A Short Story : The Story Of A Story

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I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”
Daisy motioned for me to sit down and she sat opposite. “When we moved here and heard the stories I was intrigued, but it wasn’t until two years ago and we were pulling down the back fence that I figured it out.”
She sat forward on her seat, relishing the telling of her story like a new age fluro version of Angela Landsbury, from ‘Murder She Wrote’. “No one could work out how she disappeared from her backyard. But I did.”
Sitting up to lofty attention Daisy awaited my praise.
“Wow, I’m impressed,” I said, nodding my head in approval while encouraging her to continue.
She preened and leaned forward, her voice taking on a hush-hush tone. “Well, this place had a large planked, rough-hewn wooden fence. It was hideous. Too high and full of splinters. I said to my husband, ‘Marty, we need to get rid of that eyesore’.” She glanced at her long-suffering husband and he nodded in agreement.
Daisy continued with her explanation. “There was no way she could have scaled it without there being some evidence left behind. On both sides, it was covered in a massive creeper. An overgrown orange climbing rosebush with sharp thorns on it. It didn’t matter how severely we cut it back, the following summer it would be huge again and covered with the most gorgeous double bloom roses. Not much scent, but magnificent flowers. I think it was an Apricot Seduction, but don’t quote me on that in your book.” She laughed, tapping me on the back of my hand. It was

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