Page 73 of Mayhem and Minnie

Well, not mine. She’s not mine.

But she is, isn’t she?

She’s of my home. That’s different.

No, it’s not. You’re losing it, Marlowe.

The sound of her mocking laughter brings me back to the present.

“You have done fine.” I clear my throat and look around. “What are you cooking?”

“Beef stew,” she answers curtly before she goes back to stirring in her pot and ignoring me.

The smell is stronger now, and I instinctively lick my lips.

I have yet to taste her cooking, but based on that scent, I have to say I’m looking forward to it.

Grabbing two plates and spoons, I place them at the table and take a seat.

She half-turns, giving me the side-eye.

“You’ve been ignoring me the entire day,” I state. “Why?”

She doesn’t reply. She turns off the stove, and putting on gloves, she brings the pot to the table. She pours some stew in her plate but pretends she doesn’t see my own.

Ah, petty, I see.

“Minnie, I’m talking to you,” I say again as I add some stew to my plate.

Despite our feud—that I still don’t know the root of—the food smells mouthwatering.

“And I don’t want to talk to you.” She releases a loud huff.

“Why?”

“Because you’re a hypocrite.” She glares at me. “And a h-hoe.”

“W-what? A hoe?” I repeat, unsure I heard her right.

“Yes. You’re a hoe. You accused me of being a prostitute, but you’re the true hoe.”

I blink.

That’s why she was so put off? Because of the answer I gave her to the body count question?

But she’s not done with her rebuke. Placing her hands on the table, she looks me dead in the eye as she continues.

“How does someone even get to one hundred and fifty-seven bodies? When did that happen? Where do you find them? Better yet, who were they? Tell me!”

My lips twitch.

“If you started at eighteen, that would be…” She pauses as she screws her face in concentration. She uses her fingers to do the math, and soon she reaches a conclusion. “Almost sixteen a year. How?”

“Seventeen,” I correct. “I started at seventeen.” Well, technically, a bit younger, but I don’t count that.

Her mouth hangs open in shock.

“Seventeen?” she repeats, dumbfounded. “Who was it?”

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