by Shelly West
Abigail went through her mental checklist again:
Sort out the lease with the landlord—Check.
Search the apartment for anything she might have missed—Check.
Turn in her notice at work and subsequently get fired on the spot—Err, check.
Pay off any unpaid bills—Check.
Return some library books—Check.
Jeez, being lawfully good was hard work. Her mother would have just upped and left.
But enough about her mother.
Abigail walked through the apartment one last time. Though she had lived in the cramped dwelling for only a few years, she couldn’t help but feel nostalgic. She patted the radiator next to her window. “Goodbye radiator that makes way too much noise for a radiator.”
She paused in front of her fridge. “Goodbye fridge that inexplicably leaks water all over the floor.”
She moved on to the kitchen sink. “Goodbye faucet that occasionally spurts out brown stuff.”
On second thought, maybe she wouldn’t miss this place after all.
*
Abigail made the final drive back down to Wallace Point, arriving in the afternoon. When she parked at the Victorian house and got out, Thor came galloping over to welcome her back. “Hey, buddy,” Abigail said, flopping his ears around. Even Missy stood at the front door, wagging her tail in greeting.
But where was Grandma?
Abigail made her way up the porch, her pace quickening until she practically burst through the door.
There she found Grandma poring over a newspaper.
Grandma jumped, putting a hand to her chest as if to hold back a heart attack. “Oh, Abigail! I thought you were someone else for a moment.” She got out from around the counter and gave Abigail a huge hug.
“Who else could it be?” Abigail asked with a laugh.
Grandma grabbed the newspaper and handed it over to her. “Oh, just another killer on the loose, apparently.”
Abigail frowned and looked at the headline.
The Wallace Point Ripper Stabs Again!
Abigail calmly set the newspaper down, at a loss for words.
Grandma shrugged. “And here we thought he was gone for good. It’s one of Wallace Point’s longest running cold cases… Though I suppose it’s not so cold anymore, is it?”
Abigail sat down on the rocking chair. “I’m just surprised nobody suspects me. Seems these murders only happen when I’m around!”
Grandma smirked, a glint in her eye. “Every great sleuth needs a greater adversary. And with us on the case, this fellow doesn’t stand a chance!”
Abigail thought about it for a moment, stood, and nodded with determination. “You know what, Grandma? You’re right. Whatever stabby psycho this town throws at us, we’re gonna get him behind bars in as little time as it takes you to bake a batch of cookies!”
Grandma pumped her fist. “That’s the spirit, dear! Just watch yourself in regards to my cookies. You told me you saw nothing, after all.”
Abigail laughed, said, “Sure, Grandma,” then headed out to start unpacking her things.
She had a feeling there’d never be a dull moment in Wallace Point.
***
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About the Author
Mysteries run in the family, starting all the way back to my great grandmother. I grew up watching old black and white movies like The Thin Man and Rebecca, and reading classic mysteries by Poe, Doyle, and Christie.
Outside of writing mysteries, I love old steamships, 1990s adventure puzzle games, and trusty pets. I live in a coastal New England town with my hideous (yet charming) Chihuahua, Fugly.
