Page 112 of Under Her

“Um, hi,” I say.

“You a cold-caller?” She scowls.

“No, ma’am.”

“You’re not here to try to sell me Bibles, are you? Because, if I ain’t found Jesus by now, then I ain’t never gonna.”

“Um…” I look down at my thousand-dollar suit, quite frankly insulted that she thinks I’m a Bible seller. “No, ma’am, I’m not here to sell Bibles.”

“Then, what the hell are you doing, loitering on my doorstep?”

“I’m, uh, here to see Morgan.”

Her eyes narrow on me. “Oh. You the boy who made my sweet girl Morgan cry?”

She must be the rottweiler neighbor that Morgan told me about. I forget what Morgan said her name was. On the few occasions when I stayed over here, I never saw her.

And never mind her being a rottweiler. She looks like Mama Fratelli from The Goonies. I’m half-expecting her to pull a gun on me and shoot me dead.

Basically, the woman is scary as shit.

“Um…yes, ma’am.”

“You here to make her cry again?”

“Not if I can help it.”

She glares at me for a long moment. I’m pretty sure she’s trying to eviscerate me with her eyes.

Then, she disappears inside and shuts the window.

Okay.

A second later, the door buzzes open.

Guess Mama Fratelli isn’t so bad after all.

I pull open the door and head inside. I’m halfway up the stairs when Mama Fratelli’s voice stops me. I turn back and look at her.

“You make Morgan cry again, and you’ll have me to deal with. I don’t know if Morgan ever told you what I did for work before I retired. But I worked in the coroner’s office, so I know how to get rid of a body without leaving any trace. You just keep that in mind, boy.”

Nope. I was right the first time. She’s frigging terrifying.

I’m pretty sure I just pissed my pants.

I swallow down. “Yes, ma’am.”

She gives me a firm nod of her head. Then, she turns and shuffles back in her apartment.

Holy shit.

I blow out a breath as I turn and then jog up the stairs to Morgan’s apartment.

When I reach her door, a minute later, I knock on it and wait.

I hear her soft footsteps coming up the hallway and toward the door, and my heart starts to thud.

“Mrs. Bigly, is that you?” she asks through the door.