Genre: Adult – Mystery
Word Count: 75,000
A single mom with something more deadly on her mind than coupons and babysitters stumbles through the mess of her life tossing cynical quips in her wake while trying not to trip over dead bodies.
Jules mopped up the trail of blood leading to the freezer. She plunged the mop into the pail, pink tinged water splashing onto the floor as she glanced at the clock. Almost midnight and still no Ray.
She pulled a set of keys from her pocket and opened the padlock on the shed where the totes, large plastic bins filled with water and fish, were stored until there were enough for a truckload to be sent down to Vancouver. A moist metallic tang of blood in the air mingled with the smell of ocean and the staleness of closed buildings.
The clanging motor of the icemaker suddenly stopped. Jules heard only the splash of water against the pier and the faint clinking of a wind chime somewhere in the dark.
At night with no one else there, the fish plant had a sinister, industrial feel to it, a Blade Runner sans neon and droid sensation. The feeling was especially strong tonight. Jules adopted her la femme Nikita stance, the mop-carrying, non-pistol-toting Jules version that is, before charging in to clean that which must be cleaned.
As she wiped down the sides of the faded blue totes and mopped up the puddles of water around them she couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that occasionally swept over her when she worked so late at night. She tried not to succumb but found herself looking over her shoulder as if trying to catch a glimpse of something in the air tonight. Very eighties, very Phil Collins, very delusional paranoid.