Charlotte Sing won a weekend pass to CrimeFest 2015 for her nicely twisted tale.
He heard her drive off. The letter was on the kitchen table. Sealed envelope. ‘To Pete’. He sneered. Why sealed? Called herself a research pharmacologist, but just an illogical woman. He slid his finger under the flap, swore as he got a deep paper cut. Sucked away the blood.
She’d left him to live with lover-boy, a day’s drive away. He knew. Had spied on them for months – GPS tracking, hidden cameras. Seen it all. Disgusting.
Pete grinned. She’d never arrive. Car engine fires could be lethal. Faulty electrics, doors jammed locked and the emergency hammer gone.
As he skimmed the letter, he was overwhelmed by crushing chest pain and nausea. Before his vision dimmed, he glimpsed the last line: ‘Nasty things, paper cuts.’ Falling, he heard her key in the door, and her unhurried footsteps.