“Nice place you’ve got here,” he said in a mock whisper.

If all goes well, you’ll be helping pay for it for a while.

She managed to keep that thought to herself and responded with a less opportunistic, “Thanks. There’s one part I’m especially anxious to show you.”

She nodded to the bed.

“Are you suggesting I check it out? I really feel like a guided tour might be in order.”

“Why don’t you get comfortable over there? I’ll make a brief sojourn to the restroom to freshen up and join you momentarily.”

Carter smiled in agreement and walked over to the side of the bed. As he slid off his shoes and began untucking his shirt, Gabby headed to the bathroom the housemates shared. She turned on the light and cast one last seductive look at him before closing the door behind her.

Once inside, she went straight to the mirror. Before retouching any makeup, she wanted to check her teeth. A cursory glance showed nothing visible between them. She took a quick swig of mouthwash and was swishing it around, preparing to add a hint of extra smokiness to her eyelids, when she noticed an arm draped over the freestanding tub behind her.

She turned around, surprised. It wasn’t like Claire to take a bath at this hour. Usually she crashed as soon as she got home, sometimes not even changing out of her clothes. If she was lying in the tub with the lights out, it likely meant she was totally smashed.

Gabby tiptoed over, praying that she’d only have to deal with a passed-out housemate and not a vomit-covered tub. As she peeked over the edge of the tub, what she saw was far worse.

Claire was still dressed in the miniskirt she’d worn to go out that night. She was lying face up in the tub, with her glassy eyes wide open, covered in blood. Her face was streaked with it and it had formed a thick, goopy sauce in her hair. The blood was everywhere but it seemed to be mostly coming from her throat, which was mangled by what looked to be multiple deep stab wounds.

Gabby stared at her and only realized that she had been screaming when Carter appeared next to her, shaking her shoulders and asking what was wrong. One look at the tub gave him an answer. He stumbled backward in shock before pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Come out of there,” he told her, grabbing her wrist and tearing her away from the horror in front of her. “Go sit on the bed. I’m calling nine-one-one.”

She stopped screaming, grateful to have an instruction to follow. She shuffled numbly over to the bed, where she sat down, staring at the floor but not really seeing anything. In the background, she heard his voice, distant and tinny.

“I need to report a murder. There’s a woman dead in the bathtub here. It looks like she was stabbed.”