Stabby. That's how I was feeling. And when I was asked in the elevator by a friend how I was feeling since it was my first day back after being sick for a week, that's what I answered. Any other day, this would've been no big deal. Of course, then the elevator doors opened and the screaming began. My boss. The asshole who made me feel stabby. He was dead. Killed by a giant pair of silver scissors sticking out of his chest. Naturally, I immediately became the prime suspect. Where had I been the night before? The past week? Oh, and all of the month before that? This was when I realized a few things:

1. My Google calendar was woefully blank.
2. My dog made a terrible alibi.
3. Taking a week off work to bingewatch seven seasons of Game of Thrones before the last season started might have been cathartic, but it was also a terrible idea.
4. I deserved a raise and now my boss was too dead to give me one.
5. That detective was really hot and there's no way he'd give me a second glance, since I was somehow now on the wrong side of the law.
6. Howie, the mail clerk who would give anything to be my boyfriend, was a lousy consolation prize. Finally, and probably most importantly:
7. I was currently working with a killer.