Page 64 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

Collars. So many but only one that makes sense. Pink. Rhinestones. Glorious.

I toss it in the cart.

Next up: dog bed, treats, puppy pads, squeaky toys that look like woodland creatures with bad life choices.

And then?—

“Ooh, what’s this?”

Pet-safe dye.

Bubblegum pink. A few shades brighter than Dexter’s accidental bloodbath makeover.

My fingers close around the bottle.

Perfect.

“If he’s going to be pink,” I mutter, “he might as well beintentionallypink.”

Because this shade saysquirky owner with too much free time,notcompanion to a felony.Important distinction.

I’m mid-aisle, gripping an overpriced tiny sweater Dexter won’t appreciate, when my phone vibrates.

Sebastian’s name flashes. Anxiety hits like the drop on a roller coaster.

He knows.

That’s dumb. How would he know?

But what if hedoes?

SEBASTIAN: Hey bestie. Client still hanging in there or should I send a crisis intervention martini?

I roll my eyes and type fast.Sweet biscuits and gravy. If you only knew.

I hesitate. I’m not ready to explain the suicide attempt—or answer questions that could lead to a murder confession.

Better to keep it simple. I’ll figure out what to say before work Monday.

ME: Not good.

SEBASTIAN: Yikes. Full drama debrief Monday? I’ll bring popcorn.

Despite everything, my mouth quirks up. Not sure this is a “popcorn” situation, but Sebastian lifts the tension. Always does.

Before I close my messages, a new text appears.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

I open it.

Empty.

Okaaay? That’s odd.

I swipe it into the grave as I roll into the food aisle.

Eighty-seven different brands of dog food stop me cold.

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