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The Housekeeper Did It

It had been a particularly long day at the office. When I say "long," I mean just that: Whatever possessed me to show up four hours early and leave fifteen minutes late to and from my 7:00am to 8:30pm shift is beyond me. I got nothing out of it, particularly, and with nothing else to do, I spent that extra time opening and closing a filing cabinet drawer over and over again.

And, before I forget to cover up my misleading suggestion, I do work in an office. I wasn't sure if you caught that part.

Anyway, on the drive home it occurred to me that my housekeeper might have killed the gardener while I was at work. Normally, thoughts like this don't just randomly pop into my head like that, but today I had actually overheard the housekeeper say "I'm going to kill the gardener today" while I was running out the door.

Specifically, I didn't "overhear;" rather, she pulled me aside that morning and said "I thought you might like to know that at precisely 3:48pm this afternoon, I shall commence to beating the poor gardener to death with my bare hands and/or with whatever blunt, lethal instrument might be nearby to assist."

At the time, it seemed as normal a comment to make as any. However, looking back, I might have been so inclined as to talk her out of it.

I arrived home and discovered the gardener laying face-down in the middle of my driveway, dead. He looked like he had been beaten by somebody's bare hands, and/or perhaps with whatever blunt, lethal instruments might have been nearby to assist, and it appeared to have happened around 3:48pm that afternoon.

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