What To Do About the Body?
Brad had been a dink, and she was glad she’d killed him, but…what to do about the body? His corvette offered little in the way of concealment, and while the gravel pit was somewhat isolated, it wouldn’t be long before a farmer or even a sheriff’s deputy would drive by and wonder what was up. Leave it for now and come back to it later? Risky. Things had been going so well, too. All morning she had manipulated and connived her way to this meeting outside town, and she had been on the brink of finding out where the money was. But instead of submitting to blackmail, Brad had done the unforeseen. He had fought back, forcing her to shoot him three times. Then she’d added another two bullets out of frustration. It felt right, but now she had an unexpected mess, and still no route to the money. She wasn’t panicked, she had time, but the lack of a logical and creative solution was annoying.
With a sigh, she pushed herself back from the keyboard and stretched. One thousand words in two hours was a snail’s pace, but it was progress. “Whose my boy?” she murmured to the cat by her feet. It was time for tea and a break from murder.