Dead Men Tell No Tales

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“…I told him to ask her to leave or I leave” I finish tearfully. I have been doing a lot of that for the past day. The policewoman looks at me with pity and decides to leave me alone to mourn privately. After all, my maid just made me a widow and conveniently killed herself.

Let me take you on a ride to the past twenty-four hours. I have known for over six months now. You would say it was a woman’s intuition but it wasn’t. They weren’t very covert about it, truth be told. I saw the stolen glances, the lingering touches, the giggles, how he would go out of his way to be nice to her, how he gave her excessive money so she would keep the change, the pair of fools.  It drove me crazy, how stupid did they think I was that I wouldn’t know about their little affair? Well I showed them who the real fool is. They did not see it coming, especially my husband. He thought he had fooled me and gallivanted about with the housemaid.

How to make a stupid girl even more stupid? Make her your confidante. For over a month now, I’ve confided in her my ‘supposed’ marital problems. I made it known to my maid that I knew he was cheating. You should have seen her face when she thought I had caught them.  But I quickly reassured her that I thought it was with his colleague in the office. I made the fool think I wanted to leave my husband but he just won’t let me. The hopeless man was already asking for a divorce, but I would not be usurped by a stupid and dirty house help.

How it all came together so perfectly. I had laid down my plans perfectly well. No hitches, no hiccups. It was a weekend and I sent my three children off to spend time with their grandparents who live an hour away. Saturday night was perfect. That beautiful night with a thousand shinny stars just had to be the night to take a life, no two lives actually. Earlier that evening, I had given the girl some cyanide with her dinner and in a short while it took effect. I prepared his favorite meal. He was surprised and suspected a foul play. He wanted to know why I prepared the dish.

I smiled and told him that I had finally decided to give him the divorce he so desires. He was elated and thanked me immensely.  Too bad he believed my lies.  How could he be that stupid?

Daniel devoured the meal happily. He was finally going to get his freedom, he thought. Scum!  After the meal, he sat at the sofa and turned on the television. While he watched the nine o’clock news, I wore my gloves took the pestle the housemaid had used to pound the Yam we ate for dinner and whacked his skull open. I never knew the human brain looked that way. It splattered like…

I went to the room and dragged the maid out. Dragging her to the living room from her room was hard work but she needed to have his blood and brain matter splattered on her.I needed to plant her at the ‘crime scene’, an evidence that she was the murderer without further proof.  ‘I hope you learn not to seduce other women’s men’, I muttered to the unconscious girl. If she will survive the ordeal, my mind says. I smile at that thought and left the ‘lovers’ to complete the last step.

I took a quick shower humming a tone all along. I wore my best nightie, the pink one Daniel loved. I came into the living room, took the pestle and whacked myself good enough to pass out. I woke up to the face of the driver the next morning. He had come to take my husband to work, on seeing the scene in his very before, he called the police. My head kept spinning that I thought that maybe I did hit myself too hard. I looked around the room and screamed hard.

Now I am the grieving widow who will take everything, the house, cars, his company, even people’s pity. I have enough to train my children. What other worries should I have?

I managed another sob for the police woman who concluded that my house help killed my husband and tried to kill him because my husband chooses me over her. Thinking we have both died, she took her own life.

Who knew the truth? Smile. After all, it’s my word against theirs. Only the living can tell the real story. For sure, dead men tell no tales.

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