when amanda came down to breakfast, she was surprised to find her stepson wilbur seated at the table, as she thought he was studying anthropology at the university of a—————, two thousand miles away.
good morning, wilbur, aren’t you supposed to studying anthropology at the universiity of a—————?
no, i have decided anthropology is not for me.
amanda took two pieces of sliced sourdough bread out of a plastic bag and put them in the toaster.
then what is for you?, if you do not mind my asking..
i though i might just hang out for a while, see what comes up.
and what does walter have to say about this? walter was amanda’s husband and wilbur’s father.
he doesn’t have anything to say about it.
really? and does he have anything to say about saying anything about it?
no.
amanda laughed. she looked down at the toast toasting in the toaster. well, we can ask him when he gets up.
he isn’t getting up.
excuse me?
i said he isn’t getting up.
what do you mean?
what do you think i mean?
the toaster dinged and the toast popped up. amanda ignored it, and turned and went back up the stairs.
she entered walter’s bedroom, which she had not shared for years.
walter was lying on his side on the bed, with the bedclothes in a jumble around his head and shoulders.
amanda saw right away that he was dead, although there were no visible signs of violence on him.
wilbur must have killed him somehow, she thought. she knew enough not to touch the body. she had some experience in such matters, as she had successfully murdered her first husband seventeen years before.
she went back downstairs. as she expected, wilbur was gone.
amanda sighed. i will have have to call the police, she thought. i will have my my toast and cup of coffee first.
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