Marjorie was going about the usual routine of watering her various plants. Marjorie found herself humming a tune, and decided that there would be no harm in turning on the radio. Surely the plants would enjoy the music as much as she would.
A story came on the radio about an armed robbery that had occurred within her small village. Her ears pricked up as they were discussing that the man responsible had fled the scene. The usual spiel about not approaching the armed man followed. Mind you, that wasn’t what caught her attention, but instead, it was the vague description of the suspect that they had.
It sounded like her very own grandchild.
She went back to watering her plants, and listening to the music when a masked man burst into the small flat and tried to hide in a cupboard.
Rather than be surprised, Marjorie just continued with the task in. “You won’t fit in the cupboard, Danny, as I have just bought some potatoes.”
“I can’t go to jail, granny, not again.”
“I know, pet.”
“It all went wrong.” Danny kicked a flowerpot and, though it did not break, the mud scattered across the hardwood flooring of the hallway where he stood.
Marjorie’s face grew red. “I don’t care, Danny, but do not take it out on my plants.”
Danny backed away from all the pots. “Sorry.”
There was a sharp knock at the door that indicated that the police were outside. “Go into the bedroom and hide in the wardrobe.” As Danny rushed away, Marjorie turned her attention to the door. “Coming!”
Just before she reached the door, Marjorie heard a crashing sound which was followed by a muffled curse. Her eyes narrowed, as she realised that her beloved plant, Deirdre, was currently homeless. Deirdre was the only plant that was in the bedroom, simply because it was her favourite. The idea that her favourite cactus, which always seemed to flower for her, was currently floundering on the floor, beneath her grandson’s feet, was just too much to bear.
Family loyalty be damned, those plants were more important. She gritted her teeth and opened the door. “He’s in the bedroom.”
Marjorie went to find a new home for Deirdre, the one thing that mattered most to her.
Written for Dan Alatorre
My character was: A bold 73 year-old woman, who comes from a wealthy background, lives in a social housing scheme and tends to a huge collection of pot plants.
My genre was crime/Detective