Роберт Фиш - Moonlight Gardener

The kitchen door was swung back; the voice continued, an acid eating through Charley’s eardrums.

“...and leaving the lamp on in the house while you were coming to pick me up all the way to Joliet electricity costs money but you don’t care — why should you, you don’t pay the bills, and leaving that ugly hatchet on the kitchen counter, I’ve told you a thousand times the place for your dirty tools is in the cellar — well, at least I see you had the decency to set out two cups of coffee, I only hope you didn’t use the electric percolator and leave it on while you were out, electricity isn’t free, but you wouldn’t think of that, and—”

A sudden pause, and then — “Charles! These cups are dirty — they’ve been used. If you’ve been entertaining people in this house while I’ve been away, that Mrs. Williams from across the street, don’t think I’m blind, I see the way you two look at each other. Charles, wait, wait! Charles, who’s that in the shadow there? Charles, do you hear me? Charles...”

“Hello, dear,” said Mrs. Williams quietly, and reached for the kitchen counter and the hatchet there. “Welcome home.”