As he was taking the pan out of the carry bag, and placing it on the kitchen counter, his cell phone chirped. Suddenly, his facial features changed and he turned to me with a furrowed brow. “Why don’t you tell me the real reason you are here, Ms. Romano.”
Just then, my phone chirped. It was a text from John.
John: Hey. Where are you?
Me: Don’t be mad at me…dropping off a pan of lasagna at Mr. Atkinson’s house.
John: He’s a suspect in the murders. GET OUT NOW!
John’s text is the last thing I remember before feeling a cold knife pressed to my neck.
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