“What the hell!”
I said for the second time in as many weeks as we walked back in to the shop to find someone had once again been here and not with the intention of helping us clean and organize.
“Not again! That bitch Sylvia. This is the last straw. I’m calling Tom and telling him he better have a word with her. This has gone too far.”
“Uh, Berklie. I don’t think it was Sylvia this time.”
“What are you saying?” Berklie asked but realized what I meant when she saw where I was pointing.
As Sylvia sprawled out on the floor. Clearly dead.
“I don’t think she will be bothering us anymore,” said Sophie. I reached for my phone and dialed 911.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I’m calling to report a murder …”
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