Gemotions

The paint was supposed to have been dry hours ago. Emily ran a finger across the wall, and sure enough, it was still tacky. This was the third time she'd tried painting the guest room, and the third time the results had been less than stellar. She pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting back a wave of weary exasperation.

She went to find another paintbrush and tripped over a loose floorboard in the hall. "Great," she muttered, kicking at the offending wood. “Just great.”

The detective, a woman with a kind face but piercing eyes, explained that the house had been a site where illicit activities took place, a long time ago. Emily's fingers clenched. She really wanted that guest room done.