Apr. 15, 2019

The Flea Market Murderess

One January, a friend of mine and I were out and about at a flea market. We met a woman who was telling us that she had been selling her merchandise since only November. I looked at her elaborate display, but said nothing.

She goes on to tell us, “I’m out here selling on the weekends because my 46-year-old husband was my sole source of support and he passed away November 4th of this past year. I had to do something in order to make money.”

My friend, Irene, says, “Oh no! That’s terrible. How did he pass?”

The woman answered, “We don’t know. He went in his sleep. What makes it all the more worse is that the grandchildren were the ones to find him.”

Irene looks at me, but I still say nothing so, she asks, “Was it a heart attack?”

The woman shrugs and says again. “We don’t know. We’re still waiting for the autopsy results.”

After a few more consoling words to the young widow from my friend, we move along. Finally, when we were far enough away, I asked Irene if she knew what the word crass meant. Irene states that she doesn’t and so I explain that it means rude, or lacks sensitivity.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asks.

As we stop walking and faced each other, I answer, “Because I’m going to be very crass right now...That woman probably killed her husband.”

“Oh my!” Irene exclaimed. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Well, outside of the obvious, the spouse is usually the first one investigated in an unexplained death. Second...two months for the autopsy results? That’s usually because they suspect foul play. Furthermore, I think he could have been poisoned.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?” she asked.

“Because, they don’t know how he died,” I answer. “There’s no obvious signs of death, like a stab wound, gun shot, hung himself and so on. If it had been cancer or heart attack, they would have been able to see it when they opened him up. The only likely cause I, personally, can think of that wouldn’t leave outside and obvious signs is poisoning.”

Irene thinks a minute and says, “Yeah, and you know, she said she’s only been doing this flea market thing since November, but I do remember seeing her running a booth several times over the spring and summer months, too.”

I nodded my head. “Look at her display She didn’t just suddenly acquire that merchandise. That woman has been doing this for years and she’s cultivated it into a business.”

Irene stopped walking to turn and look at me again. Nodding her head in agreement, she declared, “And that’s why you are the one who writes the books.”

Yup, I can see her mugshot picture already.