“Hmm.” She stands by the fireplace, leaning with one hand on the stone mantel, which is about as tall as our heads. “So, what goes on?”
“Nothing much. I have been bored all day.” Well, it is not a total lie.
“I came here to ask you something.” She turns toward me, where I still lean against the door. Am I just being paranoid, or is there a maleficent glint in her eye?
Suddenly, she jumps toward me. I leap out of the way, pulling out my letter opener. She regains her balance, and before I know it, she is holding the iron fire poker, in a defensive stance, facing me. My hands shake so hard I almost drop my weapon.
She tosses the poker aside. It lands on the white carpet, leaving a smear of gray ash. “A letter opener? You thought I was the killer, and your weapon of choice is a letter opener?”