‘Sorry, Mr Horden. We’ve bought an electronic keyboard instead.’
Every time the piano tuner heard these words, he wanted to howl abuse down the phone at the traitor.
Once he’d terminated their conversation, he would hammer out scales and arpeggios on his grand piano for a couple of hours, putting all eighty-eight notes through their paces. The session always ended with a funeral march to accompany a vision of his ex-customer’s coffin on the shoulders of pallbearers.
With murder too extreme an act of vengeance, the lesser crime of burglary would suffice.
But what to do with the stolen keyboards?
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Photo prompt: copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Friday Fictioneers — 100 word stories
Sarah Potter Writes 