Page 129 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

“You got any other dogs or just the one?”

There’s a sticker. Small, fresh. A private school crest—white, navy, and gold. I’ve seen it before.

It’s the academy across from the vet’s office.

My stomach flips.

“Uh, yeah. First-time dog mom.”

If he lives nearby, why would his kid go to school out there? Not impossible. But it doesn’t click.

The geography’s off and now I’m too warm.

He turns down my street, following the app but still, my gut is screaming. I open mybSafeapp and hit the fake call feature.

A woman—single or not—can never be too careful.

He speaks as the app goes off.

“You live here alone, or is your husband just out of town?” Asked lightly but my throat tightens at the question.

I laugh—just enough to pretend I didn’t hear the shift. “Oh, speak of the devil.”

I answer and give my best “Hi, honey,” “Two minutes away,” and “See you soon, babe.”

Pretending to hang up, I grab the bag of dog food.

“Well, if you ever need more regular rides, I do private arrangements outside the app. More flexible. Cheaper too.”

He pulls a small stack of cards from the center console, offers one over his shoulder.

“Take it. Just in case.”

I hesitate. No good reason not to take it. Not without making it weird.

So, I do.

Fingers brush the glossy cardstock. I fake a smile that feels hot-glued to my face.

“Thanks,” I say, tucking it into my bag like I’m not already planning to burn it when I get home.

“Have a good one,” he says, watching in the mirror as I step out.

I murmur another thank-you and shut the door.

He pulls away slowly.

Only when the taillights disappear do I finally breathe.

Then, I bolt.

I all but launch myself down the drive to the side entry like I’m in a horror movie and the killer’s right behind me with theme music and a ski mask.

My fingers fumble with the keyring—come on—and I drop one of the bags. I pick it up with a shaking hand, glancing around in paranoid terror.

The key finally slides into the lock. I shove the door open, slam it so hard I nearly take off my own shoulder. Two clicks of the deadbolt. Alarm on. Chain set.

I press my forehead to the door and let out a breath I’ve been holding since I saw that sticker.

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