A woman walks into a pharmacy one afternoon,
looking calm but determined.
She approaches the counter and says to the pharmacist in a low, serious voice,
“I need a poison. Something strong, fast-acting…
and untraceable. It has to look like my husband died of natural causes.”
The pharmacist blinks in shock, then quickly leans forward, whispering back,
“Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.
In fact, I have a legal obligation to report this conversation to the authorities.
” Without saying another word, the woman reaches into her purse,
pulls out a folded photograph, and slides it across the counter.
The pharmacist picks it up, unfolds it,
and his eyes go wide—it’s a clear shot of her husband in bed…
with the pharmacist’s own wife.
There’s a long,
pause. Then the pharmacist clears his throat and says,“
Ah. I see you have a prescription.
That changes everything.”
