"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 any vegetables in the house."
She told herself that as she hurried back, that all she was doing was returning home to her husband and he was waiting for his supper.
She knew the number of the police station, and when the man at the other end answered, she cried to him, “Quick! Come quick! Patrick’s dead!” “Who’s speaking?” “Mrs. Maloney. Mrs. Patrick Maloney.” “You mean Patrick Maloney’s dead?” “I think so,” she sobbed. “He’s lying on the floor and I think he’s dead.” “Be right over,” the man said.
"Is he dead?"
"I'm afraid he is."
"Why don’t you eat up that lamb that’s in the oven. It’ll be cooked just right by now.”
"Probably right under our very noses. What you think Jack?"
" Personally, I think the murder weapon is right here on the premises."