She carried the box into the sitting room and placed it at her husband’s feet.
She stood looking down at Figaro’s small, lifeless body curled up in the cardboard box. The black haired Pomeranian had been such a wonderful pet. She looked at her husband. “You did this,” she snarled. She had found the poison on the dark web. It was supposed to be completely undetectable. No traces of it would ever be found in a body. What if the stuff didn’t work, or what if it had only half worked. It had to be tested.
Two bodies; that’s not good! She would bury Figaro in the garden; that’s the least she could do for him. Such a wonderful little companion. She had to know didn’t she? That’s it, she’d bury him and say he was lost. Maybe ask around a bit to add authenticity to her story.
As for him… heart attacks were pretty common, weren’t they? Could you have a heart attack while eating potted noodles? Yes, of course, it can happen any time. She then thought she could say how he was really worried about Figaro; he got very anxious, couldn’t stop talking about it.
OK. Next step. Bury her beloved pet, then make a frantic call for an ambulance. She carried the box out and found a spot, one that she could see through the kitchen window. Thankfully, she thought, by the time she had finished, there would be absolutely nothing around to remind her of him, the selfish brute that had made her life a misery.
The hole had been dug and she was tearfully looking down at the cute little friend she was losing, when two things happened at once.
His head moved, and someone was calling from the house!