Gemotions

"A murder?" Clara scoffed, the word sounding harsh, even to her own ears. The realtor, a nervous young man, winced. He mumbled something about disclosure laws. Clara waved a hand dismissively.

The house, with its rambling porch and sun-drenched rooms, was exactly what she wanted. The previous owner, a gossiping busybody, had tried to warn her off, hinting at shadows, at bad luck. Clara had ignored her then, and she was doing the same now.

She walked through the kitchen, already imagining the dinner parties she would host. She had to decorate, she thought. She was going to paint everything white. Bright white. She was not going to let a bunch of morbid words ruin her plans.