Quote:
Originally Posted by Mrs. Naomi Portway
That's why he locks me in the root cellar on Tuesdays.
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Ah, so that explains why you're never to be found when it's Aaron's turn to host the Men's Tuesday Night Prayer Circle!
I admit to having had some disturbing thoughts in wondering about your absence. "Perhaps," I said to myself, "the dear child fell down the stairs in the night, on her way to get a drink of water. Aaron, being a quiet and shy fellow, might have refrained from calling the coroner. Instead, it could be he carried her to the back yard tenderly, digging out a new garden bed as she lay beside him, bathed in the gentle moonlight, atop the steaming compost heap, surrounded by a softly shifting, shimmering cloud of flies buzzing a paean to her all-too-frail beauty. With each swing of his pickaxe, Aaron would curse himself for waiting three days to clean her off the stairs; he just had to be sure she was really dead!
"In this luxurious, rich garden bed his little Naomi would rest, eternally at peace, her shallow grave planted over with those two strange rows of tomatoes, swollen abnormally large and red, the only marker a wooden Popsicle stick cross upon which he'd carefully misspelled, "Beefstake". He'd have to disguise her absence through a clever ruse."
See, that's where I stopped. We all know Aaron isn't much good at clever ruses.
So now we know you are alive and well!
This would make a great story for the
Pediabear Mystery Series, don't you think?