The Tenant

by Freida McFadden

My boss’s secretary, Stacie, is standing at the open door to my office, her fist poised to rap on the doorframe to get my attention. And she’s got my attention. In that skirt—yes, holy crap, she has my attention.

Dude, you literally have a fiance smh

Whitney sticks out a hand, which we both manage to shake without her having any psychic visions of a bloodbath in the living room—a good sign.

The bar has fallen to the floor

Whitney stares at the TV screen; the images are reflected on her pupils. “Actually, I can never sleep. May as well be entertained.”

Side-eye

“Jesus Christ, do you really think I would poison our fish?” “I don’t know. Maybe.” She lowers her eyes. “Honestly, I wouldn’t put anything past you at this point. After all, you stole from your own company.”

Wow that was a low shot

I can’t stop seeing it. Even after I run out of the bathroom and dial 911. Even after the paramedics arrive and declare there’s nothing to be done. Even after they wheel the stretcher out of Mr. Zimmerly’s house with a sheet covering his face.

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“I’m saying somebody hit your neighbor on the head.” The detective frowns. “He was murdered.”

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It’s not rotten fruit. I wish it were rotten fruit. That would be so much better. It’s fingers.

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Braga, Portugal. Like the name Telmont, it sets off little bells in the back of my head. Why can’t I remember? It’s so frustrating.

Interesting.....

And also, his throat has been split by a bloody gash.

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