Lamb to the slaughter

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She heard the tires on the gravel outside, and the car door slamming, the footsteps passing the window, the key turning in the lock.
"This is going to be a bit of a shock to you, I’m afraid,” he said. “But I’ve thoughtabout it a good deal and I’ve decided the only thing to do is tell you right away. I hopeyou won’t blame me too much.”
Everything was automatic now-down the steps to the cellar, the light switch, the deepfreeze, the hand inside the cabinet taking hold of the first object it met. She lifted it out,and looked at it. It was wrapped in paper, so she took off the paper and looked at it again.A leg of lamb.
Mary Maloney simply walked up behind him and without any pauseshe swung the big frozen leg of lamb high in the air and brought it down as hard asshe could on the back of his head.
“Patrick’s decided he’s tired and doesn’t want to eat out tonight,” she told him. “We usually go out Thursdays, you know, and now he’s caught me without anyvegetables in the house.”“Then how about meat, Mrs. Maloney?”“No, I’ve got meat, thanks. I got a nice leg of lamb from the freezer.”
Soon, other men began to come into the house. First a doctor, then twodetectives, one of whom she knew by name. Later, a police photographer arrived andtook pictures, and a man who knew about fingerprints. There was a great deal ofwhispering and muttering beside the corpse, and the detectives kept asking her a lot of questions. But they always treated her kindly.

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