Are you taking part in #FlashFictionFebruary2019?
It’s never too late to start. Even one story for the month is one more than you had previously!
Today’s Story Title: Felony
Today’s Story Is #11 of 28
Today’s Genre: Mystery
Today’s Word Count: 318
What’s your current story? How many have you achieved? Tell me all about it!
“Somehow,” Miriam scowled as she tried to slide the lockpick home, “I’m not entirely sure this falls under my job description.” She carefully tapped to raise the pins and tried to turn the lock.
It wasn’t raining, yet, but it was likely going to shortly. The air was heavy with the oncoming rainstorm and the scream of sleepless cicadas.
The one working streetlight half a block down served as a single point of light on an otherwise dark street. Tangled around the power line above, a pair of shoes dangled from the power line running past the house.
“You’re technically following direction from your boss,” Darla said, looking over her shoulder as a car rolled past.
“Yeah, you said you needed help,” Miriam got the deadbolt to turn and she sighed as the lock slicked open.
“I do!” Darla exclaimed in a hiss. “I need your help.”
“You need my help breaking and entering into your former husband’s current mistress’ house?” Miriam let Darla grab at the knob and turn it.
“I sign your paychecks,” Darla reminded her as she pushed the door open. “And when I ask for help, I expect some sort of response.”
“Next time, knowing that breaking and entering is what’s on the night’s activity calendar, I’ll just stay home, thanks,” Miriam said. “Like, I don’t need a third degree felony on my record when I’m trying to do something with my life.”
The pair made their way through the front door, leaving it open a crack and then awkwardly tiptoeing down the front hall.
“You’re not going to get arrested,” Darla said. She fished her cell phone out of her pocket and tapped the flashlight app on.
“We’re not going to get arrested, okay?” Miriam asked Darla.
Miriam had her phone out as well, for illumination.
When she saw the corpse in the center of the living room, she groaned.
“Sure we’re not.”