Page 18 of Rune
So, no, this little sister wasn’t in on the killing scheme. She thought her sister and I were banging. Which meant when she was confronted, she’d tossed my name out for some reason.
Interesting.
More proof to back up my belief that she was a complete amateur.
“Carmie isn’t here,” the sister said. “But she shouldn’t be long. I’m Sofia, by the way.” She stuck out her hand.
I took it carefully, feeling like I might break a bone if I squeezed at all. “Rune.”
“Such an interesting name.”
“I’ve got some interesting parents.” Two former arms dealers. Couldn’t get more interesting than that.
“Sometimes I wish mine had been slightly more interesting in the baby-naming department. Every time I go to an audition, I swear there are ten other Sofias there.”
“Audition. Actress?” I asked.
“That’s me. The new face of Montview car insurance. You should be seeing me on your TV in a few weeks.”
“Good for you. Seems like a big deal.”
“Thanks. We’re happy about it. Well, come in. Have a seat.”
I could tell from the outside that the house was on the small side. I wasn’t wrong. Because it was split into a duplex, it was a narrow, railroad-type setup with the front living room leading back into the dining room, then the kitchen with the back door.
I figured upstairs was just two beds and maybe a bath if they were lucky enough to have one other than the one I assumed was off the back of the living room.
They hadn’t gone minimalistic, though, to try to make it appear larger. They’d leaned more into the already cozy feel of it, adding lots of color and texture on the walls, couch, chair, art, and an overflowing media center full of books, vinyl, and DVDs.
The coffee table was lined with what looked like scripts for, I figured, auditions.
The couch Sofia waved me to was a bright, sunny yellow with a light pink blanket draped over the back and several different patterned pillows.
I took a seat and the big-headed dog sniffed at me, sat, and looked expectantly.
“She needs to be invited up.”
“Up,” I said, patting the space to my side.
The dog wasted no time.
“Did I hear you calling her Hamster?”
“Yep. That’s her name. Hamster.”
“Why?”
“They called her Ham at the shelter. We couldn’t come up with something longer that worked with that. Carmen always jokes that I always wanted a hamster growing up, and now I have one. Do you drink coffee? Tea? Kombucha?”
“Coffee sounds good.”
“Cream? Sugar? Caramel syrup?”
“Just a little cream is good. Thanks.”
“Be right back. Be polite, Hammy,” she warned the dog.
Alone, I let my gaze scan around without the sister watching me, trying to find any clues as to why Carmen would want to murder me.
