[Continued: To start at the beginning click here.]
The detective pushed away from the table, staring up at it with sudden anger that was almost as confounding as the speed with which the stain had spread.
As if from a distance, she heard her two regulars, Jim and Sal, talking. Jim muttered, “You smell that? Toilets backed up, you think?”
“Must be,” Sal agreed.
She jerked her gaze away and stared at the two men in shock. “Look,” she said, her voice squeaking. She jabbed a finger at the ceiling.
They did, both of them coming to their feet as they stared at the seeping blackness overhead. “What the fuck is that?” Sal demanded.
“I don’t know. It was just a spot earlier, but now—”
A loud buzzing spun them all around to face the front door and windows. The noise seemed to come from just outside. Droning and harsh, it grew in volume and intensity as they watched with mouths open and eyes wide.
Everyone except the detective.
He knew what was coming, knew what made that hideous, atonal sound. She could see it on his face. He scanned from the ceiling to the windows and back, eyes hard, brows pulled.
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