“Short way or long way?” he asks as he gathers the thin plastic bag off the counter and moves with it and a cutting board to the other side of the island.
“Long way,” I say. “Also, cut the tough part off the end.”
“Got it.”
And…he really seems to.
Weird.
I…do not know what to make of this, but I’m going to have to figure it out, at least for the next six months.
“By the way,” he says, casually, breaking the silence a few minutes later.
“Hm?”
The sound of his knife hitting the board melds with water beginning to boil and the steady hiss of the gas stove. “Has anything strange happened recently?”
“Recently?” Oh, yeah.Recently, I was offered a job as a billionaire’s housekeeper, and he’shelping me with it. “How recently?”
“Past few weeks.”
Hm… “I don’t think so? I’ve been kind of busy packing and planning in between closing out my two weeks with Mr. Lundberg.”
“No one’s said anything odd to you at your other jobs?”
“Most of my jobs are empty houses in between renters, so I don’t get much interaction out of them.”
“And the store this morning?”
“I went early and uncharacteristically sped through a self-checkout line. Not many people were around.”
“And Fawn hasn’t brought up anything?”
“No?” I turn to face him.
He’s scowling at his cutting board.
“Is…something wrong? I haven’t told anyone other than Fawn that I’d specifically be working for you.”
“No, nothing’s wrong. Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”
It.
So there’s anit.
Great. Thanks. I will now do nothingbutworry about it.
Nevertheless, I smile, chirp, “Okay,” and return to my cooking.
Chapter 8
?
The only funeral I’m funding is my own.
Mirabelle
……………………………….
