He was poor, likely the illegitimate son of a wealthy attorney or doctor. It wasn’t the first time she’d been forced to try to turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse.
Mrs. Pritchard’s heels clicked on the cracked cement pathway leading to Billy Murphy’s front porch. She’d always wondered how such a misfit had been enrolled in the private school where she presided as Principal. It was a fine school, boasting a student body populated by elite society’s spawn.
She’d sent a note home with the boy today, announcing she would pay his mother a visit to discuss his lack of progress. When she’d called him to her office, he’d nearly cried, in fact she thought he looked like he might even urinate from fear.
Mrs. Murphy, or apparently Ms. Murphy, answered the door, straightening her apron and welcoming her into a living room sparsely decorated with well-worn furniture.
“Can I offer you some cookies and tea, Mrs. Pritchard?” the boy’s mother asked. “The cookies are a special recipe my mother used to make, called Kindness Cookies.”
Mrs. Pritchard did not usually eat in between meals, but politeness dictated that she must. So she pursed her lips and answered, “Why, yes. Thank you. That would be lovely.”
Clearing her throat, Mrs. Pritchard began, “I’m here today to talk with you about little Billy’s very sorry performance on the last set of examinations. His reading skills, as I’m sure you must know, are simply abysmal, and he is one of the slowest students I have ever had…”
She trailed off as Mrs. Murphy brought out a small china plate on which a tower of golden brown cookies was stacked. Mrs. Pritchard reached for one, nibbling the edge daintily, prepared to leave the rest on her saucer.
Once the first taste touched her tongue, Mrs. Pritchard wasn’t sure what came over her. The buttery taste, the vanilla, the subtle hint of, what was it? She could not decide. So she ate another, and a third and fourth. She could not stop herself until she’d eaten half a dozen.
Mrs. Murphy perched, watching, as if she were waiting for the conversation to continue. But really, she wasn’t. She was waiting for the ground oleander, her recipe’s secret ingredient, to take effect. It didn’t take long, and with a thud, Mrs. Pritchard fell to the floor dead.
“You really can kill them with kindness,” Mrs. Murphy murmured.
And she had the corpse to prove it.
The Recipe
By Susan Anderson/SteemitPatina
Other Stories by SteemitPatina
https://steemit.com/fiction/@steemitpatina/the-portland-short-story-series-enjoy-your-last-thursday
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