About the Author: Edward Lodi has written more than thirty books and a slew of short stories and poems.
It was a mean thing to do. That much I’ll admit. When they moved in next-door the Donavons seemed like such a sweet couple: kind, considerate, eager to lend a helping hand. Why would anyone want to harm them?
In the end, though, what choice did I have?
When my long-time neighbor, Mr. Bellotti, died shortly before Thanksgiving, the family homestead went to his daughter, an only child. Unfortunately—for me, and ultimately for the Donavons—she had established herself on the West Coast, clear across the country, and had no desire to move back East. Consequently once the will cleared probate she hired a real estate agent and put the house up for sale.
It didn’t remain long on the market. The Donavons, a childless couple in their late fifties, bought the house and moved in around Memorial Day. At first they seemed like a quiet, unassuming pair. Peg Donavon was frumpy, short and plump, with graying hair and a sallow complexion, the poster child for folks who spend too much time indoors watching TV and eating junk food. Joe Donavon was slightly taller than his wife, slightly plumper, slightly grayer, equally dull.
Anyhow, to welcome them to the neighborhood I baked an apple pie and carried it over while it was still warm. Before I had a chance to knock, Peg answered the door.
“I saw you crossing the yard through the window,” she explained. “Apple pie! How neighborly! Hubby’s favorite.”
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