In Deep Shitake (A Humorous Romantic Suspense)
“It’s me, Mo.”
When no response came, the eerie silence produced shivery goose bumps on her arm.
With trembling fingers, Mo worked her cell phone to call his. The theme from the SpyMatrix ring tone played faintly in the apartment.
Mo saw her hand as if from a distance as it twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. The heaviness of her breathing hurt her chest. Sprawled, face down on the floor by the bed, was a body. Clarence lay there with his legs bent at odd angles as if he had dropped to the floor like an accordion collapsing in on itself.
Holding her breath, Mo crept closer searching the body for the movement of breathing.
Nothing.
She bent at the waist and saw that a dark substance she suspected was blood coated the back of the head, matting the wavy brown hair. The wavy hair Clarence was always so proud of. Mo blinked back tears.
Next to his body, near his right foot, a replica of the SpyMatrix big gun lay with its stock covered in the same sticky substance—blood. Clarence’s blood.
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