Murder Most Delicate

"You boys may think I'm old-fashioned, but I do think murder should be tastefully done."

"But, Gran ..."

"But nothing, Brad. All that shooting and people stabbing one another isn't pleasant."

"It's just a TV show," piped young Seth. "Mom always let us watch Miami Vice."

"Your mother left me in charge, God rest her soul."

Brad suddenly looked triumphant. "Hah, you watch that stupid Miss Marple all the time, and there's always murders on there."

"Yes, but they're nicely done. Now, go wash up for dinner."

Both boys cast their eyes to the ceiling.

As she set out plates for dinner, Gran smiled to herself. She'd done the right thing in ridding the children of that hussy daughter-in-law of hers. A dab of rat poison with lunch, a smidge more with dinner, and voila! Job completed in two weeks with blood and gore nary a part of it. Oh, how she abhorred violence, and she was darned sure she'd raise the boys with as little of it as possible. She frowned. It was disturbing that Seth resembled his mother, and was developing the same sassy mouth. Something might eventually have to be done about that. Then she shrugged, dismissing the worry. She'd take steps if she had to. Hadn't she always dealt with things with a minimum of fuss?

"Now, let's see who's got the cleanest hands," she said, as her charges trooped into the kitchen.

© 2004 Margaret B. Davidson