Page 7 of One of Us Is Guilty

She stood in front of Molly’s apartment door for what felt like a long time, burning in the agony of his lies. Of Molly’s lies.

I warned you.

Those three words echoed in her mind, swirling like smoke from the fire of her anger.

I warned you.

She knocked on the door, waited.

Nothing.

She knocked again, harder this time, but to her surprise the increased force on the door opened it an inch. The door had not been fully closed.

She pushed inside, found the apartment in darkness.

Another few steps, in the dark. An arc of light at her back from the hallway. She didn’t want to put on lights in the apartment.

She took another step and felt her open-toe shoe sink into the carpet and then something cold and wet swill over her toes.

The carpet was wet. But she couldn’t see what was on the floor. Just a dark wet patch.

Maybe water from a leak in the ceiling. Or a spillage.

Or something else.

It was too dark to tell.

She suddenly felt afraid. A creeping dread crawled over her back, making the hairs on her neck stand up.

Even in the faint light, something on the table beside her glinted.

She picked it up, and felt the weight, solid and reassuring. A jewelry box, studded with colored stones.

Vanessa took a breath and went deeper into the dark, the box in her hand.

As she moved, she felt the weight of the red Valentino purse in her coat.

Someone once told her that life can be measured not by what you have gained, but by what you have kept. Most of her life had been loss.

She knew then she couldn’t lose Patrick. Not now.

Not now.

She moved further into the apartment.

Her entire body shook with adrenaline.

I warned you and you betrayed me.

Fear and anger coursed through her like a thousand volts of electricity.

The perfect mix for a murder.

THE NIGHT OF THE MURDER

Sergeant John Hardy

Cops in any major city in the United States quickly grow a thick skin.