“It was about a month ago, I can’t be sure. Said she was going on a road-trip. Hitch-hiking Route 66. No, at the time it didn’t seem odd. Seventy you say? Wow. Her rucksack was real heavy. Now that I do remember… Well, let’s see, I suppose I must have picked it up. No, my wife wasn’t home. Sure, you can ask the neighbours, but I’m pretty confident they were at work. You want to take a look in my cellar? Go right ahead, just watch out for that second step, Officer; I’m gonna get it fixed one of these days.”

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This is a 100-ish flash fiction piece for Friday Fictioneers. Click here to read more stories inspired by the picture, or here to join in.

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This week I wrote a letter to my husband’s dead first wife: Dear Jane…