A Garden

An old Italian lived with his wife in Illinois. He wanted to plant his annual tomato garden, but it was very difficult work as the ground was hard, he was old, and in his neighborhood, his friends were struggling with their own work and could not help him.

His only son, Peter, was in prison. The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament:

Dear Peter,
I am feeling pretty sad, because it looks like I won't be able to plant my tomato garden this year. There are many reasons why I can't do this myself, and I am embarassed about myself, my neighborhood, and my failing strength. I know if you were here my troubles would be over.. I know you would be happy to dig the plot for me, like in the old days.
Love, Papa

A few days later he received a letter from his son, written in secret invisible ink on the mail.. :

Dear Pop,
Don't dig up that garden. That's where the bodies are buried. Love, Peter

At 4 a.m. the next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived with shovels and CSI units, and proceeded to dig up the entire area. No body count. A shamed Federal agent personally apologized to the old man and then, the police, the FBI and the CSI all pulled away, leaving the old man standing alone in his yard. Sadly, he made his way across the newly turned earth to his mailbox where inside was a white letter with the faded red and familiar postmark. It read:

Dear Pop,
Here's find that you can plant your garden now. Its the best I could do under the circumstances.
Peter

No body count.