The one writing the report shakes his head. “No, thanks, I’m off caffeine. Doctor’s orders.”
Karl nods sagely. “Yeah, it’s probably not good for any of us, but I figure, hey, what’s life without a few risks?” He’s ready to have a good long chat, actually. He’s all but in the clear and it feels good. His new life starts now. Maybe there’s even a way he can collect Norah’s insurance…
The smaller cop looks around absently. “Uh, sorry to bother you, but you got cream and sugar?”
“Milk, hope that’s okay. It’s not expired or anything.” He takes it from the fridge. The sugar he can’t immediately find. “Never use it myself,” he explains, but just then he spots the edge of the sugar bowl. It’s sitting, for some reason, up on top of the refrigerator.
It is only as he grabs it and something wet slops onto his wrist that he realizes it is still sitting in the dish of water he placed it in to keep the ants out of the sugar. The bowl has been sitting up there all this time, ever since…since…
That day. The day he was right about everything — even the sugar.
Because the moat around the sugar bowl has definitely worked. The ants never got near it. Karl can see that clearly as he sets it down on the table in front of the freckled cop, because there in full view, perched on a mound that is snowy white except for the crusted bit of sugar at the top that has gone brown with dried blood, lies the severed tip of one of Norah’s fingers, nail and all.
