And then there was the upstairs and its murderous menagerie. They definitely had to go. I was not going to end up like Aunt June—murdered by her own pets. My thoughts turned to Philby, Martini, and Leonard. If I kept the place, I could imagine Rex and me bringing the brood up here to relax. I did not need Philby stalking the deathstalker scorpion or Leonard eating the assassin caterpillar.
Was that what I thought? That Aunt June's death was an accident? My mind reeled through the facts.
Aunt June was found dead from a brown recluse spider bite, with a dead spider near her. Yes, there was a brown recluse in the enclosure upstairs, but they were native to the area, so it could make sense that one got in the house. Or bit her outside and came in on her clothing.
Maybe it was the fact that I didn't like that the coroner had no experience and seemed a little too eager to declare everything as an accident to avoid a murder investigation. Maybe it was Basil's gossip about the three secret suitors. But something felt wrong about the whole thing.
Then again, the sheriff and Dr. Morgan didn't think there was anything to it. And I'd had so many murders in my life over the last few years, it would make sense for me to think of this as a murder.
If only they hadn't cremated her. If we had a body, I could probably get Soo Jin up here to help investigate. But I didn't have a body. I had ashes. Which left me at the mercy of those here, who hadn't investigated further.
I turned on the spigot for a gush of hot water and lay back in the tub. It was so relaxing. I was getting a little sleepy. I turned off the water, leaned back once more, and closed my eyes.
I was having this crazy dream about Princess Badger Tooth having a picnic with the three guys she'd killed—each one wearing a tinfoil hat—when a jolt woke me up. Did I hear a door slam? How long had I been out? The water was still warm but not hot anymore. I turned to reach for my cell, which was about two feet away, and froze.
A tiny, bright yellow frog sat on top of the phone. He seemed to cock his head toward me as if he'd missed something interesting that I'd just said. He jumped to the edge of the tub, and I very slowly withdrew my arm.
The golden poison frog was out. What was it that made him deadly? Oh, right. He secreted enough venom to kill ten men at once. And he was less than one foot away from me, looking like he was about to jump onto my face.
Where was Betty Machete when I needed her and her Blazing Blade of Death?
I'd stared death in the face before, from a coked-up and paranoid Estonian politician with a Bowie knife, who thought I was a kangaroo armed with a deadly banana, to a cheap and shoddy Ferris wheel ride in Turkmenistan that had popped off of its supports and started rolling downhill toward the interstate. And those experiences didn't make this one any less scary.
The frog seemed to study me. Was he anticipating my actions? If I jumped out of the tub, would he have time to jump and stick to me? And did they stick to people?
A sound downstairs caught my attention. Had someone put the frog in here to kill me? And were they still in the house to see that it happened, like they had with Aunt June? Well, I guess the good news was that I was pretty sure she'd been murdered. The bad news was that I'd only have the killer to say it to.
Heavy footsteps came up the stairs. It was a man, definitely. So now I faced a dilemma. Did I avoid getting killed by the frog by not moving? Then the killer could get me by dropping a plugged-in toaster into the tub.
Did I take a chance and jump out of the tub, risking poisoning by one of the most venomous animals on Earth, so I could defend myself against the killer with…
The only weapon I could get to was a toilet brush. I could wield it. If you can kill a man with a pencil, you can kill them with a toilet brush, I always say. Okay, so I made that up. But it's probably true. Too bad no one would hear it.
A thud in the hallway made it clear the man was on the second floor now. I strained to listen to hear if he was going up one more flight. Nope. Footsteps came down the hall in my direction. Did it really matter anyway? He knew where I was because he'd put the frog in here while I snoozed.
I moved slightly, and the frog adjusted to compensate, seemingly waiting to attack. If he jumped into the water, would I get poisoned? Why hadn't I done more research? Be prepared is the Girl Scout motto, although I'm pretty sure they didn't have any warnings on bathing around poison dart frogs.
The door to the bedroom creaked open. He was right outside the bathroom. I wondered if I could somehow grab the frog and throw it at him? We'd both get poisoned, which seemed a bit antithetical.
My hand found the soap underwater. I could throw that, and in the chaos, maybe I could scramble out before the frog got me. That toilet brush was looking better every second.
"Merry?" Rex's head popped through the doorway.
Blood began flowing again, but there was still the danger from the frog.
My husband
