Hilary's Last Week
by Joe Baker
Chapter 1 - Previously
Somewhere in the English countryside, corroded pipes creaked as the morning sunshine lent its heat to their metal. In a dusty cellar, mice scuttled across the floor, hugging the walls and the shadows. The only human sounds were the turning of pages and the occasional scratch of a pencil.
Out in the garden, butterflies chased each other through the bushes. It was a peaceful scene, if you buy into that sort of thing. Then the front door opened and two men, dressed in black, stepped out carrying a pinewood box between them.
They loaded it into the back of their long, shiny black car and closed the rear door. Then they drove off at ten miles an hour.
'Did you know this one?
'
'No. But the wife knew the nurse.'
'Was she sick?
'
'No. The nurse was for her husband. Some crazy old fart.
She was all right, though, she said.'
'Where's the husband?'
'Probably put him in a home now.
'
'It's a shame. Hope you never end up that way yourself.'
'You've got to.
'
'No. Not for me. I'd rather go quick.
A bullet or something.'
'Or in your sleep, like her. Anyway, put your hat on.
We're nearly there.'
* * *
Lowering her sunglasses, Ooma Peterson put down her orange juice and picked up the ringing telephone.
'Hello?
Giles. How are you?'
'Very well,' came the reply.
'I've got some good news about the house.'
'Wonderful. Have they accepted the offer?
'
'They settled for twenty thousand below the asking price. You've made an absolute steal.'
'That's super.
So is it ours now?'
'Not quite yet. A few forms for me to fill out.
I'll fax over everything you need to sign this afternoon. But I must say, you've done frightfully well.
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