Jake opened his mouth to scream. I left the knife where it was in his heart, clamped my hand over his fat lips, and yanked him forward so the blood gushing out of his chest would fall into the bathtub and not spatter onto the tile floor. And so we stood there, seesawing back and forth over the tub, Jake McAllister trying to jerk away, and me pulling him closer, my hands digging into his face.

After about thirty seconds, Jake’s legs wobbled and gave way. His eyes glazed over, and his mouth slackened underneath my hand. I dropped my fingers from his lips.

Jake coughed twice. Blood sputtered out of his lips and flecked the front of my dress. Nothing I could do about that right now. So I put both hands on his suit jacket and dragged him forward. He was heavy, and it took some muscle to flip his legs up and over the side of the tub and then to lower his whole body down the steps and into the bottom without letting him thump down. By the time I was done, Jake McAllister was dead, and I was a sweaty, bloody mess.

First things first. I shut the bathroom door. Then I went back over to Jake McAllister. The bathtub was the fancy marble kind that was more like a small pool than a tub and sat on a raised dais. A couple of steps led up to the rim, and several more led down into the square pool.

I got down into the bottom with Jake. The first thing I did was to retrieve my knife from his chest and lay it on the edge of the tub. Then I maneuvered him so his back was facing the rest of the room. I curled his hands under head and splayed out his legs to make it look as though he’d had too much to drink and had crawled into the tub to sleep it off. At least at first glance. If someone turned Jake over, they’d see the blood on his shirt and in the bottom of the tub. But hopefully, I’d be long gone by the time that happened.

Once that was done, I climbed out and assessed the damage. The tub also featured several shower heads which were set into the walls at various angles, hence the curtain that cordoned the area off from the rest of the bathroom.

The shower curtain was a rich burgundy flecked with gold—and now blood. But unless you peered closely at it, you wouldn’t realize the spatter wasn’t part of the intended pattern.