For Oktoberfest contest rules, go here.
First 300 words of DEATH BY HIGH HEELS:
hate it when you vomit all over their crime scene – a mistake I had no
desire to repeat. Then again, the fact that I’d just trampled all over
this scene was probably a whole new mistake I should have avoided. I
stared at the corpse and fought the urge to hurl. If only I hadn’t
answered the door, I’d be eating dinner instead of standing in my
neighbor’s apartment looking at a dead guy.
I’ve seen plenty of
weird things but this had to be one of the weirdest. The guy was just
sitting there in the chair. Looking at him you would think he was asleep
– if not for all the blood and his guts spilled onto his lap. I tore my
eyes from him and asked my ditzy neighbor the question I most wanted
the answer to.
“What the hell did you hit him with?”
Lindsay dropped the strand of blonde hair she’d been twirling and glanced down at floor. “My shoe.”
“Damn it, Lindsay, you can’t kill someone with a shoe!”
“Hello, they’re Via Spiga.”
I rolled my eyes. There was no way in hell she had done this kind of
damage with a shoe. If she had, women would soon be saying goodbye to
their much-beloved accessory. Men-even NRA members- would insist on an
instant ban of the deadly yet sexy weapon.
I set my hands on my hips. “Any idea how he got this giant hole in his stomach?”
“What? No, I hit him and ran.” Lindsay’s face paled and she leaned against the doorframe.
“Come here and see if you recognize him.”
“Gross, no way.”
“Get your ass over here!” I turned towards her and spotted Lakeview’s oldest beat cop standing behind her, his gun drawn.
Which one do you prefer?
47 minutes ago