Janet ladeled stew into Karen's bowl. Comfort food. For years the friends shared Friday meals and innermost secrets. Janet especially appreciated a confidant since husband, Edgar, had become increasingly cold and abusive.
Finishing the meal, Janet savored the last bite of meat.
“There was, of course,” she quipped, “only one way to dispose of him.”
Comfortable in the rest home, Reverend Clark had suffered a stroke in the fall of 1950. It would be another 10 years until the police solved his crime.
She clutched the infant tightly to her breast trying to keep it warm. The snow was at least three feet deep. Her steps plunged into its whiteness, crunching as she went. Periodically, she stopped to assess her progress. The wind viciously bit her neck. The baby cried. She speculated what was beyond the icy horizon.
Secured at his bequest, the meager room closed in. Growing agitated, he glanced at the engraved suitcase. Talbot. Expensive.
Tilting his fur covered head, he howled mournfully.
