The clouds swooped east past the Northland Estate where stood many trees as of a forest and a farm that fell on 6 hectares with uncountable animals and a land so green it looked like the garden, Eden.
Mr. Adams stood by the kraal chatting with Edward the new animal caretaker as he milked the cows. Edward was a tall man with a staid look and gimlet eyed attitude, with sapphire eyes and Somali curled black hair well treated, unlike Mr.Adams, an old bald man with alot of vitality and eyes as small as roe, a deucing personality and enormous wealth and power.

Joan, the lady of the Estate stood at a distance by the horses looking at the two gentlemen with keenness. Joan was the wife of Mr.Adams, a blonde with somewhat saffron eyes and a mirthless smile, that she laughed with her cheeks. Joan was a ravishingly beautiful lady who every man in the city liked and wanted to have under his sheets, hence, she had a number of enemies especially women as she was an urban slut who had slept with many town’s men.
Every night when she met Edward in the barn as Mr.Adams slept, he tried to lure her into running away with him to a far away land. But this light skin of a lady was so taken up by material wealth that not even the adonis Edward could still her heart from Mr.Adams whom she claimed to love. A man so lovely and old yet powerful and wealthy. Mr. Adams was a boisterously adorable old man whose energy had left all his wives in a muse situation. He was the kind of man capable of satisfying his woman in one-do, and this,  the all so corky Edward couldn’t.


And there she was, looking at the two men she loved the most, one young and handsome the other old and capable.
Mr.Adams stormed off to his house which was 4 miles away on his horse Boo. His house, a white Palace with life all around, flowers of all sorts surrounded the house and sprung with glamour and wonder… lavender flowers and daisies in one space, roses of all colours in the other. As he entered through the big mahogany private door, he plucked a pink rose because he thought his “visitor” was Joan who had gone to visit her Aunt who stayed in the outskirts of the other side of the city.
Upon reaching his sitting room, there stood a male figure admiring the well sculptured statue of Mr.Adams that stood before the well drawn portrait of Joan. It was the police chief Mr.Ogwan,

“I take it this isn’t a social

visit!” Mr Adams said with a smirk on his face.

Mr.Ogwan: certainly not Sir.

Mr.Adams: would you care for a glass of scotch or a coffee?
Mr.Ogwan: a scotch will do, Sir.

The police chief carried with him bad news, he definitely was looking for all the courage to drop the bomb, and he hoped the scotch would do the magic its so much known for. With a benevolent smile and with alot of eerie, he let it out with unease and pain, “Mrs.Joan is dead, Sir, her body was found beneath the bridge.”

Ps. Ghosts do exist.



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