He served her an arsenic-laced breakfast, but by dinner, the menu had completely changed.
Writer’s Prompt
The coffee had tasted slightly of almonds, but Jean Morton had blamed the chicory blend Bob was trying out. An hour later, her abdomen burned with white-hot agony. When Stella Andrelli arrived, she didn’t call an ambulance. The former homicide detective took one look at Jean’s dilated pupils and the untouched crusts of toast, then sniffed the cold mug.
“Arsenic,” Stella muttered, her voice hard as flint. “The bastard didn’t even try to hide it.”
Jean clutched her stomach, sweat slicking her forehead. “Why?”
“Does it matter?” Stella pulled a small glass vial from her trench coat pocket, setting it on the nightstand with a soft clink. “He thinks he’s coming home to a corpse. Let’s change the menu.”
By 6:00 PM, the agony had been managed with Stella’s black-market charcoal remedies, leaving Jean hollowed out but fueled by a cold, radiating fury. When Bob’s key turned in the front door, the aroma of garlic and heavy cream filled the air.
“Jean?” Bob called out, his voice carrying an edge of rehearsed anxiety.
He stepped into the dining room. The lights were low. Jean sat at the head of the table in a silk robe, pale but smiling, two bowls of fettuccine Alfredo steaming between them. From the shadows of the kitchen, Stella watched, her hand resting on the grip of her snub-nosed revolver.
Bob froze, his eyes darting from Jean to the food. His throat bobbed.
“You look beautiful,” he stammered, slowly taking his seat. “I didn’t think you’d be up.”
“I felt better,” Jean purred, pushing his bowl an inch closer to him. “Eat, darling. You work so hard.”
Bob picked up his fork. He twirled the pasta, lifting it to his lips. Then, he paused, looking directly into Jean’s eyes.
How does the dinner end? Does Bob realize the trap, or does Jean watch him take the final bite? Write the final twist.
