A brown papered cube with twine fastenings and no labels sat outside Mr. Arrow's house on the porch. The aforementioned man had nearly tripped on it as he attempted his usual routine: out the door, down the pathway, and onward to the metro which would deposit him one block away from his place of employment. Luckily he'd seen the obstacle prior to tripping as he looked at the bottom of his paper were theater reviews were printed. He would later recount a column titled "Mamet Mangled" had saved his life.
While Mr. Arrow could not think of anyone he might consider an enemy - the almond selling business was not a hotbed of hate - he'd read enough news reports to know better than pick the package up. He eyed the package, moved to what he hoped was a safe distance away, and phoned the police. It was the right move; the police showed up and promptly confirmed that the package was, indeed, a bomb.
An hour of questions followed as several possible versions of events were played out. While it was agreed that - perhaps ironically - Mr. Arrow had dodged a bullet, the questions remained as to who had placed the bomb and who was the intended target. The detectives decided to question the neighbors.
The people to both sides proved unhelpful and the neighbor across the street seemed to be out. It was Mr. Arrow himself who saw a parting of the drapery in the house which led to further investigation. A closer examination ensued and the neighbor, now discovered, gave himself up.
His motive? Mr. Arrow's grass grew at triple the speed of his own.