This is a Friday Fictioneers submission. Thanks to The Reclining Gentleman for the prompt. Originally, I was planning to do a sequel to this one but on re-reading it, I’m not clear if it achieves what it set out to do. As a general rule, though, if you want a story featuring flowerbeds, this ditty by the peerless Jake Thackray has all you need: beautiful metaphors, unreliable narrators and a winningly prurient pay-off. He even went to the trouble of setting it to music. Just be grateful I’m not singing mine.
When Echo’s brother got wind of what Narcissus had done to her, he put out a contract on him. He’d only meant for the lads to put the frighteners on him, but one of them went in a bit heavy and left him with sap on his hands. They had to bury the body in his flower bef. He might’ve gotten away with it, too, if he hadn’t invited the Chief Constable to a garden party that spring.