R= The tell-tale artichoke

"The Tell-tale Artichoke"

As blind dates go, this was the first one she'd had in a few years. The
first man she'd been near to in three years who hadn't had a uniform, a
pair of round eyeglasses or a dog collar.

He'd probably do, she thought, ordering two starters. She liked to have
something to look at while she was starting to eat. He didn't seem to
mind, he said it was 'quirky' and 'rather charming'. In any event, he
followed suit, so he was a weak man, which she liked.

Problem with weak men, as she well knew, was that they often have
strong mothers. Mothers who don't let go, not unless you make
them.

The first time had practically been an accident, people slip on the
stairs all the time. The second time, well, people get confused over
insulin, don't they? There's nothing quite so rewarding as looking
after a man who has lost his mother. Especially if you like them
needy.

She'd read about it. After she'd become one, she felt she ought to read
up on serial killers. The library record was thought to be very damning
in court, although people read about killers all the time. Look at how
many books Agatha Christie sold. Not all of them to murderers. Though
some, probably.

These books had described people 'killing for company', men who killed
so that they wouldn't be alone. She was just brighter and killed so
that she could have her man without any interference. After the grief
wore off them, she tired of them. Found herself another, always one
with a domineering mother, a mother who would sigh and walk around with
index finger ready to see dust or crumbs. A mother who would compare
her unfavourably to women that her son might have settled down with,
had he taken a wiser path through life.

If they'd been able to prove the half of it, she'd have been in prison
a long time.

The mussels arrived and she smiled at her date. He smiled back,
nervously. When he stole a glance at his watch, he blushed when he saw
that she was watching him. Oh, she liked them weak.

She wanted to leave the mussels, to savour them awhile, to smell the
white wine and garlic. The artichokes, that was the thing to begin
with. The tenderness of it, the little bowl of vinaigrette, the whole
ritual of scraping and tasting. Oh, how she adored it.

"You know, " she said absently, as she got near to the tender heart,
"This was the very last thing I ate, before the police arrived. "

He blinked and did something with his tie to occupy his hands, "The..
ah, police ?"
Damn. First date and she'd blown it. He'd probably be onto the agency
to tell them the next day. They wouldn't want to have a killer on their
books. Not with her history.

"You're her, aren't you ? The, what did they call you ? "

"The Inlaw Outlaw, " she said, heavily, "You know, I never liked that
name. Yes, I killed a few women, mothers who fussed over their sons,
would never let them live a life of their own. I did my time, I learned
my lesson. "

"Oh, " he said, "I'm, ah, not sure how I feel about this. "

She understood.

"Look, " he said, "Maybe we could see each other next week ? I believe
that people can change and, well, you seem like a nice person. "

Weak. She liked that.

He got home and took his trousers off, hanging them neatly on a wooden
hanger, metal ones ruin the shape you know. He had made his bed before
leaving the house, the sheets snug and crisp. Might as well call her
before going to sleep, he thought.

"Hello, " he said, "You know you've been telling me for ages that I
should find a nice girl? Well, I have. "

He paused, " When are you going to meet her? Oh, mother, you can be so
impatient."