Three Bags of Cashews and a Dishonest Sister In Law at the Wedding

shoes silent on the rug.

“We need thirty days,” Beatrice said, her acrylic nails tapping a rapid, frantic rhythm against her desk. “Just until the corporate merger goes through.”

I cleared my throat, and the tapping stopped instantly. The black receiver of the landline phone clattered onto its cradle, and Beatrice appeared in the doorway, her silk scarf continue reading …