‘Couldn’t help but overhear,’ he told her outside the store. ‘I specialise in antiques. I could…’
‘Come for dinner,’ she replied.
Armed with flowers, he knocked.
She opened the door, smiling. He turned and ran. Drove off at high speed.
Martha looked at the knife in her gnarled hands and her blood splattered apron and shrugged.
‘Guess I’d better finish plucking that drake.’