to our story and make sure we don’t let anything slip. No-one must know the truth, not even my Tom (who hasn’t to be ‘put up with’, by the way, he’s an absolute credit to the village, and I’m almost sure if it was JUST him, we could tell him and no questions asked, but now Hattie’s entered the equation…)”
Miriam’s tone betrayed a temper frayed at the edges, her fingers restlessly tugged and neatened the edges of her frilly apron, as she opened her mouth to begin another thought when a knock at the door turned the room to sudden statues, a look of horror on every frozen face.
This was an installment prompted by Ivy Walker’s Six Sentence Stories, and the cue ‘FRAY’
Come on over to ‘Murder, We Wrote‘, to see the other chapters and how YOU can be involved in this story…