The Intruder

by Freida McFadden

There is at least a fifty percent chance that in the next twenty-four hours, the roof of the cabin I’m renting will collapse and kill me. It’s an apt metaphor for the rest of my life.

I miss my students. I would have done anything for those kids. Except that’s what got me into trouble.

I probably won’t die tonight. And if I do, the good news is that nobody will miss me.

You can only accidentally graze a woman’s breasts so many times before it’s clearly no accident.

My father used to say that whenever an Italian sauce needs something extra, oregano usually does the trick.

Poor girl. I can’t even imagine what she’s been through today. I’m sure murdering someone is very exhausting.

Children write what they know.

Once again, I have gotten away with murder.