CASH AND HARRY

New Year is a fine opportunity for taking stock and sometimes, in a dark corner of the metaphorical stockroom, you find some dusty curio, hold it up to the light and smile nostalgically. Here's one such curiosity. My first venture into Flash Fiction, based very loosely on a tale that did the rounds many years ago in my native County Down. 

BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

 
The police said Old Harry’s death wasn’t suspicious: heart attack it seemed.  We knew they were wrong but couldn’t prove it.  That bastard, Rutter, had bullied the old boy unmercifully, using his status as Estate Manager like a bludgeon, once even threatening to have Harry’s beloved dogs put down. We all feared Rutter’s rages and felt sure that one such outburst had provoked Old Harry’s collapse.
The rumour that Harry’s life savings were hidden in his cottage sent Rutter there immediately, not caring that the poor man had only been dead a week. Using his master-key, Rutter entered the cottage and, to avoid interruption, bolted the door, then, for good measure, pushed a heavy cupboard across it and began his search. 
He only remembered the dogs when the first one lunged at him. The other two Dobermans, starved for a week, circled him hungrily.