Death in the Family, Carolyn Smith [free ebook reader for iphone TXT] 📗

after and she had decided to keep it and then pass it on to us. Alternatively, maybe Granddad George had more ‘tales’ than he ever divulged to us and this was actually spoils of war. It didn’t really matter how she had got it, and I didn’t spend too long deliberating over it. The fact was, according to Nana’s will Dad would get 40,000 and Karl and I would get 10,000 each. At 13, 10,000 pounds was a lot of money.

I immediately let my overactive imagination get to work. What would I do with the money? I could invest it; too boring. I could buy a car, but I would be not legally be able to drive for another 3 years. I could quit school and go travelling, just think, America – Hollywood and meet all the stars. I could upgrade my computer. No; I could throw my computer away and buy the latest model. The possibilities were endless. I knew then and there that life without this money was no life at all. I needed it; I wanted it with every iota of my being. There is no point being given lots of money when you are an adult. You do sensible things with it like pay bills and debts, get a mortgage and other ridiculous things. Money is meant to be spent on ‘stuff’. The only people who can enjoy money properly are kids, with no inhibitions and no responsibilities. After some time, I put the will back in to the envelope careful not to bend it or tear it. I placed the tin box and the rifle at the back of the closet behind the boots and jackets where I found them, quietly closed the door and went back to join the others in the living room. I sat staring at the T.V. but not seeing what was on the screen. My head was in a dream land of money, shopping and travel. If I did go to Hollywood, who would I want to meet first?

*** *** *** *** ***

Later that night as I lay in bed unable to sleep, I realized that there was one great big obstacle in the way of me and this money. Nana Wilkins. I wouldn’t see a penny of that money until she had passed on. It had been 5 years since Granddad George had passed away. Nana Wilkins was only 55 years old now. She would probably live to be one hundred knowing her. She was the type never to give in. I could imagine her on her one hundredth birthday looking as young and healthy as she did now, holding her will to her chest shouting “You’re not getting this until I die! I am going nowhere, not now, not ever!” By the time Nana gave in to old age it would be too late. I would be grown up. Probably married with children, a mortgage and dead end job in an office like my dad. The thought sent a silent shiver down my spine.
I woke up with a start, sweat dripping off the side of my face. My heart was pounding in my chest as remnants of the previous night’s nightmare drifted away. It took me a while to get my bearings. I was at home, in my bed, still young and reckless. Only one thought entered my head now.

Nana Wilkins had to die.

For the best part of the day I began to plot my dastardly deed.

I sat in my bedroom at my computer, opened a word document and started to make a list of various ways in which I could get rid of Nana. There were of course the obvious ways:
1) Shoot her. This wouldn’t work for a number of reasons. First I didn’t have a gun, nor did I know where or how to get my hands on one, apart from the rifle in the closet but that was no good because it was too big and had no ammunition. Second there would be a lot of blood and I am afraid to say I am the squeamish type and third it would mean that people would know she had been killed by a person and the police would eventually find out it was me. I may be excellent at Math and Geography but I am not a criminal mastermind…yet.

2) Stab her. Again there were some glaringly obvious issues with this option. The blood would still be a problem and this would be worse than shooting because you would have to get up close and feel the blood on your hands. Then there is the fact that I would have to get up close to her, she would be able to fight me off and then she would know what I was plotting and would probably, at the very least be more careful around me and at the very worst tell my dad about what I was trying to do. Finally, there was that reoccurring police issue. It would need to look like an accident.

3) Hit by a car. This would be very effective if I could drive, which I couldn’t only being 13. I would have to bribe someone to do it for me and they might tell the police. Anyway, who would I ask? Dad?

My fourth idea was nothing less than a stroke of genius. I go to her house every weekend. I have access to all number of things inside her house. I could set a trap and no one would know it was me. Maybe I am a criminal mastermind after all.

*** *** *** *** ***

I went to school as usual that week, but my mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t concentrate in any of my lessons and received several detentions from various teachers for incomplete work, being late for class and general absent mindedness. This was more than a little annoying as it took precious time away from my plotting and scheming, but hard as I tried I just could not concentrate on the tasks the teachers were setting. My mind kept drifting while the teachers were talking and then they would ask me some inane question or other as teachers are bound to do, which I couldn’t answer due to not listening. Then invariably I would face a tirade from the teacher about how “disappointed,” they were and how, “this was so unlike,” me and other things of that nature. Sigh! I had more important things to contend with. School was least of my worries especially as I was going to quit as soon as I had the money. What is the point in spending endless hours, days, months and even years in a boring, mind numbing institution which teaches us nothing of relevance if we don’t have to? We go to school in order to get a job apparently. Well…I won’t need a job when I have all of that lovely dosh in my hand and Simon Cowell is my best friend and together we sign record deals left, right and centre. There goes my over active imagination again.

As if detention every night at school wasn’t bad enough Dad made me sit at the table with him in the kitchen on Wednesday while he made dinner.
“What’s going on James?” he asked as he put the spaghetti in the pot of boiling water.
“Nothing,” I replied sheepishly as I played with the salt shaker on the table, tipping it ever so slightly to create a tiny salt mountain.
“Don’t give me that. There is something going on. It’s not like you to have detention at all, let alone three days in a row.” He stirred the pasta sauce in the little saucepan for a few minutes while looking over at me drawing pictures in the salt with my finger. “You may as well tell me. I’ll find out sooner or later. Is it that your mum has started working nights again?” He raised one eye brow as he looked at me. My dad wasn’t the most handsome of men with his once thick mop of black hair thinning at the back and his bushy eye brows meeting in the middle, but he was definitely one of the most hard working and kind hearted men I knew. His face was like an open book with various emotions written all over it. Today, right now, it was concern.

Yes. Thank you, Dad! He had just given me the perfect get out clause. Prior to his last statement I hadn’t known what I was going to say. I guess I was just hoping that he would get bored with my silence and drop it. But, the idea that I could be struggling without mum here in the evenings to cook a decent dinner (Dad did his best, but it wasn’t exactly Michelin Star), help me with my homework and tuck me in at bed time, was first class.
“Yes,” I mumbled almost inaudible. Dad sighed, stopped stirring the sauce, which was thickening into a congealed mess at the bottom of the pan, and came to sit with me at the table. He sat across from me and put his hand on top of mine (probably to stop me making any more salty pictures on the table cloth) and said, “There’s nothing we can do about it son. There’s more money available in a night shift and we could really do with the money right now. You’ll just have to suck it up like the rest of us.” He smiled a gentle, encouraging smile, but I couldn’t raise my gaze to meet his. He squeezed my hand, left his seat and returned to the now definitely burnt sauce and continued to stir. I left the table glad that the questions were over and went to my room to finalise my plan. I was going to be in her house in two days and there was still a lot to do. If I had ever questioned my motives before, I didn’t now. Mum and Dad needed the money just as much as I wanted mine. It was selfish of Nana to cling on to it the way she was doing. It would be easier if she just handed it over, but as I very much doubted she would be doing that any time soon, my way was the only way.

As I drifted off to another dream filled and fitful sleep that night I wondered if Dad even knew about the money stashed away in Nana’s bank account, with his name written all over it. I guessed not.

*** *** *** *** ***

Finally it was Saturday. I had woken up early to make sure I had a hearty breakfast, but when the time came to sit down and eat my two soft boiled eggs, buttered toast and cereal drenched in milk, I found I couldn’t face it. I was terribly nervous. My stomach felt as though it had snakes writhing around inside it and the palms of my hands became moist no matter how many times I dried them on the kitchen towel. I was afraid I was going to