WHO: Anabel & Harrison. WHEN: Today! August 12th. WHERE: The Park SUMMARY: Harrison kills Anabel. WARNINGS: None.
Sheer dumb luck. That’s all it was.
Buying a pocket sized transistor radio had taken planning and forethought, but catching sight of Anabel Marple (at least he was 98% sure it was her and not Mrs Mayweather) as she jogged past the park was nothing more than luck. Sometimes the stars just aligned.
And when they did Harrison always rolled with it.
“Mrs. Marple?” He shouted.
Anabel was in her own head, thinking through the basket item sandwiches she still needed to make. It was lucky that she could just hear Harrison over the sound of Shania Twain’s That Don’t Impress Me Much. She slowed, pulling one of the ear bugs out of her ear. “Sorry, what did you say?” She asked.
“You’re Mrs. Marple, right?” Harrison looked concerned. It never hurt to check before you went and murdered the wrong person.
She nodded her head. She recognized him as being one of the Flores - one of the boys they’d adopted. “I am.”
Now he looked relieved but only for a split second before the concern reappeared. “Could you help me with something in the park? It’s a dog running around, I don’t see an owner. I know your husband is the vet, I was wondering if you might recognize it …” Harrison was already walking back in that direction.
This wasn’t a completely unfamiliar scenario - people thought she was just as good of a dog whisperer as her husband. Unfortunately, the case usually was that she wasn’t. “We may have to call Gregory in for this one.”
“Maybe if we catch him we can snap a photo….” Harrison suggested as he walked further into the park.
It seemed like a reasonable plan, so Anabel took out her phone, readying it to take a picture of the dog she believed Harrison was leading her to.
He waited until they had taken a few more steps, until it couldn’t be argued that he had killed her near the park rather than in it. The radio was small, only slightly larger than a phone really, and after weighing it in his hand for a few seconds Harrison turned, lobbed the radio as if it was a grenade and shouted “CATCH!” He hoped that Mrs. Marples reflexes would take over.
Anabel was no athlete but, luckily, her hand eye coordination was good enough to do as ordered. “What on earth.” She frowned at the thing she’d caught. “This is not a dog.”
“It’s a transistor radio,” Harrison grinned, “and you’re dead.”
“Dead?” She repeated. Then she closed her eyes when she remembered the game. “Milly Cox. Of course. I am Dead. What does this mean?”
“I get a point.” Harrison replied coolly. “And you get a free radio.”
Anabel shook her head back and forth. “I suppose that there is no dog, then?”
“Sorry.” A shrug. Did the free radio mean nothing?
She shrugged back. “I don’t know what to do from here. So I suppose I’m going to go finish my run now?”
“Yeah. Have a good day!” As if he was a cashier and she’d just finished a purchase.