Chapter 3
Cynnamon Marsala returned to her apartment in Toronto's west end after the murder of Mr. Crawford at Morgan and Associates. She removed the murder weapon, a bloodied letter opener in the shape of a small broadsword from her attaché case and began to cleanse it; removing any trace DNA evidence from it. She sighed as she saw herself returning to her old ways. Cynnamon thought she had beaten this problem, but it would appear it was still buried within her psyche.
"Couldn't handle the rejection again, huh?" a male voice enquired.
Cynnamon turned away from the sink and looked at the ghostly figure sitting in her dining room. The ghost was that of the boyfriend she had murdered the year before, Chuck Michaels.
"I really thought I could cope with it this time, Chuck," she stated.
"What was the issue this time," he asked.
"The interviewer said that I was too much of a risk to hire," Cynnamon explained.
"Given your previous criminal history," Chuck noted, "I can see why some employers would be hesitant."
Cynnamon began to fume, "Oh, so that's it? Just because I murdered a few people, I don't deserve to be gainfully employed?"
"A few," Chuck shot back. "You slaughtered six people last year. One of which, I might add, was yours truly when you couldn't deal with a faulty car alarm on my Corolla."
"That dang car alarm woke me up from a wonderful dream I was having about us," Cynnamon reasoned. "Plus you know I'm not much of a morning person to begin with."
"Neither am I," the ghost retorted, "but you didn't have to react by rigging a bomb to it so when I started it, I became the former self you see before you now."
Cynnamon rolled her eyes at Chuck. Even after all this time, he hasn't let her forget that she was the one responsible for his demise.
Chuck continued, "And then there was the beating you gave your neighbour across the hall with a sledgehammer."
"He was cranking that heavy metal music way too loud for my liking," she defended.
"Still," he offered, "a noise complaint to the police would have sufficed."
Cynnamon retorted, "And have them discover all of the materials used in the car bomb, the pipe bomb in the soda can, the launcher for the rocket-propelled chainsaw, and the dagger? It was too much of a risk for them to enter my apartment and start snooping around."
"They wouldn't have found all that without a search warrant being obtained first, Cyn," Chuck explained. "Unfortunately, they obtained that after they brought you in for your initial questioning after my murder. The neighbour was a then, unrelated case. You could've saved some temporary face then without adding to the body count."
"I know, Chuck," Cynnamon sighed. "I'm just worried that I will never be able to be fully rehabilitated and find proper employment after I got out of Whitby."
"I hate to break it to you, babe," he consoled, "but when the police find out about this latest killing, I don't think you'll be going back to Whitby. The penitentiary in Kingston seems like where you might be headed."
Cynnamon sat down beside Chuck in the dining room and realised her deceased boyfriend was right. What she didn't realize was a wolf and a man in red serge was already on her trail.
