1
“Aaaaaaaaaah!” A scream tore from my chest as I leaped away from the frigid stream gushing out of the old showerhead.
Normally I loved starting my mornings with a slow and steamy rinse while I let all of my thoughts boing around my brain and eventually meld themselves into some kind of plan for the day. Ever since moving to Beech Grove a couple weeks back, however, I was lucky to get a good five minutes of warmth before the water heater suddenly gave up the ghost and a punishing spray of liquid ice ruined my good mood.
“That’s it!” I shouted as I twisted the faucet off. My landlady would be hearing from me today, whether she liked it or not.
For her part, old Mrs. Haberdash had given me very careful instructions when I signed up to rent the small guest home at the back edge of her hilltop property. Even though she lived in the main house, just a short walk away, I was never ever supposed to visit her there. Anything I needed could be explained via a phone call or better yet—at least according to her—an old-fashioned letter.
Yeah, no.
I tried to do it her way, but so far my attempts at getting help with the plumbing had gone unanswered, and unfortunately, a useless shower made for a useless me. I’d tried playing by her rules and still had nothing to show for it. Now it was a time to play by mine.
Still dripping, I bunched my soapy hair into a bun to get it off my shoulders, threw on a shift dress and flip-flops, and headed out to finally confront my apathetic landlady.
I guess now would be a good time to introduce myself.
The name’s Tawny, Tawny Bigford. Tawny is short for Tanya, a name I’ve hated ever since Tanya Mills stuck a chewed-up wad of bubble gum in my hair during our second grade spelling test. So now I’m Tawny.
I’m 35, love my showers—as you already know—and am wonderfully, happily, unapologetically single.
Sure, I had a husband once. George was his name. But several years into our marriage, he decided he made a much better pair with some PTA mom named Patricia.
A PTA mom!
As the story goes, they’d bumped into each other outside of the local middle school one afternoon, and it was love at first sight. Why George was there in the first place, I’ll never understand. It’s not like we had kids of our own or any other reason for him to find himself at exactly the wrong place and wrong time.
But it happened and changed all of our lives in the process.
Honestly, I’d have rather he slipped off with his younger, prettier secretary. At least then I could bemoan the cliche.
But he and Patricia, who is two years his senior, are disgustingly happy together. Most days I just pretend that neither of them exists.
Okay, so I may sound a little bitter. And I may live by myself in a rented guest house, but—disappointing showers not withstanding—I absolutely love my life. Basically I write two books per year, ship them off to my publisher for a paycheck, and then do whatever I want with the rest of my time.
Yes, I could write more to make more, but why? I’m perfectly happy to live frugally because that means living freely. And as such, I have more hobbies than any one person should probably ever have.
But I digress…
This wasn’t the time to discuss my hobbies, it was the time to confront Mrs. Haberdash and to demand a steady supply of hot water that lasted more than five minutes per day. It was, after all, a simple and basic necessity.
On her doorstep now, I sucked in a deep breath to c
alm my rage, raised my hand, and knocked gently.
Just kidding, I pounded on that door with every bit of ire I had in me.
When no one answered, I started to shout. “I know you’re in there! And I need to talk!”
Still nothing, so I tried the doorknob and was surprised to find it unlocked, given how much I knew the woman valued her privacy.
I pushed it open and charged in, ready to give old Mrs. Haberdash a piece of my mind.
Unfortunately, while all this righteous storming was going on, I hadn’t kept an eye on my feet. I hadn’t thought I needed to, but something big and heavy was lying on the ground just beyond the threshold and I slammed right into it, lost my balance, and thudded to the ground in an awkward tangle of limbs.
Not just my own, but Mrs. Haberdash’s, too. Uh-oh. My stomach churned with an aching certainty.
“M-M-Mrs. Haberdash?” I asked, my voice quavering with fright as I turned my face toward the old woman sprawled across the entryway floor.
Her mouth remained firmly closed, her eyes glued open, her body even colder than the shower I’d just escaped.
Yup, she was dead, and—thanks to my unfortunate stumble—I’d just gotten my DNA all over her corpse.
No, no, no! I attempted a scream but came up short.
And here I thought a cold shower was the absolute worst way to start the day. Oh, when would I ever learn to leave well enough alone?
2
I scrambled away from Mrs. Haberdash’s prone body in an awkward crab walk that sent an uncomfortable twinge tearing through my underworked arm muscles—because even though I had a lot of hobbies, none of them related to fitness.
“That’s okay about the plumbing,” I sputtered, despite knowing Mrs. Haberdash could neither hear me nor do anything about it now. “I’ll just… Yeah. So bye for now.”
I used the banister at the base of her grand staircase to pull myself to my feet, but before I could fully regain my composure, another horrible thing happened.
Law enforcement arrived.
“What’s going on in here?” A tall man with thick salt-and-pepper hair and a light beard glanced from Mrs. Haberdash to me and back again, then picked up the radio attached to his belt and—
“Stop!” I cried, unsure of what to do with my hands. I ended up grabbing the banister with both hands, just to appear non-threatening.
The cop lowered his handheld and regarded me skeptically.
“What’s going on here?” he asked again, his eyes fixed firmly on me now. They were a pale gray, the kind of eyes I would write into a character to show the reader he was handsome. And he was handsome, but unfortunately, I had a few more pressing things on my mind at the moment.
I looked incredibly guilty here. There was no denying that. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Officer Pretty Eyes pressed me up against the wall and started reading me my rights at that very moment. Brain, stop freaking out!
I needed to stop thinking about what could happen here and just focus on remaining calm and collected while I explained exactly why it was I’d wound up alone with a dead body.
“Well… I…” I fumbled for my words, sighed, and began again. “I mean… Mrs. Haberdash is dead, so…”
Oh, c’mon, Tawny! If you can’t use your writing superpowers to explain away something you didn’t even do, what’s the point of even having them?
I simpered at him uncomfortably, waiting for the guy to either arrest me or to tell me to be on my way. It didn’t seem like there was much chance for an in-between here. I mean, I would have arrested me.
“Yes, dead. I can see that,” he said, glancing toward her body demonstratively before snapping his gaze back to mine.