Murder he wrote.
By P.S. Gifford
I suppose, in hindsight, that plotting to kill my wife was not a very good notion from the get go. However, it had all seemed so damned clear in my mind a few days ago. The delicious idea came to me whilst we were watching a rather gripping repeat of the classic television show Murder she wrote. This particular episode was all about how a man had killed his cheating wife by doping her afternoon iced tea with sleeping tablets. Naturally Angela Lansbury, in fifty-one minutes, foiled the dastardly fellow in the final exciting scene. Despite the police and coroner declaring that the dear woman had deceased by natural causes. My wife sat there in silence as the plan fashioned in my mind, she was lost in thought, and it developed in my mind. Yes, I realized, it could actually work. My wife has had a terrible heart condition for many years now and has had two heart attacks. The last one was almost fatal; I am amazed that she is still alive. She takes her precious blue capsules three times a day, which apparently helps keep her heart regular, and the doctor informed me with a handshake that as long as she regularly took her medicine she could live to be eighty. All I needed to do was to empty the capsules and fill them with something else. Due to a recent toothache I had a ready supply of codeine. Not even Mrs. Lansbury would have caught me on this one.
As I sat there watching Columbo I was actually getting rather excited by the plan. It was going to be a relatively easy task- I must explain that my wife and I have not gotten on for a number of years. Well, I don’t suppose we ever truly got on. I cannot even remember why I actually married her- I suppose she must have had some power over me. I have never been much of a ladies man, and I suppose I was so astonished I had someone interested in me that I married her within six months of out first date. That was twenty-eight years ago. We live comfortably, but we are far from being rich, and there are many things I would love to own that I would have never normally been able to afford. However, a few years ago, after chatting to a very convincing insurance man, we did take out rather generous life insurance policies on each other.
It was not unusual for her to bring a cup of coffee into my office- it is one of her few good traits. However, I did find it a rather disconcerting that she sat in the corner chair and watched me. I wondered if she knew about the pills and was getting ready to confront me. I had managed to exchange them all last night. There had been twenty eight of them. Very fiddly work let me tell you opening those buggers, and substituting the ground codeine. I knew it would be just a matter of a few days of her taking them that the inevitable would happen. What I really needed was a stressful incident to push her over the edge. But what? The only excitement we get anymore is watching Dancing with the stars.
It wasn’t until my coffee cup was almost empty that I noticed the white powder at the side of the mug. In hindsight I suppose the coffee had been bitter but I am so addicted to the stuff that I would drink anything.
In a panic I glared up at my wife- who had an expression on her tired face that I had not seen in years. She actually looked happy and was smiling at me.
I am not sure what she put in my coffee. That Angela Lansbury and Peter Falk have a lot to answer for filling normally good folks with wicked ideas and tips on how to kill their spouses. I am starting to feel very drowsy- and long to close my eyes. Bugger.