It Oughtta Be a Crime
I attended the New England Crime Bake conference last weekend, where my sister-in-law Brenda Buchanan, an amazing crime writer herself, was a chief organizer. Conference attendees were invited to write a crime story, using several required words (underlined below), and being a hundred fifty words or less. I wasn’t even a finalist – what an outrage! But I still think it’s great (even if, as my daughter Joanna has often reminded me, I often laugh harder at my own jokes than anyone else does):
“I’ve told you before — you’re trapped in fat. I want you to eat like a bird until your bones show. No more cookies – Paradise is thinness! You are to eat only kale this week – let that be a lesson to you.”
“It’s true, Doctor. You’re such an inspiring healer. Here are homemade cookies I baked specially for you. I won’t eat even one.”
“Oh, thank you. Delicious. Lucky I don’t have a weight problem.”
She watched as his breathing became more rapid and then slowed. Soon, he was silent.
Death by cyanide chip cookies.
“Kale indeed,” she thought.
Let that be a lesson to you, Doctor.