She never left the apartment now, not if she could help it. The outside world was a shrieking, shoving place, full of disorder.
That morning, from the moment she drew back the curtain, the signs leapt out at her: fallen lamp on the desk, disturbances in the snow, speck of red in the white.
She threw the curtains across the window, sat in the dark, cursed her mind’s attention to detail, then picked up the phone and made the call.
“My neighbour has murdered his wife,” she said, rattling off the address. “You’ll find the body in the river.”
Word Count: 99
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Roger Bultot for providing the prompt photo!