‘The property was broken into, items appropriated and family privacy disturbed,’ said the judge. ‘However, the use of firearms was excessive. Twenty years for wilful and deliberate murder.’
Defence counsel rose. ‘Objection! My client claims self-defence!’
‘Against an unarmed intruder? Twenty years.’
The handcuffs bit deep into Father Bear’s wrists.
‘Be careful, son. Her floorboards are probably rotten by now.’
His father’s words were of no comfort as he lay in the hall, scratched by thorns, smothered by one hundred years’ dust, immobilised by broken ankles.
He threw kisses upwards towards the hole.
The only reply was gentle, royal snoring.
The police were digging up the pumpkin patch.
Her sisters had asked, ‘Where did you get the clothes?’
Yes, it was facetious saying she’d murdered a duchess who stopped to ask for directions, but she’d tried telling them the truth. Honestly.
All they’d said was, ‘Pull the other one, Cinderella.’