Too Nice to Kill?

by Shari Randall 

I’m a pretty laid-back person. Some would even say nice. Heck, I was a children’s librarian for many years. People are surprised that I write murder mysteries. Murder! You?

 

I’ve come to realize that the murderers in my stories are not nice people, and their motives are dark. That’s the way I think it should be.

 

My conniving murderers have little in common with a character type that turns up too often in many TV shows: the nice person who kills because rage makes them lose control. There was one season of Father Brown that made me insane because that was the storyline of every episode: a good person, pushed beyond their limit, lost control and killed. Unfortunately for that person, they were living in the 1950s when murder was a hanging offense. They were nice people pushed too far by a terrible person who, frankly, got what they deserved.

I had a hard time understanding how rage could overthrow a lifetime of nice—until yesterday.

 

While I wouldn’t call myself a tree hugger, I love trees, especially old ones. (Maybe I am a tree hugger? Discuss.) Anyway, there’s a park nearby that has a spectacular Japanese Thread Leaf Maple tree.  I visit it often and spend a few minutes marveling under the tree's branches. One of the gardeners told me it’s over 100 years old and, like many hundred-year-old things, it is delicate. There is a sign that warns people not to climb.

 

As I approached yesterday, I got a bad feeling. I could hear the voices of two women and see one backing up under the tree's lacy branches to take photos. I figured they’d move on soon, so I meandered around the rest of the garden until I smelled smoke. Yes, there are other signs, warning people not to smoke. I decided to see what was happening. 

 

To my shock, a woman had climbed onto one of the branches of the more than one-hundred-year-old tree and draped herself there, smoking a cigarette, while her friend took photos.

 

I was shocked. It was like seeing a fragile senior citizen crushed beneath a tank. Frankly, the woman was way too big for the branch. Also, she was wearing this dreadful slip dress thing that was not flattering. Aesthetically, morally, horticulturally, the scene was so wrong I was offended in quite a few ways. Good thing I was wearing a hat. I tipped my head to shut out the ghastly image and stomped away in the grip of some unfamiliar emotion…was it?... Yes, is was.

Rage.

 

My husband talked me down. Really, what could I’ve done? Screamed at them? They knew what they were doing was wrong – they left soon after I did. I don’t think saying anything would’ve changed the situation. The way they avoided eye contact told me that they were aware they were breaking the rules. I don’t swear much, but inside I was @&$?!@!!!

 

“I’ve never seen you so mad,” my husband said.

I took a deep breath and thought about how I could’ve responded. I wanted to hurt the woman, wound her, cut her to the quick, but not literally. Tell her off? I could’ve said many things, but the only thing that came to mind was, “You’re too heavy for that branch.”

 

So, ghastly woman, if you’re reading this, you were too heavy for that branch. You might not have broken it (I went back to check) but you probably caused injury. You sullied that beautiful creature by climbing it for your socials.

 

I could forgive a child. Who wouldn’t want to climb on those inviting branches? But as an adult, anyone could see that old tree can’t handle much climbing. And there was A SIGN.

 

So if I’m ever brought up on a murder charge, you’ll know I’m guilty. I just hope the jury will understand that I was pushed beyond my limit.

 

What sets you off? Has rage pushed your characters over the edge?

Shari Randall is the author of the Agatha Award-winning Lobster Shack Mystery series and, as Meri Allen, the Ice Cream Shop Mysteries. Both series are set in quaint New England villages - where dark emotions and schemes lurk beneath the charming surface.