“Just leave her here, let her freeze to death!” they said, dumping the old woman into the snowdrift. The fools didnt realise the boomerang would come flying back sooner than they thought.
Margaret Whitmore trudged toward her apartment block. The neighbourhood ladies perched on their usual bench were gossiping about the flashy car parked illegally on the patchy lawn.
“Whose is that?” Margaret asked.
“How should we know?” sniffed Doris, adjusting her scarf. “Probably belongs to that posh lot over by the new builds. Fancy motors like that dont turn up round here unless someones won the lottery.”
“Only the ambulances bother with our street,” added Edna, nodding sagely.
The women carried on dissecting local scandals and council grievances. Just then, out waltzed the very person in questionSarah, the likely owner of the offending vehicle. She breezed past without so much as a glance at the car or her audience. Margaret huffed and hurried inside.
“Margaret Whitmore?” called a voice in the stairwell. A man stepped forward. “Remember me? We spoke a few days ago. Im your nephew, Edward.”
“Oh, Edward!” Margaret exclaimed, squinting. “Why didnt you warn me you were coming? Is that your car parked on my flowerbed?”
“Er yes?”
“Well, shift it before the neighbours organise a lynch mob! Honestly, who parks on a pensioners petunias?”
Edward scurried off to move the car while Margaret put the kettle on. Selling the flat had become urgentno way was she leaving her precious garden to vandals.
Years ago, her uncle had visited with his son. Then, life happened, and the family lost touch. And now, out of the blue, here he wasEdward, all grown up. Something about him set Margarets teeth on edge. He chain-smoked like a chimney, his teeth already tea-stained at his age. Still, at least hed shown up. Shed dreaded hiring an estate agent to sell the placebetter to keep it in the family. Oddly, Edward refused a cut of the sale.
Alone in her later years, Margaret longed for countryside air. A bungalow with a veg patch sounded far better than fourth-floor stairs. By autumn, a buyer had materialised.
“Lets wait till spring,” Margaret decided. “Who buys houses in winter?”
“But prices shoot up by April!” Edward argued. “Winters the best time to check the heating. Besides, weve got an offer nowwhat if they pull out?”
“And where exactly am I meant to live? Find me a place first, then well talk,” Margaret sighed. Edward caved.
Soon enough, hed lined up viewings. The cottage they settled on needed workpeeling wallpaper, a dodgy boilerbut the flats sale would cover it. Edward, handy with a hammer, promised to help.
Margaret groaned. “Im too old for DIY marathons. I just want to move in and live like a normal person!”
“Thats what Im here for!” Edward beamed.
Still, his eagerness nagged at her. Why the rush? But surely he wouldnt swindle his own aunt. Grateful for the help, she set a completion date.
On the big day, the buyer and solicitor arrived promptly. Edward served tea while Margarets heart twisted. Selling her home of decadesevery scratch on the doorframe a memory. But no turning back now. Boxes packed, papers signed.
“Right, time to move!” Edward announced.
“Now? Ive still got china in the cupboard!” Margaret protested. But Edward insistedsomething about the buyer needing immediate occupancy.
Grumbling, she let herself be bundled into his van. Exhaustion tugged at her; she dozed off, half-aware of murmured conversations and winding roads.
“Auntie, can you hear me?” Edwards voice floated as if down a tunnel. She couldnt respond.
“Just leave her here,” she caught later, consciousness flickering. Thencold. A snowbank.
“Shell freeze. Saves us the hassle.”
The penny dropped. The tea had been drugged. The cottage, the rushall a scheme. Resigned, she shut her eyes.
Meanwhile, Emily, driving past, spotted the idling van. Curiosity piqued, she watched two men haul something toward the woods. Odd behaviour for a blizzard. Jotting the licence plate, she crept closerthen gasped. A woman, half-frozen!
With her husbands help, they bundled Margaret into their car. As warmth returned, the old woman stirred.
“Where am I?”
“We found you in the snow,” Emily said. “Do you remember how you got there?”
“Too well.” Margarets voice cracked. “My nephewdrugged my tea. Wanted me gone after the sale.”
“Lets get you safe first,” Emily murmured, rubbing life back into her hands.
“Kinder than my own blood,” Margaret whispered.
Police were called. Edward and his mate got locked up faster than you could say “fraud.” Come spring, Margaret sold the flat properly and bought her dream cottageno renovations needed. That summer, she hosted Emily and her husband for tea in the garden. Some debts, she knew, could never be repaid in money.
