Esme and the Money Grab: (A Very Dark Romantic Comedy) Read Online Free Page B

comparison. I guess I had that to look forward to.
      I knocked several times. The heavy knocker clanking hard, echoing through the canyon. No answer. I should have known better, of course he knew it was me at the door, and of course he was going to make this as difficult as possible.
      “Mr. Galloway,” I practically stuttered, “It’s me, Esme.” I knew on a normal day it would be impossible for him to hear me. His home was well-built, noiseless inside if all the windows were closed, and they usually were. He preferred his life to be temperature controlled.
      But I sensed he was standing on the other side of the door laughing at me. I carried on for his benefit. He wanted me to cower and beg, I would cower and beg. Six more months of school and I would be free to live my own life. Goodbye forever Mr. Galloway.
      “Mr. Galloway… I’m so sorry about yesterday. I’ve been having…” What had I been having? A moment of clarity? Of dignity? I didn’t think that’s what he wanted to hear. I went with this instead, “Lady problems… My time of the month.” I crossed myself as my mother had taught me, for setting the women’s movement back by a hundred years.
      I pressed my ear against the door expecting to hear his laughter. Quiet, he was not standing on the other side. All I heard was the low hum of the air conditioning and Mila meowing. I took the key out of my pocket and stared down at it.
      I wondered if he could have me arrested for breaking and entering. Could he be that horrible? Possibly. It was a chance I was going to have to take. I put the key in the lock and turned it slowly. My heart pounded.
      “Mr. Galloway,” I called out in a singsong way. Maybe that would be the best plan of action, pretend the day before hadn’t happened. Like that would ever work.
      “Mr. Galloway,” I tiptoed across the foyer. I had no idea why I was tiptoeing.
      “Ave Maria, Madre de Dios,” I screamed out into his home. Mr. Galloway lay sprawled out on the floor, his arm extended, his fingertip touching one of the heart pills.
      I leapt to his side, muttering and mangling the prayer over and over again. English was my first language. My parents never spoke Spanish at home. My grasp on the language was light as best.
      I picked up his cold and boney hand and felt his wrist for a pulse. There was none. I unbuttoned his cardigan and shirt and placed my hand on his chest. His skin was ice.
      I jumped away, terrified. The broken pill bottle on the floor was shattered. That could only be done with force. The force of being thrown. Why would Mr. Galloway would do that? I saw the room through a detective’s eyes and it looked it like a murder scene.
      My one duty, the one I had been hired for, to give this man his pills, I had failed. More than failed, it looked purposeful, as if I had set out to taunt this frail and infirm man in his last hours. They would never believe I had left him full of life, and in high spirits, high dark spirits.
      Mr. Galloway was a menace, even in the afterlife. I found myself laughing. It was hysterical, shrill and full of tears, but the laughter was there. “You got me good, Mr. Galloway. I’m going to jail. Your fiery Mexican glorified housekeeper, who’s not even Mexican, for all intents and purposes killed you. Mazel Tov Mr. Galloway, to use the phrase of another ethnic group you had interesting thoughts on.”
      Mila slunk across the room. She was a beautiful cat, a Bengal. Mr. Galloway had doted on her, spoiling her with fresh salmon, and bowls of cream. I never thought the heavy diet wasn’t good for her, but she seemed healthy.
      She bumped her head against my knee, gently purring while I sat cross-legged on the floor enjoying my last few minutes of freedom. “Mila… you must be hungry.” I ran my hand through her silky fur.
      I sniffed the air. It was surprisingly fresh considering there was a dead body in the room and I hadn’t changed