Gemotions

The rusted gate separating Martha's meticulously maintained garden from Mr. Henderson’s overgrown jungle suddenly seemed inadequate. She’d always believed he was just a lonely old man, puttering about in his threadbare overalls. Now, she knew different. The new, polished Mercedes parked in his previously empty garage whispered of hidden fortunes. A thrill, not entirely unpleasant, shivered down her spine.

Martha considered the chipped garden gnome, a relic of better times, that she'd been meaning to replace. This was a good time to visit Mr Henderson, she decided.

“Mr. Henderson?” she called, her voice unnecessarily loud, as she approached his front door, a slight tilt to her head. "Such a lovely day, isn’t it?"

She watched the door open slowly, a slight frown of annoyance creasing his face. "Martha? What do you want?"