“Stop!” he yelled.
She sped out of their room, unmindful.
“You are dead, my lady!” He screamed, sounding venomous.
“Why do you think I got a house on this haunted hill 50 miles from the city?”
His words hardly reached her, when a shovel plowed into her head and painfully split her skull into two.
It was thanksgiving for the entire neighborhood. But he had no smoked turkey, just a dead wife.
His eyes fell on her wedding ring. That’s when he noticed her open palm holding on to a call dialed to 911.
The police siren grew nearer.