“Thank you,” I tell her, picking up my cup and taking another sip of tea.
Zelda stands and moves into the kitchen. She opens the fridge and takes out a large block of cheese. She opens a drawer and pulls out a huge kitchen knife. She flashes me a slow grin, the sun catches on the blade. My heart skips a beat, and slowly, I put down my teacup, realizing that this woman might not be the friendly home-making granny she first appeared to be.
I swallow hard.
Zelda brings the knife down hard into the block of cheese. She whistles as she cuts it into cubes.
She’s just an old lady trying to be hospitable, Frankie.
I inwardly laugh at myself. My paranoia is still around. The thought is weirdly comforting. Paranoia is normal for me, and right now I’ll take any taste of normal I can get.
I slide out my chair. “Thank you again, but I really can’t stay—”
“Frankie,” a familiar and very angry voice grumbles from
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