The Tenant from Hell (The Casey Clark Realtor Mystery series Book 1) by Kathleen Walls
I stepped through the small hall with a bath to the back and a closet to the front. The bedroom was empty except for an ugly, old, metal bed frame. There were no curtains on the windows. The room had an overhead light fixture and a rope hanging from what appeared to be a pull-down-stairs for an attic. The sound of a motor alerted me. I looked out the front bedroom window. Hiram was pulling up in front. My car was hidden as it was off to the side in the Mulligan’s driveway, but there was only one way out. A picture of Hiram and his gun flashed through my mind. The windows were too high to jump. There was only one option. I grabbed my purse and yanked down the attic ladder. I scampered up and pulled the ladder up and shut the hatch behind me. I ignored the itchy insulation batting and tried not to think of any little crawling insect that might share this space with me.
Remember, I’m in Florida where we have insects that biologists haven’t discovered yet. Cockroaches are my least favorite insect. They seem to sense that and, if we share a room, they immediately fly towards me. They grow to the size of footballs. I know the encyclopedias don’t tell you that but if you’ve ever had one land on you, you will agree with me. There is no choice but to scream if one of those nasty things gets on your body or worse tangled in your hair. Either the Mulligans were conscientious with pest control, or I was lucky. No huge roach attacked me. There was a piece of composition board across a few rafters a few feet from the hatch where people had probably stored boxes. I scooted over to it and lay still hardly daring to breathe. I did remember to turn my phone off. It wouldn’t do to have it ring now.
It seemed like hours but I knew it was only minutes. I heard Hiram’s footsteps coming towards the bedroom. Then I heard another set of footsteps approaching from the front. I could hear voices but not make out the words. They sounded like two men arguing. I picked up a few words, “Mess” or “meth,” “Hank,” “Chief,” or maybe it was “handkerchief.” Then the unmistakable sound of a shot, a thump, footsteps walking away, and a door slamming.
For a few more seconds I froze waiting for a shot to pierce the ceiling and kill me. Reason kicked in. The shooter had left. Whoever he shot might be bleeding to death right under me. Even if it was Hiram, I had to help. I pushed the ladder back down and descended. A man lay face down on the floor. Blood was pooling. Overcoming my fear, I tried to turn him, to see if there was a pulse. Logic told me there would be none. There was too much blood. and it was coming from a very large hole in his head. I needed to call 911, but my purse with my phone was in the attic. Before I could start back up, there was a loud crash in front and a large deputy was pointing a gun at me. “Hands up! Don’t make any sudden moves.”
