On the porch stood a man with an unnaturally big smile, his equally cheery wife and two bored but impeccably cute offspring. The woman handed over the bouquet.
“We’re the Johnsons,” she added. “We’ve moved into number 72?”
I’d seen the U-Haul trucks.
“Welcome to the neighbourhood,” I said.
“My name is Tammy,” the woman continued. “This is Jim. And these little rascals are Kim and Vince.”
Her elbow nudged the kids none too subtly. They almost simultaneously handed over the boxes of chocolates they had been hiding behind their backs the whole time.
“In there is an invitation to our housewarming party on the 17th,” Jim stepped in. “We hope you can join us? You and your husband and family of course!”
There was that unnaturally big smile again.
“That might be difficult,” I replied. “Zach is serving life in Folsom and Dustin should be getting the needle in a couple of weeks time. Unless the governor steps in of course. Fingers crossed. As for my hubby, if you see him around, you might want to give the FBI a call. You could pocket half a million. And if you could now please excuse me. I have a turkey in the oven and I need to baste.”
I shut the door on their flabbergasted faces and dunked the flowers in the nearest bin. As I passed the living room a question sounded.
“Who was that, honey?”
“The new people in number 72. Invited us to their housewarming.”
“You got us out of it, right?”
“Told them you were on the FBI’s most wanted list.”
“Love you, hon!”
Did you enjoy this story? Then why not try the 101 stories in 300 words or less in YOU’RE GETTING SLEEPY, THE HYPNOTIST’S APPRENTICE YAWNED.