Seeing the toolbox, Emily knew she'd been murdered. It was there, innocent and clear as day in the garage she now haunted, a slip of a thing. A scattering of tiny, innocuous seeds. He'd crushed them there, where he knew she'd never enter. Where he could work in peace, restoring that piece of crap 'vintage' Hemi he'd insisted on buying with the small inheritance his father had left. Traces of sesame seed over everything. Traces, she now suspected he'd worked painstakingly into the tips of her paint-brushes. The ones he damn well knew she liked to chew! And then, the artfully discarded brittle wrapper in the mailbox. Just some kids, thoughtlessly pranking. The damn cops hadn't even investigated further. They'd taken one look at her husband's swollen, tear-stained face, his trembling-handed evidence and written the whole thing off as a 'freak accident.' And now, here she was trapped in this fucking garage for eternity, forced to listen as he whistled under that damned car with a self-satisfied little smile on his face. Waiting for her life insurance to pay out so he could install a custom gas pedal or some other ridiculous accessory on his 'baby.' The months she'd spent planning their trip to a tropical paradise where he would become the unfortunate victim of a venomous bite undone. By this. This damn buffoon and his sesame seeds. All that, to fall victim to her own, stupid over-confidence. He shivered then, as if he could feel her malice. Then smiled, wider, and went back to tinkering with the car.
This is an entry for the foxtales contest here: @vermillionfox/week-13-fox-tales-announcing-the-next-story-image-and-winners run by @vermillionfox
Hope you enjoyed,
The Wise Fox