Summer Ryan

Blood Money

The little black notebook should have gone straight to the police. I knew that, but for some reason I decided to keep it. That was my first mistake. It had arrived on my doorstep late at night when everyone was supposed to be asleep. If I recalled correctly it was around two at night. The dogs in the neighborhood had started barking right before I heard the loud crash in the kitchen. I had grabbed a heavy dictionary and heaved it up ready to attack the intruder. But when I cam into the kitchen there was no sign of any breakage or an intruder. The only thing was a small black notebook sitting on my counter nonchantly. I lowered the dictioary but kept it close just in case the intruder was planning to attack me from behind. My thumbs flipped through the notebook until it came to a page that seemed to have been opened many times before. The page had in big red pen three words. I read them. That was my second mistake.