by Smitty
Looked like his car pulling up, headlights affording the room a sunburst before they grew more interested in the driveway.
She took a drag on her “medicinal” cigarette holder, pulling the smoke into her lungs deeply, glad for the source of calmness.
The motor stopped. The car door slammed. The gravel proclaimed each proud step toward the dark porch. The keyhole announced its violation, and the door opened on smooth hinges.
“Jasmine!?!?”
Her cue to cock the little .38 revolver that was all she had to say to him.
He burst into the study.
“There you are, you–”
She finalized him.
—
Thanks, Darleen