“WE begin our broadcast tonight with a story that we first brought you earlier this evening. The body of missing woman Ramona Villanova was discovered this morning on the beach at Whitney Sound, in view of the bridge. While the police are not willing to comment on the connection between Villanova’s death and the still unsolved kidnappings and murders of four other area women, witnesses at the crime scene report the victim was nude with her face covered with a lace veil, just as the others had been. The manner in which Villanova was killed has not been determined, nor has a motive. If you recall from our earlier reports, the South Port woman was reported missing by her family two months ago. She was last seen leaving work after her shift as a night nurse at a local assisted living center….”

The tinny voice of the news broadcaster was forced into the background as the TV volume was lowered. He didn’t need to hear the rest. He knew the story of sad Ramona and her necessary demise. Not that he was callous. In fact, it was quite the opposite. That poor woman surrounded herself with ungrateful, selfish, hateful people. She immersed herself in their filth and despair. He tried to save her from it. Show her that life could be better, easier.  She was willing, at first. His sad, sweet Ramona wept for joy when he asked to take her away and release her of all her sadness. That, of course, was until she realized that he never gave anything of himself freely. She turned on him as the others had. She wouldn’t accept the gift he was trying to give her. She said she couldn’t.

                Scorned, but not having the heart to return her to the wretchedness that awaited her, he gave her something better. He almost begrudged her the peace she now had. He was alone again, restless and tired of searching. He had to focus and stop allowing himself to be led astray by women who only proved to be unworthy of the love he could give them. 

Shrugging into his suit jacket, he studied himself in the floor-length mirror. Not a hair out of place, no detail was left unattended. He had to find the right one. And with renewed determination and concentration, he would not fail.

“IF you ask me, three years is a hell of a long time to go without getting laid.” Leigha was right, almost. It had been two years, nine months and twenty-nine days. I was counting.

             We were sitting in the kitchen of the three bedroom house we shared.

“I don’t recall asking you anything,” I grumbled, stuffing the last bite of burrito into my mouth. Some people wore their celibacy like a badge of honor, a show of will power and strength. It made sense if you actually chose a life free of sexual gratification. I, unfortunately, had the decision made for me.

“Besides, I’ve seen what my options are. The dating pool is nastier than a frat house hot tub. The way I see it, I’m better off alone.”

“Of course you’d say that, Nikki. You’re bitter and disillusioned.” God love her, but Leigha had a knack for irritating the crap out of me. Not because she was irritating, herself, but because she was almost always right. The woman knew me better than I knew myself at times. That tends to happen when you live with a person for ten years. We met in college. She was the worldly, glamorous, flirtatious cheerleader. Cliché, I first thought upon meeting her. I was the quiet, bookish wallflower. I liked the quiet. I still do.

                “When are you going to let go of all that old bullshit and get back to living your life and enjoying it? Geez, Nik...”

                “Can we not? Please?”

                “Look. I’m sorry, but I just don’t think it’s healthy what I see going on with you. I want you to have a little fun. Smile. Something.” Leigha sighed in resignation. We’d been going around in the same circles for months, neither one of us making much progress. I wanted a nice, quiet life. Something free of all the angst I was currently drowning in. Leigha wanted me to go out and party. She was positive a good tumble in the sheets with a perfect stranger would cure all that ailed me. Cliché.

                “Thanks for looking out, really. I’ll be fine. I will,” I gave her my best version of a brave face. “I have an event tonight. We’re a little heavy on fives and sixes, and I’ve been looking for a few sevens or eights to balance things out. Are you interested?” I hoped the change in conversation would be enough to distract Leigha and derail her train of thought. There was only so much of her motherly-like worry I could stand.

                “Sevens and eights, Nikki.” Leigha scoffed. “ Do I look like a freaking seven or eight to you?” Her look of concern quickly mutated into one of utter indignation. “Here I am trying to be a friend, and you insult me. Why do I even bother?”

                “That isn’t what I meant and you know it,” I tried to calm her. “This was supposed to be a top shelf evening and all I’ve got would be considered average at best. We have free drinks, free food, and very eligible bachelors. All of whom are under forty, of course.” I hoped down off the stool I’d been perched on at the kitchen counter and leaned against her.

                “Pretty please?” I ducked my chin and looked at her from beneath my lashes, smiling sweetly. Leigha pulled the same move on me dozens of times over. It was time to cash in on one of the many favors she owed me.

                “Alright,” she said in a huff, “I’ll do it. But it’s only because I can’t afford to pay your half of the rent if you lose your job. Lucky for me, I decided to buy that new BCBG dress we saw last weekend.” Leigha continued to talk to me, or at me, as she skipped down the short hallway of our little bungalow house and into her bedroom. I caught every fifth or sixth word. There was something about leading a horse to water and a question of which pair of stiletto heels would look best, though I tried to tune most of it out.

                I didn’t have any trouble deciding on what to wear. It would be the same as it always was – a simple black cardigan worn over a teal cocktail length dress with patent leather black heels. I’d have to wrestle my hair into some kind of up do—‘fluffy’ hair was unprofessional.  Looking at the clock on my bedside table I decided against a bath, opting for a run through the shower instead. The last thing I could afford was to be late to my first event serving as Matchmaker.

                “Save me some water will you.” Leigha stood in the hall thrusting two dresses at me.

                “I thought you said you only bought the one dress?”

                “I did. I got this one yesterday on sale. Which one says, ‘available but not desperate’?” Shaking my head, I quickly assessed each. The week old BCBG was black, very short, and had a long sleeved sheer chiffon overlay with shimmering sequin-like things around the hem and cuffs. The one from yesterday was an indigo Vivienne Westwood dress that hung quite low in the front gathered at the waist in a way that would only serve as a blazing neon sign pointing to Leigha’s already well-proportioned, model-like figure.  I love her to death, but I don’t have to like her all the time.

                “Most of the guests will have just come from the office. You might want to be subtle right out of the gate. Go with the black one with your black satin heels. A smoky eye and a low, messy bun should do the trick.” Apparently I’d done good, because I was rewarded with a noisy kiss on the cheek.

                “Thanks! No wonder you made Matchmaker so quickly,” Leigha teased me with a wink. She spun on her heel and swept back into her room, muttering excitedly.

                I walked to the end of the hall to the bathroom with my dress. It was a bit rumpled so I hung it on the towel bar to steam while I washed. I’d have to remember to drop it off at the cleaners in the morning. I turned on the hot water in the shower, undressed with my back to the mirror, and stepped in. Ten minutes later I was out. Leigha scrambled in barely avoiding a head on collision with me. The door slammed and techno/house music started blaring from her iPod.

A mere hour later we were out the door, speeding toward the city in my Mini Cooper. I was already ‘in the zone’ as Leigha called. I had to focus, running through the bios and preferences of every client set to attend. I had to prove that I could give a person exactly what it was he or she wanted, even if they didn’t know it. I had to prove I could be a Matchmaker.

                The whole thing sounded ludicrous when I first learned about The Unity Group. Even the name was a bit gimmicky. Matchmaking was supposed to be a thing of the past. It seemed so archaic. And yet, like 1940s vintage dresses, what was once old was new again. Thankfully it was something that I was able to do and apply my liberal arts degree and years of experiencing romance from the outside looking in. Now I was hosting an event, an evening one no less, as Matchmaker with my ace in the hole in tow.

                “Thank you so, so much for doing this. You have no idea how stressed I’ve been trying to get all of my female slots filled.”

                “After all this time, I can only imagine,” my former best friend giggled. I cut my eye at her as we pulled up to the valet stand.

                “You know what I mean. Ready?” I had no idea if tonight I would be meeting my destiny or my doom. Both were terrifying. Stepping out of my seat with as much grace as possible, I handed over the car keys and smoothed the invisible wrinkles of my dress while trying to calm the mammoth butterflies in my stomach.  This was it. I walked into the restaurant, hoping I wouldn’t fail.

#

“I don’t care if you have to go over that entire beach with a fine tooth comb and a flashlight! Find me something that we can use. Find if now, dammit.” The division chief spun on his heel, effectively dismissing the crime scene tech. The poor kid was at an utter loss for words, staring blank-faced and slack-jawed after the squat man charging back to his office. When the chief jerked back around, the tech scurried out of the line of fire.

                “Quinn,” the older man boomed, then continued his march back to the station office not even bothering to check that his call was  acknowledged.

                Snapping upright from his chair, Corwin Quinn buried the heels of his hands into his eyes and then palmed his face. He’d been up since the ass crack of dawn working ever since the most recent body was found. It was bad enough he had next to nothing to work with on the first four. Now that there was a new victim and still no leads, everyone would be riding him for answers.

                “Shit.” Captain Campbell was on a rampage, like a rhino charging at anything moving. Quinn chuckled at the bizarre picture. The old man even looked like a rhino.

                “I’d hustle if I was you,” Marco’s voice was like a mosquito in his ear.

                “Were,” Quinn didn’t want to engage. It was just so damn hard not to. “If you were me. Thankfully, you’re not. Though I’m sure your girl wouldn’t mind.”

                “Ha! I didn’t even think you went that way, man, you so emotional and shit.” At that, Quinn shook his head and dragged himself in the direction of the captain’s office. What he really needed was a cold beer, or three, and a good night’s sleep. By the look on old man Campbell’s face, Quinn wasn’t going to be getting either for a long while.

                “You wanted to see me?”

                “Why in the hell don’t we know any more about this bastard,” the captain yelled. Charles Campbell looked almost comical when the light hit him just right. He was a short, stocky man with a barrel chest, and whose arms and legs seemed almost too small for his body.  He had small, black beady eyes, short nose, and a permanently downturned mouth. Definitely a rhinoceros.

                “The techs have been going through anything and everything the Villanova woman touched. But it isn’t helping that she vanished for two months. All that we’ve got on her at the moment is old news, stuff we’ve had since she was reported missing.” It wasn’t the question he was asked, but Quinn still wasn’t ready to admit he was still just as empty-handed now as he was when the killer first showed up. Captain Campbell glared at him, waiting for him to offer up something they didn’t already know.

                “He kept this one longer. That has to mean something. It isn’t about taking these women simply so he can kill them; at least not with this last one, anyway.”

                “Anything else that stood out to you,” Campbell seemed to cool off some with that small piece of information.

                “She was older, much older than all the others were. Couple that with the length of time between the discovery of the fourth body and her disappearance; I’d say he’s looking for something in particular.”

                “Yeah, well, they usually are. If that’s the case, find out if Missing Persons had any leads. She may have had an admirer we need to look in to. And go back over the other cases to see if there’s anything that will tie all these women together besides turning up dead.”

                Quinn sighed as he stood, “Will do.”

                “Get some sleep, too. You look like something my dog coughed up.”

                “I’ll see what I can do, Cap.” Beer wasn’t strong enough. He’d definitely need a scotch or four. Or he could just play it safe and take the whole bottle. First, he had to stop some psycho with a penchant for lace.

“I’m sorry, sir, but courtyard dining is closed for the evening.  If you would like, I have several very desirable tables inside.” The regretful tone of the maître d’ was belied by the look of annoyance on his face. Was it the hassle of trying to rearrange his precious dining room that seemed to irk the man? Not that it mattered.

                “That will be fine. Somewhere quiet.” Judging by the mindless banter that filled the air, he wondered if such a thing was even possible. But the maître d’ quickly snapped to attention, guiding the man past the bar and away from the people who only wanted to see or be seen.

                He was one of them, in a sense. The ever watchful eye, he was always mindful of who was around him and if they mattered or not; always noticing those who seemed to pay him too much or too little attention.

                “Here we are, sir,” the man in front of him made a show of displaying the table. “Will this be alright?”

                “Yes, thank you.” The table was situated in a corner of the room, in full view but still somehow set apart. The building was in a U-shaped design, which would ordinarily make it difficult to observe all that was going on. From this vantage point, he could see the party in full swing in the courtyard and, if he cared to put that much effort into it, the entrance to the bar and lounge on the other side. He could see it all, and he would know if anyone had seen him.

#

                The vice around my heart eased ever so slightly. I wouldn’t call it a success, but it was an hour into my ‘Meet Your Match’ event and I’d yet to put out any major fires. I ignored the maître d’s huffy attitude, because he hadn’t told the kitchen to spit in the hors d’oeuvre. At least I hoped that he hadn’t.

                “Smile, you’re starting to scare some of the guests,” a hushed voice said in my ear.

                “Son of a biscuit!” Suddenly remembering where I was, I unclenched my chest and tried to calm my breathing. A quick scan of the courtyard let me know that everyone was too enthralled in one another to notice my outburst.

                “Honestly, Nicole, try to be a bit more dignified.” The man was actually smiling, no, laughing at the fact that he’d nearly scared me to death. Be professional. I love my job, I need my job, I love my job.

                “Mr. Fields, I didn’t realize you would be attending tonight. Did you confirm with one of the other Matchmakers?” Sneaky, slimy...

                “Actually, I spoke with Sadie directly. She convinced me that tonight I would finally meet my match.” I highly doubted that. Sure, it was typical of Sadie Goodwin to promise instant and long lasting true love. She’s started The Unity Group Corporation and made Fusion, her pride and joy, the most successful offline matchmaking business there was. Sadie did not fail.

                Byron Fields, on the other hand, was a serial dater. I was beginning to think that he’d run out of bar flies and was using Fusion to give him a fresh supply of women desperate for attention and overly eager to please. I tried to weed those types out purely in an effort to keep that man away. Why or how I was the only one who could see though his Prince Charming act was beyond me.

                Looking at him now, I could understand the attraction. The man did have a lot going for him. Tall, light brown complexion, brown eyes with lashes I’d kill to have, not an ounce of fat on him. On top of all that, he knew how to dress. Tonight, he had on a dark blue three-piece suit that was perfectly tailored. His crisp, white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar to give him the appearance of being laid back but not lazy. He even had a white silk pocket square in the breast pocket of his jacket.

                “Right. Well I believe that you’ll find that the ladies who are attending tonight are all quite wonderful,” I did another quick scan. “Mara is a fairly recent transplant to the area – she has set up her law office here in South Port with a satellite on the island. Annalise is a principle with the Whitney Dance Company, and rather talented if I’m to understand correctly.” I was rattling off names and mini bios at a fever pitch. Please just let this man find someone and leave me alone.

                “I see.” Byron cast a fleeting glance at the women currently meandering about in cocktail dresses carrying drinks in varying shades of pink.

                “Oh, and Renee is a partner with C&J Recruiting out of Dutch Haven. I recall her mentioning to me that your companies have done quite a bit of business with one another.”

                “You seem to have a sales pitch for all of these women. Surely you know me well enough now to know my wants and needs.” Was he baiting me? He knew that no one had been able to find the perfect woman for him. With Byron, finding ‘the one’ was like looking for the Holy Grail.

                I turned to face him full on, quite ready to explain that while I was very confident in my list of potential dates, the process was only complicated by his inability and unwillingness to give over control and stop fighting me at every turn. I had the whole speech right there on the tip of my tongue. I squared my shoulders, inhaled, and lifted my chin to look him in the eye.

I was stuck, frozen. The overly confident, playful gleam in his eye and teasing smirk had been replaced by something more calculating. I’ve seen come hither stares, lustful gazes, bedroom eyes. Maybe not always directed at me, but still. They were heated. If you were on the receiving end you’d have likely wanted to melt and burst into flames all at once. The feeling I got from Byron was equally as intense, though not as hot. Calling it lukewarm was a stretch.

“Have you found true love, Nicole James? Do you want that for yourself?”

“I..I’m not… I don’t think…” Why wasn’t my mouth working?

“Well, this certainly is cozy. I hope that our Nicole hasn’t jeopardized too much of your time Mr. Fields,” the cultured voice of Mrs. Goodwin was a welcome interruption. She had never given me the impression that she liked me. My clothes were unsophisticated, my hair too wild, my approach too personal. Now that one threw me. I was a matchmaker; a measured degree of personal involvement was expected.

“Of course not, Sadie. I’m afraid I am the one who has been keeping Ms. James from her duties. She was telling me all about the exquisite ladies who are in attendance this evening.” Like that, Fields was back. I, however, was still in panic mode.

“There is some great potential here, without a doubt. In fact, there’s an absolute beauty just dying to meet you.”

“That does sound enticing. Lead the way.” Sadie may not have liked me much, but she loved Byron. I was glad he was out of my hair for the moment. After that little episode, I added creepy to the list of words to describe him.

“So, how are things?” Leigha finally managed to wrench herself away from her adoring fans. She had made the night an interesting one. Tomorrow morning I’d have to break it easy to four or five guys that yes, she was beautiful and sexy and would look great on their arm; she simply was not the right match for them.

“My face hurts.”

“I’m sorry dear. Does it hurt too much to smile? I have a surprise for you,” the last part was done in a sing-song manner. Perfect, Leigha was tipsy and giddy.

“I don’t want him.”

“Would you want her?” I scowled.

“Fine,” She huffed, “ I’ll just tell you, then.”

“Please do. I’m waiting with bated breath.” I put on my glasses and began reviewing follow-up cards, getting a head start on confirming matches. There were a few that would need some redirection, but for the most part my instincts about tonight’s group were spot on. Leigha grabbed my hand, not so much for support but as a way to get my full attention. I peered at her over the top of my glasses.

“Well,” she drew the word out for dramatic effect, “I had the misfortune of finally running into that Barron guy.”

“Byron.” Leigha waved me off.

“Anyway, he came over and started going on and on about something. What was he talking about? Never mind, not important.” I stared blankly at my friend. I saw the maître d’ behind her, gliding towards me, beckoning. I wondered if he’d been a figure skater in another life.

“Hang on a second, Lee. Let me talk to him really quick.” I stepped around Leigha and followed obediently inside.

By the time I returned, Leigha was busying herself with a gray haired gentleman, one of the men from the event no doubt, laughing at some shared joke. I always wanted to be one of those women who saw jealousy as a useless emotion. I’m not. I wanted to be flirtatious and approachable. Standing back and seeing my friend in action, I reminded myself why I wasn’t open anymore. Being flirty and fancy free was how I met Mathew.

“Excuse me miss, do you know what time it is?” Ripped from my flashback, I lifted my wrist and impatiently looked down at my watch.

“Yeah, it’s eleven forty-two.”

“Wonderful, thank you. Have a good night.” By the time I considered who it was that had asked me, I was met with the retreating back of a tall, slender woman with close cropped hair.

“Who was that,” Leigha asked once she finally made her way back to where I stood.

“I’m not sure. One of the guests, I suppose.” Trying to recall if any of my female clients had short hair, I came up blank. Shrugging it off, I grabbed my bag and ushered Leigha to the exit. It was late and my bed was calling me.

“I still haven’t told you your surprise.”

“Let me have it.” It’d better be something I can actually use, I thought. Leigha’s ‘gifts’ tended to be things that were curiously in the wrong size or color, without a receipt. Naturally, she was ever so kind as to take it off my hands since it wouldn’t work for me.

“I matched Bryan,” she squealed. At least she was close.

“Matched him with whom?” I dug the valet ticket out of my purse and handed it to the kid at the podium.

“Well, I noticed how bored he seemed with all of the women you had, so I hooked him up with the cook.”

“You what!” My career was doomed. The most important client at Fusion was being sent on a date with the help. Was I hyperventilating?

#

                “Stop. No. Stop talking! I’m coming down there. I need to look at what you’re talking about.” Quinn had to hand it to the scene tech. After having his ass handed to him by the chief, the poor kid worked overtime searching for the tiniest of clues. With the media and grieving families breathing down the department’s neck, anything was better than nothing at this point. He dragged his hand across the back of his neck and sighed. There was a bright spot in his day however faint it was, and he clung to it with all he had.

                “You got something,” Marco asked as he strolled out of the chief’s office.

                “Sounds like it. Why are you checking up on me?” Quinn moved double-time to the elevators.  

                “Chief wants us together on this one. Guess he thinks you needed some hel…”

Quinn stopped dead in his tracks. Sebastian Marconi’s critical thinking skills were passable at best. What would possess Chief to add him to the case? Chief Campbell was making his way to his office from the conference room with the D.A. in tow. Against his better judgment, Quinn detoured and stalked over. Marco was hot on his heels.

                ”Chief, I know it’s taking a bit longer than we’d like but I sure as hell don’t need Marco slowing me down.”

                Chief Campbell held his hand up, stopping Quinn’s advance . The chief of detectives and the D.A. continued to argue in hushed tones. The statuesque ice queen and the old rhino locked in an unending struggle for control.

                “Wrap this up, Campbell, or I’ll advise the mayor to bring in someone who can get the job done.. The last thing we need is citywide panic.” For a brief second, the sound of four inch heels hammering across the tile floor was the only one to be heard in the bullpen. “Corwin,” she greeted the detective with a slight quirk of her eyebrow and a sneer. No sooner had she passed through the doorway, noise erupted in the work area.

                “What do you want Quinn,” the chief growled.

                “I need for you to take Marco off my case. There’s got to be something else to keep him busy; B and E, directing traffic, something.”

                “Not going to happen. I have to ‘wrap this up’ and a fresh pair of eyes never hurt anything.”

                “I’ll be sure to remind you of that when Chuckles over there screws this royally.” Quinn knew he’d never win the argument, but he had to at least voice his displeasure at the whole thing. Marco was grinning like an idiot. In that moment, he wanted to smash the guy’s nose – couldn’t be a pretty boy without a pretty face.

                “So, they have something to show us down in the ‘freaks ‘n geeks’ department?”

                “Yeah, only try not to talk too much. I don’t feel like waiting on evidence because the techs associate me with your stupidity.” Quinn mashed the elevator button. A vicious smile cut across his face as he envisioned Marconi’s face bloodied and swollen.

                ”Alright, kid, lay it out for me.” Being down in The Vault never sat well with Quinn. The entire space was a contradiction. Basements were supposed to be dark, dank, musty, creepy cave-like rooms. The Vault was dark and creepy, but it was also fresh; too fresh. It made sense of course, because humid and moldy conditions could corrupt samples; tarnish evidence, blah blah blah. Still, Quinn was eager to get the new info and go.

                So wrapped up in his own displeasure at being in the forensics department, Quinn didn’t realize the scene tech was talking until Marconi started in on him. Taking stock of the situation, he saw two things. First, Marconi had taken the lead. Who the hell did he think he was? Second, it was seventy-two degrees and the kid was sweating buckets. There was no telling if it was from nerves or stress. Quinn’s money was on both.

                “Sure you have,” Marconi jeered from the corner. He was fiddling with a glass jar of something. “So d’you find anything useful or not?”

                “I don’t think you realize how tedious this kind of work is.”

Quinn felt an impending battle between idiot and savant, which would only lengthen the amount of time he’d be forced to spend in the space.

                “Just tell us what you found, kid,” he pleaded. “And you,” he jabbed his finger at his new partner, “shut up and stop touching shit.”

                “It’s Karl, actually.”

                “You found karl? That some kind of chemical or something?”

                “It’s my name. Karl. As in Karl Marx, the socialist. He wrote the…You know what, I’ll just tell you what we found.”

                “That’d be best.”

Karl called up a series of images on his computer screen. Four dingy lace veils were on display. The fifth veil lay on the stainless steel table top in front of the men.

                “All of these veils are what tie all of the murders.”

                “You got to be shitting me,” Marconi huffed. “Of course they do! That’s why the newspapers and TV are calling him the ‘Veiled Killer’.”

                Boxing out the third, the two men centered on the computer screen and continued talking.

                “How are they linked? Did they all come from the same store, the same manufacturer?” Quinn was grasping at straws, he knew it, but a lead was a lead.

                “No. They were all made by hand, but not recently. I’ll need more time to be sure, but I think it’s safe to say that these five veils are at least eighty years old.”

 He first spotted her at the bar. She stalked through the crowd, sizing up her prey and her competition. It was out of curiosity that he began watching her. She was a child, hardly qualified to be called a woman. She leaned against the bar, forcing her body into an almost unnatural curve, in an effort to put herself even more on display. The bartender, apparently familiar with the girl, passed her what looked to be a vodka and water – more likely to be a simple soda water with lime – and pointed off into the crowd.  

He next saw her sitting at a high top table, feigning interest in something a round, white-haired man was whispering into her ear. She fiddled with the stir straw in her glass. The old man signaled a waitress for fresh drinks. Then, his view was blocked by a man and woman talking in the courtyard. He found it odd that this new woman gave the impression that she was hesitant and resistant to the man beside her. When they separated, the girl and the old man were gone.

“Excuse me,” he caught the attention of a passing waiter, “I’m waiting for my date. She’s tall, slender, short blond hair. Has she come in yet?”

“Sure, I’ve seen her. But if you ask me, man, you’re better off without that one.” 

That was enough to let him know that she’d be coming back to the bar, possibly to give the bartender his finder’s fee. He made certain he would be there when she did.

                Two hours later, he heard the chair next to him drag across the floor and the rustle of fabric as she eased onto the seat.

“Mind if I join you?” The flirtatious line was hollow in its delivery. He guessed it was more out of a need to sit down than an attempt to ply her trade. He knew that he wouldn’t love her. There was nothing that stirred within him but pity and sorrow at her abject situation, but those emotions were enough to compel him to act. Her youthful beauty had long since deteriorated, makeup and soft lighting her only means of reviving it. The clothes she wore were expensive but ill-fitting, a sign that they were not originally meant for her.

“It is an open seat.” Being closer to her, he saw the listlessness in her gaze. A less observant person would have mistaken it for smoldering or coy. He knew that she needed him. She had to ask for it.

“So what’s a cutie like you doing here all by your lonesome?”

“I haven’t found what I’m looking for yet.”

                She signaled the bartender, who had taken to standing at the far end of the bar, for a drink. The man seemed all too eager to continue serving them to her.

                “I don’t think you should be doing that,” he cautioned her. He stilled the bartender with a sharp glare, letting the man know that he’d do well to leave them alone.

                She laughed at him, “That’s sweet, honey, but I think I can handle it.”

                “I saw you earlier,” he spoke low and soft, “and it seems to me you had more than enough then. It’s a shame your friend didn’t take better care of you.”

                “What? You think you can take care of me,” she shot back at him with a sneer. “You’re not the first to promise me that. You’re all the same …”

                He turned himself to face her directly and then leaned forward, one arm across the back of her chair, the other in front of her on the bar. She tensed noticeably at the sudden intrusion on her personal space.

“I don’t doubt you’ve been promised a great number of things, by men far less attractive and capable than me. I don’t doubt that they all fell short, in more ways than one. I hope you made them all pay for it,” he quirked his lips into a half smile, putting her somewhat at ease.

“What do you want from me?” She was intrigued. He saw the skepticism in her creased brow, but everything in her body said she was ready. Such a curious creature she was, despite herself.

“Scratching and clawing to get what you want has gotten you nowhere. Forget about what you want, start seeking what it is that you need, instead.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“First, tell me your name.”

“Dulcie. It’s more like a nickname, but I like it better. What’s your name?”

“I want you to ask me to give you what you need, Dulcie.” He looked her in the eye. She forgot that he didn’t give her his name. The sound of his voice, deep and whispering, commanding, lulled her. The weight of his hand on her back made her feel protected. He made her feel safe.

“Will you give me what I need?”

Looking at her now, he was finally able to see what drew him to her. She had an angelic look about her. He had to wash the makeup off of her face. He gently scrubbed away the layers of garish powder and paint, taking care not to bruise her skin. It was such delicate skin, so pale that it was almost translucent. A small mouth with pink lips that spread into a girlish smile as he guided her into the hotel suite. His little Dulcie.

Taking her into his home was not even the remotest of possibilities. The suite was perfect for her. She needed to see the luxury in life, the types of things the men that used her were able to have but never willing or wanting to share with her. She skipped across the room to the balcony, in awe of the sweeping views of the city lights and Whitney Sound in the distance. From there, she bounced into the spa-like bathroom, complete with a two-person soaker tub and a slate and glass shower with multiple sprayers. She’d begged him to join her, but he declined offering instead to bathe and massage her.

She was too thin. He’d thought it before, but seeing her undressed before him he saw the sharpness in her hips and the flatness of her chest. Why hadn’t anyone cared enough to do more than give her such a mocking nickname – to be so ‘sweet’ and yet treated so poorly? He did bathe her as promised. Just as gently as he washed her face, he ran the warm, moist cloth across her body. He took care in attending to every dip and curve.

Once he was finished, he rose from the bed and watched her once more. His Dulcie looked much more at peace. That was what she needed. For once in her life, she was cared for by a man. She could finally rest; she would not need to jump from this bed, his bed, to find fulfillment in yet another.

 Pleased with what he had done for her, he rolled down his shirtsleeves and picked up his jacket and retrieved something from an inner pocket. With a final caress of her cheek, he turned off the lights and left the room. A faint click of the door lock was the only sound he made, had anyone been able to hear it.

I awoke to the sound of banging pots and sunny voices coming from the front of the house. Groaning, I buried my face in the pillow and pulled my blanket tightly over my head. I was nowhere near ready to get up. I hadn’t gotten to sleep until almost dawn because I’d been reading follow-up cards, trying to re-work matches that didn’t quite pan out, and brainstorming first date ideas for more promising couples. The ‘Meet Your Match’ event may have been a small success in and of itself, but having a few happy couples under my belt would definitely make life easier around the office. I had total faith in my ability to read people; unfortunately I was the only one who did.

“Wakey, wakey! Eggs and bakey!” Leigha burst into my room, much more perky and chipper than the law should allow. “Come on, sleepy head. You promised to help me at the shop today.”

The shop was a small clothing consignment boutique that she inherited from her great-aunt. It wasn’t so much an inheritance as it was the one thing that no one else in the family wanted to take over after the aged, eccentric woman died. Most weekends I didn’t mind lending a hand. It was preferable to sitting in an empty house trying to figure out what to do with myself, only to find that I’d spent the entire day trying to decide on what to do. It was a rather dull existence.

“I changed my mind,” I mumbled. Instead of arguing, Leigha set my favorite mug, filled with coffee, down on the nightstand.

“We’re leaving in thirty minutes.” At that, the door slammed. I’d have to rethink volunteering myself as free labor on Saturday mornings. I couldn’t have dragged myself out of bed even if I wanted to. She’d have to do without me today.

“Nik!” I threw the blanket off, and shot up. “Good, you’re up.” Realizing that she wasn’t going to leave me alone, I dropped my feet to the floor and slumped over the side of the bed.

“You tricked me!”

“Of course I did. You’d have never gotten up otherwise,” Leigha opened my closet and began rummaging around. “Good grief, Nikki, your closet is depressing. How could I have not known you were this bad off?” She stepped out, holding my favorite ‘I don’t care’ outfit – an old pair of paint-splattered men’s camouflage pants and a threadbare white V-neck T-shirt. I’d usually pair it with some flip flops or sandals. In fact, I had been thinking of putting on those very clothes.

“So, I guess I won’t be wearing that?”

“Are you kidding me? One look at you and I’ll have people walking right out the door.” Judging by the woman’s outfit, if I let her pick my outfit I would be very uncomfortable. Leigha had on a sheer baby pink lace tank top layered over a coral camisole, paired with cuffed white skinny jeans. She also had on four inch wedge sandals. I rolled my eyes to the ceiling.

“I promise not to dress like a painter. Now will you get out, please?” I not so gently frog-marched her out of my room and slammed the door shut. Returning to my closet I pulled out the only thing I knew Leigha would approve of, my yellow cotton eyelet strapless dress and gold sandals. All this so I could sit behind a counter for six hours helping women spend money they didn’t have.

I took off my pajamas and left them in a puddle at my feet. I gathered up my clothes for the day and stepped behind my dressing screen. I didn’t need Leigha walking in on me while I was changing. Not that I had a problem with nudity, but I didn’t want to put myself on display. Once fully clothed, I came out from the privacy of the screen and turned to the mirror to fix my hair. A little spritz, a silk scarf, and a shake was all it took to look halfway decent.

Finally ready to join the rest of the world, I grabbed my now cold coffee and followed the smell of bacon and toast into the kitchen. Leigha was finishing up and watching a special news report.

“Have you heard about this,” she asked pointing to the television screen. I glanced up from the English muffin I was buttering.

“Those are the women found on the beach, right?” The whole island had heard about it. It was the hot topic at last night’s event – after stock dividends, beach houses, cars, and yachts. “Do they know who did it?”

“No, but we don’t exactly have Sherlock Holmes on the case.”

I took a bite of my muffin. “The paper said there was nothing left behind with the bodies. Just the veils”

“Hmm. I told you this island was creepy.”

“They weren’t found on the island,” I corrected as I finished my bacon and refilled my coffee cup.

“Whatever. Doesn’t make it less creepy.” Leigha turned off the television and grabbed her purse. “Ready? There’s a woman coming by early to drop off some things from an estate sale.”

“Yes, boss.”

On a normal weekday morning, the drive from our house to Leigha’s shop would take five minutes, eight at the max.  Thanks to all of the weekend beach-goers and boaters, it took us close to half an hour to get to the store and find a parking spot. We ended up four blocks up the street and around the corner.

“We should have just walked here,” Leigha huffed as we hurried our way down the street.

“I said that before we left.” I hiked my dress up for the sixth time. I was missing my camo pants and dollar store flip-flops. Leigha didn’t respond. She was too busy grinning and waving at the middle-aged woman waiting for us on the bench by the front door. The two women greeted each other and walked inside, too busy discussing vintage dresses and designer hand bags to notice that I hadn’t followed them. I was distracted by the smell of freshly made pastries coming from across the street.

The bell above the bakery door announced my entrance to those already inside to into the bakery. I saw a few familiar faces – the gardening society meeting for tea and scones, the gentleman who ran the ferry, a few moms with their babies. Everyone else was there on holiday.

“I thought I’d be able to pull you in here today,” the friendly voice behind the counter greeted me.

“It’s your fault I look like this, you know,” I teased. “What do you have today, Sam?” The older woman wiped her hands on her icing stained apron and beckoned me to one of the side display cases. My waistline hated me for it, but Sam was one of the first people on the island to welcome me and Leigha after we moved. She was our surrogate grandmother, and we both loved her and her baked goods.

“No man can resist a woman with curves, you should be thanking me.” Sam reached down for one of her giant Gooey Ooey Buns. “Eat this, and they’ll come running!”

Taking the sweet treat, I moved over to the register to pay, “If you say so, Miss Sam.”

“Don’t forget to enter the contest,” the girl behind the counter said to me as she handed me my change. “Put your card in the bowl, and if you win you get a twenty dollar gift certificate.”

“Right,” I chuckled, “because more carbs is exactly what I need.” My comment was clearly lost on the girl, as her apron was in a desperate struggle to remain on her barely-there hips. She just smiled and shrugged. I groped around in my bag and found a business card.

#

Quinn stared blankly at the victim board, silently willing the answers to come. Five women smiled back at him. They were the pictures that the families had provided when the women were first reported missing. Beside them, the crime photo painted a more somber, but eerily beautiful image. The first, Sasha McKay, was a student and part time sales clerk at a men’s clothing store. Her sister reported her missing after she hadn’t come home one night. Two days later, a jogger found her body on the beach.

                It was his first case after joining the department. Quinn wasn’t too sure of what he’d find in South Port, but a serial killer amongst the yacht and country club members was last on his list. This was supposed to be a cake assignment. Now he was buried under over a year’s worth of interviews, empty leads and weekly calls from crackpot psychics.

                “Heads up, Quinn,” an officer called out. Quinn looked over to see the crime tech making his way across the bull pen. Quinn spun in his chair away to watch the kid approach. The excited look on his face must have meant they’d finally have something solid to work with.

                “Karl, the crime tech. I’m going to guess you’ve got something for me?”

                “I was able to figure out some more about the veils that were used to cover the victims. I may have even narrowed down the cause of death.”

                “We already know how they died,” Marconi said around a mouth full of apple. A small piece of chewed fruit flew out of his mouth and onto Quinn’s keyboard.  “They stopped breathing.”

                “Actually, you only know part of how the women died. I think it’s more than that.”

                “Okay,” Quinn interrupted, “let’s talk about the veils first. What else do you know?”

                Karl fanned out the pictures of all five veils on the desk. They were all sheer, delicate, and had a floral design along the edges.

                “At first, I said that they were all about eighty years old. I was able to test the thread used, and the oldest, the first one found, is about one hundred. The fifth veil is the newest, at around seventy years old. The three in the middle are all sequential.”

                Marconi picked up one of the pictures and frowned at it. “Why use some old tablecloth, why not a blanket or something? You can see straight through this stuff.” He tossed the image back on the desk, sending it sliding into the others.

                “They aren’t tablecloths. They’re vintage hand stitched wedding veils. These things cost a fortune!” Quinn raised his eyebrows in question at the tech’s offended reaction.

                “Don’t take it personally, Karl,” he teased.

                “It’s just that, if they were tablecloths it would mean something totally different. These women weren’t just killed and dumped.”

                “What else is there? Some guy grabs women, holds them for a while, gets bored and kills them. Then he lays them out naked in public. Sounds like your run of the mill psycho to me.”

                That was the same question that had been running through Quinn’s head. What else was there? What was he missing? The serial rape and murder story didn’t fit. It hadn’t set right with Quinn, even in the beginning.

                “What are you thinking, Karl?” Quinn didn’t want to be the one to admit that the person they were after wasn’t just a crazed killer.

                “The veils, wedding veils, are all very elaborate and very expensive.”

                “So he’s got money,” Marco added.

                “That or he already had them. Either way, someone stored them in a controlled environment. They don’t have a musty mildew smell, there’s minimal staining, and no damage from insects.”     

                “Something that special, you don’t throw out like Marco’s holey socks.”

                “Hey!” Marconi snapped to attention. “My woman takes care of me. None of my socks have holes.”

                “I thought you lived with your mother,” Quinn shot back.

                Karl huffed, clearly irritated that the two men in front of him were no longer focused on him. “Can we please finish? I have a lab to get back to.”

                “Alright. What about COD?”

                “Well, based on the autopsy report, there were no obvious, outward signs of trauma. No bruising or abrasions on the skin. Something else stopped those women from breathing. My guess would be a kind of poison or toxin.”

                “How’s he give it to ‘em?” Marconi’s mouth was full of food again. Quinn looked over his shoulder to see that this time he was eating a bag of chips.

                “There weren’t any puncture holes on the body. And I’m only guessing, because there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary that showed up in the blood work done.”

                Quinn hauled himself out of his chair, and pulled his gun out of his desk drawer. “You get started on those tests. We’ll need all five women looked at.”

                “Are we going somewhere?” Marconi looked disappointed.

                “Well, I didn’t want to interrupt snack time, so I thought I’d visit a few antique stores and bridal shops. You know, see if anyone’s seen this kind of veil before. There can’t be many people roaming about sewing expensive lace for fun.” Quinn nodded his head at Karl, who had decided to take that moment to leave.

                “What about me? Chief said we have to work together.”

                “Oh I remember. But he never said anything about you being a second shadow. I had all the old case files pulled. You start going through those, get familiar with the first four victims. There has to be something that they all had in common.”

                “I’m not some rookie cop you can push around. I know how to close cases.” Quinn chuckled and shook his head. Marconi’s attempt at asserting himself drew a few curious glances from the other officers in the room.

                “Good to know, Marco. Maybe you can do that now, by looking through the old stuff,” Quinn let a box crash down on Marconi’s desk. “Let me know when you find something.” With that, he calmly turned and walked away.

It was the second time in as many days that he’d seen her. Unlike most of the mainland population, he tried to avoid the island on the weekends. In fact, he made it a point to only cross Whitney Sound when absolutely necessary. Had he rescheduled as he originally intended, he would have missed her.

As he sat in his car, he watched undetected behind the dark tinted windows. She skipped across the street, her yellow dress dancing around her knees. She had an air of playfulness about her. It made his heart feel ever so slightly lighter. She was the one. He wasn’t one to believe in coincidence or fate, but this was certainly an opportunity he’d take advantage of.

#

                “I’ll give you $5 for the shirt, and $10 for the dress,” the woman announced as she unceremoniously dropped the items on the counter. Perturbed, I looked up from my book, now covered with clothes. To say that I was losing my patience was a massive understatement.

                “Ma’am, the prices are not negotiable. The price is as marked, and we cannot reduce it without prior consent from the original owner.” This isn’t a flea market, I wanted to add.

                “Well, that’s ridiculous! You expect me to pay $30 for something that’s already been worn, and not even in season.”

                “That dress is a Betsy Johnson from this spring. And the price tag hasn’t even been removed,” I politely responded. ‘The customer is always right’ was not a notion that applied to this situation. Clearly the woman had the money to spend. She was wearing head to toe Michael Kors, including her purse. I hate weekenders.

                “I think you’re mistaken. Is there someone else I can talk to about this?” Translation, there’s no way you know anything about designer wear and I’m done lowering myself by talking to you. I pulled my face into something close to a smile, and gritted my teeth.

                “Of course. If you’ll give me one moment I’ll bring the owner up front to speak with you.” I slid off of my stool and rounded the counted. Once my back was to her, I rolled my eyes and blew my brains out with an imaginary bullet that I, all too often, fired from my first and middle finger.

                “Excuse me.” I snatched my hand back like a little kid caught stealing from the candy bowl.

                “I’m sorry, if you’ll give me..” the words died in my throat. Dear God in Heaven was the only thought my brain could muster. The man before me was striking. Not that I wasn’t used to being in the presence of good-looking men. I swore Sadie had a glamor clause in the member’s agreement. Yet, his looks weren’t Adonis-like. He was only a few inches taller than I was, and an overly critical eye would find that his nose was a bit odd. Still, there was an overall attractiveness to him. Why, all of a sudden, I was unable to function surprised me.

                “Um, if you’ll excuse me,” I stammered, attempting to recover, “I need to help another customer. I’ll be right with you.” He smiled and bowed his head, but his eyes never left mine. Walking away, I tried to figure out what it was about him that made me lose myself. He’d said two words to me, nothing hidden in their meaning. He was nicely dressed, but at work I deal with mean in $1000 suits every day. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t as important as getting the designer-wearing cheapskate off my case.

                “Hey Leigha,” I poked my head through the office door. She waved me in, and I leaned against the wall just inside waiting for her to finish with the older woman.

                “Thank you so much, Mrs. Barnhard, for thinking of us,” Leigha stood to shake the woman’s hand. She wasn’t a very tall person, and certainly had a slight build. She looked sturdy, though. I smiled to myself and wondered, why were older women called sturdy? It seemed more an insult, being compared to a house or tree.

                “Nik. Nik,” I blinked my eyes back into focus. Mrs. Barnhard was facing me with an expectant look on her face. I was blocking her way out. Leigha stood behind her desk, impatiently waiving me out of the way.

                “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I offered lamely as I scurried out of the way.

                “It’s no problem, hun,” she said with a soft pat on my arm, “You looked a bit lost in thought. You might want to focus more.” I smiled in acceptance of the odd advice and closed the door behind her.

                “What’s up,” Leigha questioned.

                “There’s a lady out front who wants to pay $10 for the purple Betsey Johnson dress that came in last week. I’m apparently uneducated in the ways of high fashion and she wants to speak with someone more knowledgeable.”

                “There’s no way I’m taking ten bucks for that dress!”

                “Then perhaps you should explain it to her. I’m done trying.” There was another customer I needed to help.

                Leigha threw her head back in frustration, took a few deep breaths, and marched out. I followed behind, with much less determination and a lot more trepidation. Why had I told that guy I’d be back? I peeked around the rack were I’d left him, mildly relieved to find he wasn’t there. I had to stop looking for the Boogie Man. The poor guy was probably lost and in need of direction to the nearest champagne brunch.

                “Miss,” he gently called to me, placing a hand on my lower back. I’d like to say I subtly moved out of his reach to maintain a professional distance, but in reality I yelped and jumped about two feet into the air.

                “My apologies, I tried several times to get your attention. I’m waiting on my aunt, Amelia Barnhard. Might you know if she’s finished her meeting with your boss?” He offered a half smile.

                “She’s just over there at the counter,” I pointed out. “Had she been a snake she’d have bit you.” I raised my eyebrows in question. The space was on the cluttered side, but how he was unable to see the counter not ten feet away baffled me.

                “I suppose that was a poor attempt at trying to talk to you,” he admitted sheepishly. “But if I’d simply come in off the street and asked you out for coffee..”

                “I would have told her to say yes,” Leigha interrupted. I whipped around to face her, my expression a mix of shock and horror. The fact that she had the gall to feign innocence burned me even more. I knew she was on a campaign to end my ‘dry spell’, but I never thought she‘d resort to setting me up with absolute strangers.

                “I’m perfectly capable of accepting my own dates, thank you,” I bit out, then turned back to the man behind me, “and I’m sure I would have appreciated the invitation. I’m not ready to start dating, though.” For the briefest of moments, I saw what seemed to be indignation in the slight creasing of his brow and darkening of his eyes. As quickly as it had appeared, however, it was replaced by mild disappointment and renewing determination.

                “We never think we are ready for the rewards that await us,” he replied in a husky voice, gently sweeping back an errant curl and stroking my cheek with his thumb. “Hopefully, you will give me the chance to change your mind. I’d hate to think this is the last time I’m able to see you.”

                “Anything’s possible, I guess.” Blessedly, Mrs. Barnhard finished the remaining paperwork and rejoined her nephew.

                “Thank you, again, Mrs. Barnhard. I’ll be sure that your things find wonderful new homes.” I all but forgot that Leigha was still standing there. And she’d seen and heard the whole thing. I was being punished for something; there was no other explanation for the sudden downward spiral of my day. Leigha walked the couple to the door, and bid a final goodbye. I began looking for an escape.

                “Seriously, Nicole! ‘Anything’s possible’,” my best friend shrieked. “Sweetie, I love you, but that was so sad.”

                “You didn’t think he sounded cliché? He was trying way too hard.”

                “There are more sleazy approaches. He was just shy and nervous.”

                “You saw that thing he did with my hair, right? How on Earth was that shy?”

                “I’m not saying you have to marry the guy. Go out for drinks, see a movie, go to the beach. You spend all of your time trying to find lasting love for everyone else. When are you going to take care of yourself?”

                When I thought about it in those terms, Leigha had a point. One colossal mistake didn’t seem to be enough of a reason to give up on all future prospects. Replaying the events in my head, he’d been polite, respectful if not exceedingly familiar. There wasn’t any real reason for me to not go out with him. I was, however, at a disadvantage – he knew how to find me, but I had no idea who he was or how to get in touch with him.

                “Perfect. Thank you so much. And you’re right, they would make a very striking pair,” Leigha hung up the telephone.

                “Please tell me you didn’t,” I begged. That irritatingly innocent smile came back.

                “How else were you going to get his name and phone number? I must have missed the part of the conversation where you exchanged names and contact information.”

                I trudged over to my stool at the counter and collapsed onto it. “With all the hovering you were doing, I’m surprised you missed much of anything at all,” I quipped.

                “I’m only trying to help you, you know. Aren’t you the least bit curious?” She fanned a piece of paper in front of me, grinning from ear to ear. It was tempting, I’ll admit. One coffee couldn’t hurt.

                “Alright, tell me.”

                “Casey Holden, great-nephew of Amelia Barnhard, is twenty-nine, gainfully employed, and lives in Hopes Crest. I gave him your phone number. We both know you’d never call him.”

                “You got all of that from a two minute conversation?”

                “You’re welcome.”

I was either going to need to go shopping for a new ‘date’ outfit, or start coming up with some believable reasons to decline.

#

Quinn crossed yet another antique shop off the list. He’d been from one end of South Port to the other. It was the most time he’d ever spent in a store. Even when he was dating, he never went on shopping trips with any of his girlfriends. They’d inevitably want to buy him something to “brighten up his wardrobe.” Black and gray suited him fine. He could stay hidden in the background, pick up all the little bits of information that people carelessly gave away. That was how he’d advanced so much quicker than other guys in his division. He’d leave all the badge flashing and intimidating to clowns like Marconi. Now he was in Hopen, praying that he’d be able to get this done quickly and not have to endure another lesson in the finer points of lacemaking. He got out of the car and trudged across the street, dodging the sightseers and beachgoers.

Leigha’s Vintage Treasures and Consignment Boutique. This was going to be a painful experience. Quinn started to feel a dull ache behind his right eye – the beginnings of a migraine. With a heavy sigh, he opened the door and walked inside. It felt like he’d entered the closet of a neurotic teenaged girl.

“Please, tell me I can help you,” a female voice came from inside one of the clothing racks. No, it was behind the rack. A lithe red-head with doe eyes smiled at him. Quinn put her at about 120 pounds, probably in her mid to late twenties. She was very similar to the women who were victims of the killer – all but the most recent.

“Did you need to find something for your wife or girlfriend?” She continued to gaze up at him, an expectant gleam in her eye. Quinn assumed it had more to do with her hope that he was single than the possibility of another sale.

“Actually, I’m here on business not pleasure. My name is Corwin Quinn, I’m a detective with the major crimes division of the South Port Police Department. Are you the owner?” The little gleam went ablaze with interest.

“Well to tell you the truth, Detective, I’ve never seen a guy come in here on pleasure. Not a straight guy anyway,” she giggled at her own joke. Quinn smiled coolly. “I’m Leigha. Grayson.”

“I understand that you sell vintage clothing and antiques.”

“Not so much. This is more of a consignment shop than anything else. We only get the occasional estate pieces to sell,” she gasped. “You don’t think someone gave us stolen goods to sell, do you? I’m a small business, I take items on good faith.” The young woman was starting to panic.

“If that were the case, Ms. Grayson, you’d be talking to someone from the satellite office on the island. I only have a few questions for you,” Quinn pulled a small stack of photos from the folder tucked under his arm. “Have you receive or sold any items similar to these in the last few months?”

It took her a noticeable amount of time to redirect her focus to the pictures in his hands. Leigha shuffled through, but there wasn’t a spark of recognition.

“I’m sorry, Detective, I haven’t. I usually send all of the bridal customers over to Miss Millie’s.”

“Yes, I spoke with her as well. I thought I’d stop by all the same, in case you had an employee who might have seen something like this.”

“Nope, just little ol’ me here,” Leigha dipped her chin and peered up at Quinn through her eyelashes. A well-practiced move, he had no doubt. He took the photos out of her hand. “Oh,” she shot up. “Nik is here on the weekends. Maybe she saw something.” The woman scurried excitedly off to the back of the store.

“Really, Ms. Grayson, I don’t have much time.” Quinn had to get back to the ferry dock by four o’clock. After that, he’d be forced to take the bridge. Ancient ferry boats he could do. Suspension bridges always made him nervous. The fog made it worse. Leigha waved her hand back at him and continued on in her search of Nik, whoever he was.

Nik was certainly not a ‘he’. Another woman returned with Leigha, none too pleased to be dragged up to meet him.

“It’s bad enough there’s one random guy roaming about with my name and contact information. I’m not going to let you start throwing me at every Tom, Dick, and Harry that walks through the door!” Quinn was taken aback by the heated outburst. It wasn’t a reaction he was accustomed to getting from women.

“No one’s asking you to throw yourself at anyone. This is Detective Quinn. He’s here looking for information.”

“Oh. Okay, then. I’m not sure how much help I’ll be,” the second woman calmed down. “What is it that you need to know?” Quinn liked her. She was all business, despite having just embarrassed herself. He also noticed that she had given him the once over and didn’t bat an eye.

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Nicole James.”

“Thank you for your time, Ms. James, Have you seen or received any items similar to these?” Quinn handed her the pictures. She thumbed through them briefly and shook her head.

“Miss Millie gets all of the...”

“Bridal referrals, I know. Take a moment, please. Does any of it look familiar?” Quinn knew he sounded desperate, but he was reaching the end of his rope.

“Sorry, but no.” She returned the photographs to Quinn. “I’m not here on a regular basis, but if I should see something I’ll let you know.”

“Here’s my card,” Quinn reached for his back pocket and pulled out a rumpled white piece of paper. “If you see or remember anything, give me a call. Day or night.” The red head went for the card first.

“We most certainly will.” Quinn wasn’t sure if she was flirting with him, or if that was simply her personality. The Nicole woman rolled her eyes and turned to leave, only to spin back around abruptly.

“Have you talked to the ladies over at Sam’s Bakery?” Her face lit up, full of curiosity. Quinn’s brow creased in confusion. What did a bakery have to do with vintage fabrics? She sensed his bewilderment and continued.

“There’s a group of ladies that spend every Saturday down at Sam’s Bakery, watching the weekenders and trading island gossip. Right Leigha,” she looked excitedly at the other woman. “I bet they’d know something. I’m never sure of how, but those old ladies find out about everything.”

“Where is this located?” Quinn impatiently checked the time on his phone. He had forty minutes before the last ferry.

“Oh, I can take you,” Leigha volunteered. In that instant, the door opened and a trio of tanned women in broad brim sunhats sauntered past him. Quinn felt, and ignored, the three pairs of eyes.

“Do you have anything for a night on the town,” one asked, completely uncaring that she’d interrupted a conversation. Leigha sighed and went off to help her newest customers.

“Guess that leaves me, then,” Nicole groaned.

“If you’d prefer not too, I can find my own way.” That was true, but Quinn was resistant to the idea of taking on the town gossips on his own. He was pretty sure they’d be nothing like the group of old-timers his dad would meet up with down at the VA. His father hadn’t been there in over a year. Quinn shook off the memory and refocused.

“I don’t mind. Give me a minute to grab my bag.”

“Sure, no problem,” he glanced at his phone as it vibrated in his hand. There was a message from Marconi, checking in. “I’ve got a call to make. I’ll be outside.” He stepped out onto the sidewalk, the cool ocean breeze raising the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck.  Quinn paused. There was a slight chill in the air, but that wouldn’t have set him ill at ease. He searched the street around him, observing every person that walked past. To look less obvious, he dialed the number for Marconi’s desk.

“Marconi.”

“It’s Quinn. Did you find a link between the victims?” He continued his scan of the area. Something was off about this island, and he couldn’t wait to get back to the city.

“Yeah, I made a few notes, but nothing major jumped out at me. It’s all on your desk. I’ve got a thing this weekend, so you’re on your own.” So much for partnership.

“Yeah, alright.” Quinn ended the call. Nicole finally made her way outside, hitching her bag onto her shoulder.

“All set,” she smiled up at him politely. He chuckled to himself. Either she was just as off as everyone else in Hopen, or she was totally oblivious to the odd vibes the place was giving. Whatever it was, he was ready to be done with the whole thing.

The initial euphoria that he’d felt upon seeing her was so overwhelming that he’d convinced himself that there was no harm in returning. He’d always practiced a certain amount of self-restraint, but she was forcing him to break all of his rules. His reward was watching her leave the little store with a scruffy, darkly dressed man. He saw him walk in, and assumed that he was there to see the red head. Instead of walking in, he waited. If the two of them left together, as he was hoping, she would be left alone and he would have the opportunity to finally have her all to himself. The scruffy man stepped back outside, scanning the street as if he could feel that he was being watched. There was no fear of being found out – he was well out of view. Moments later, she joined the man just as he was ending a phone call. She smiled at him. It wasn’t an adoring smile, but it still irked him that she would so freely lavish a stranger with her grace and beauty. The man was beneath her, less than worthy to walk in her presence. He was the obvious match, the clear choice.

Beset with feelings of anger and betrayal, yet knowing it was for naught, he left. He must maintain control of both himself and the situation. He would wait. Observing the way she’d interacted with the man, he knew that she wasn’t interested. Though, the same could not be said for the man. He lusted after her; the way his eyes lingered over the swell of her cleavage, the sway of her hip told him as much. She is mine, his soul cried out. Should the man--or anyone else--interfere, he would simply resolve the matter.

#

                For the first time in a long while, I was happy to leave the house and go to work. Leigha had alternated between fantasizing about the detective and hounding me about Mrs. Barnhard’s nephew, Casey all of Saturday and into Sunday. I was only able to gain a reprieve by claiming I had a headache and going to bed at 6:30. For all her talk, a person would think she was the one who’d somehow gotten roped into future encounters with both men. Unfortunately, I was the one with the date with Casey and the meeting with Detective Quinn.

“Nicole,” the nasally voice of the receptionist blasted though my phone speaker. Unlike all of the other life sized dolls that worked in the office, Mallory was short, chubby, and down to earth. We were the two sore thumbs of Fusion Matchmaking.

“Yes, Mallory?”

“There’s a gentleman here to see you. I sent him on through.” How she’d managed not to get fired yet was beyond me. She wasn’t always one for protocol.

“Did you happen to get his name,” I asked. The exasperation in my tone was poorly masked.

“No, he said you were expecting him. But he was really cute and wearing a killer suit.” That described almost sixty percent of our male clientele. Thirty percent was made up of doctors and surgeons, who liked to show up in scrubs so we all knew that they’d come from the hospital. Sadie implemented a dress code at happy hour mixers for that very reason. The final ten percent were those rare finds – the guys who made the big bucks but were more than happy to stroll in wearing T-shirts and frayed blue jeans. I always enjoyed working with those men. Everyone else tried to ‘clean them up’; I thought it made them look real and approachable.

“Okay, Mallory. Thank you.” I released the intercom button just as my door opened.

“Good morning Ms. James, I’ve come for my debriefing.” Byron crossed the distance from the door to my desk with an air of ownership and control. Instead of sitting in the chairs provided for clients and guests, he propped a hip on the edge of my desk. I heard my papers crinkle beneath him. I took off my reading glasses and looked up at him.

“It isn’t necessary for you to sit on my desk. We can go over your reactions from Friday’s event just as well with you sitting over there,” I directed his attention to the turquoise and emerald chairs on the other side of the desk.

“If I did that, I wouldn’t be able to fully appreciate how beautiful you look today. Something must have happened this weekend to inspire such a glow.”

“Then it must be the new light bulbs that maintenance put in, I had the same uneventful weekend I always do. But we aren’t here to discuss my social life, Byron.”

“If you insist, Nicole.” He seemed a little exasperated by my response, but never dropped his cocky smile.

Once he’d situated himself in the chair I offered, I proceeded with the meeting. “I looked over your follow up card, and it seems that we’ve struck out yet again. I can’t help you if you aren’t going to be honest with me about what you’re looking for in a match.”

“I thought I made it perfectly clear what I’m looking for. All of the women you keep throwing at me are just the female version of me. I asked Sadie to let me work with you because I thought you would understand what I need. Don’t be like all those other she-bots. Stop looking at the profile, because I can tell you right now I lied on the entire thing.”

“You did what! Why would you do that when you know full well that’s how we get to know our clients?”

“If you want to successfully match me, and get another feather for your cap, you’ll have to deal with me – not the file.”

“I have dealt with you, Byron,” I countered. “You see this as a game. You don’t want a wife or even a girlfriend. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why you’re paying so much money for a service you could easily do without.”

“Your little friend seemed to do just fine with fixing me up, and I only spoke with her for five minutes.” The cook. I’d totally forgotten about Leigha’s ‘gift’.

“You failed to mention her in your follow up.”

“She didn’t last very long. It was hardly worth the time it would have taken me to write about it.”

“Then why mention her now?” I hated to admit it, but the man had a way of ruffling my feathers. I could see him coming a mile away, and yet he was constantly finding ways of getting under my skin.

“To prove my point. I never said I didn’t enjoy our brief tete-a-tete, in fact it was quite fulfilling.” He rose from the chair and checked his watch, with just enough flair to make me wince. “Find me a plain, simple, normal girl.” At that, he turned and left. How was I supposed to find a ‘simple girl’ willing to put up with his pompous attitude? I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the cook from the restaurant went running for the hills after Byron uttered the words ‘my yacht’ for the twentieth time.

I barely had time to recover and recompose myself before my door opened and Mallory’s head popped in.

“Hey Nicole,” I must have had a look of extreme annoyance because the poor girl began stumbling over her words. “Oh, Ms. James. You, uh. You have another, um, another visitor. Would you like me to show him in?”

“Is he standing behind you Mallory?”

“Yes. But I can take him back out if you’d like.”

“That won’t be necessary; you can have him come in. Thank you.”

Her head quickly pulled away from the door opening, like a turtle tucking its head into its shell. Next to appear, was the man from Leigha’s shop, Casey. It was my second time seeing him, and for the second time my brain was on system overload. The first thing I noticed was the look on his face. It was an odd blend of extreme focus and mild amusement. I also noticed that, again, he was impeccably dressed. I left my chair and walked around to greet him, and close the door to prying ears and eyes.

“I hope that I haven’t interrupted anything important. The gentleman I saw leaving a moment ago seemed none too happy.”

“Oh, no you’re perfect. I mean, fine. You’re perfectly fine,” I cringed at how obviously scatter-brained I sounded. “I’m not busy. Why don’t you have a seat?”

“Thank you, but no,” he smiled. “I hadn’t intended to stay. I just wanted to tell you it was a pleasure meeting you yesterday.”

“You could have called to do that. I’d hate to think you went out of your way because of me.”

“If I’d done that, I would have missed seeing how beautiful you look again today. And it would have been much harder to convince you to have dinner with me. You may not be ready to date, but I am quite capable at being a good friend, even if my reasons are selfish.” As he spoke, Casey stalked across the office towards me. Only when I collided with my desk did I realize that with each step he took, I was moving just as steadily in reverse. Even then, he continues his advance crowding my personal space, forcing me to sit on the edge of the desk. I felt like a rabbit caught in a snare. By the time he stopped, his legs were positioned on either side of mine. It took every ounce of control I had not to look down at the quasi-sexual position we were in. Instead, I kept my eyes glued to the hollow of his neck. The soft twill of his pants brushed against my bare knees, and I could feel the tension in his thighs as he subtly flexed his muscle. His warm breath fanned against my cheek as I watched the slow, deliberate rise and fall of his chest beneath the button-down shirt he wore.

Get a hold of yourself, my brain screamed at me. This was the very behavior that had gotten me into the whole mess with Dominic, and that turned into one giant ‘cluster’.

“Don’t worry, Nikki,” Casey gently whispered. “I only came here to thank you for the gift of your time and to seek the opportunity to enjoy it further.” He gathered my hand in his and, with eyes locked with my own, he brought it to his lips. I’d had my hand kissed before. It was usually really quick and really dry. What Casey did, in all fairness, I cannot call a kiss. His lips were soft, almost pillow-like. Rather than the chaste peck on the back of my hand, he caressed my fingers, just below my knuckles, with his lips. Finally, he did kiss the soft, fleshy crease between my third and fourth finger. Any part of me that hadn’t already melted was well on its way. “I will be calling on you very soon. Until then, I hope you think of me fondly.” I blinked, and he was on the other side of the door, pulling it closed. I was still sitting on the edge of my desk wondering how in the hell I’d allowed such a thing to occur. A small part of me wanted it to occur on a much more regular basis.

#

After an exhausting, and none too enlightening weekend of interviewing every antique store owner in the area, the last place Quinn wanted to be was back at work. The notes that Marconi made on the old case files were useless. There may well have been some good information there, but Quinn was damned if he could read it. Calling the scrawled words chicken scratch would have been an insult to chickens. Getting nowhere fast, he needed to step away and clear his head. Lunch at The Old Pub was just the break he needed. Nothing like smoke-filled air, a rugby match, and a corned beef sandwich to settle a guy’s nerves. Now, he was returning to the fray. Walking into the precinct, he was instantly met with sobering drunks who reeked of stale booze, combative prostitutes, and wannabe hoods.

“Hey Quinn,” the desk clerk yelled across the overcrowded room. “D.A.’s waiting on you.” That was all the information he could expect to get, yet it was more than he wanted. He automatically knew that she’d want one of two things. Quinn could only hope that this time it was work related.

In an effort to delay the inevitable, Quinn took the six flights of stairs up. He had no leads, no suspects, minimal evidence, ever mounting questions, and an impatient press hounding him daily. He could do without the overambitious district attorney looking for political advancement. Initially, her drive and dominating personality intrigued him. He was the new guy in the office, and she was the welcome wagon. Quinn later realized that the DA was looking for a lap dog. He’d quickly decided that he would let some other poor sap be at her every beck and call. Four flights up, Quinn started to feel winded. He was too young to feel as old as he did.

“Yeah,” he huffed answering his phone.

“You sound like you’re dying.”

“If I were, I’d hate to know that you were the last person I talked to. Is there a reason this couldn’t wait until I got upstairs, Marconi?”

“The way you sound, I can’t be too sure you’ll make it up here.” Quinn hung up the phone. Talking to Marco was like trying to have a conversation with one of his exes – nothing was ever resolved and he was always left even more frustrated. By the time he made it to his division, Marco was nowhere to be seen. In fact, almost the entire room was cleared. The few brave souls that remained were trying desperately to shrink out of sight behind their computers. Pricilla Dunn’s abrasiveness had the same effect on a room as a crazed gunman – people either ran or tried to duck and cover to avoid being hit by a stray bullet. When it came to Quinn, she was a sniper with a laser sight.

“Corwin.” Somehow, whenever she said his name it sounded like a cross between a purr and a growl. It never sounded good.

“S’there something I can help you with Ms. Dunn?” Quinn made no attempt to hide his wariness or irritation at her visit.

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise. I understand you were able to get some information regarding the veils used to cover the victims.”

“We have some preliminary stuff, but nothing to write a warrant for. The veils are old. That’s all we know.”

“I was hoping for more than that, Corwin.” Pricilla crossed her arms under her bust. “Surely you understand the importance of having this matter resolved quickly.” How she was able to be flirtatious and hateful at the same time boggled his mind.

“I get calls from the families every week begging for information and updates that I don’t have. I’ve got a pretty clear understanding of how important this is.” Quinn’s already sour mood was rapidly deteriorating.

“Good. I’d hate to think,” before she could issue her hollow threat Marconi sauntered out of Chief Campbell’s office.

“Hey Quinn, ‘bout time you made it.” Quinn decided not to respond to the taunt. Marco had just saved him from further conversation with Pricilla.

“Duty calls, Ms. Dunn.” Not caring whether or not she had more to say, Quinn turned his back and focused his attention on Marconi.

“What’ve you got?”

“Victim number two had a boyfriend,” Marco’s words tumbled out of his mouth almost uncontrollably.

“How long have you been waiting to say that,” Quinn shook his head. He settled in to his chair and pulled the victim’s file from the box under his desk. Pricilla was still there; he was still ignoring her. Marconi looked between the two as though he were at a tennis match. Everyone in the precinct knew D.A. Dunn. She had an unnerving desire to be actively involved in every case she might take to trial. She was at the crime scene. She was in the Medical Examiner’s office. She was behind the glass during an interrogation. Not even a simple interview was conducted without her ever watchful eye. This was police work, real honest to God crimes that involved real people – she was treating it all like a primetime television show. Pricilla Dunn was always underfoot, and all in the name of an election. Quinn wasn’t going to give her a modicum of control.

“Don’t talk to her. Tell me about the boyfriend. Where’d you get this from?” Quinn had read over the cases so many times he had memorized them.

“I was going through all the interviews done right after the vic, um Cass something-or-other, went missing.”

“Marche,” Quinn interjected. “Her name was Cassandra Marche. What was in the interviews?”

“Well it looks like some small-time reporter talked to the sister during a neighborhood vigil. She mentioned something about Marche being excited about a new guy, and how terrible it was that something like this could happen just when her sister was getting back on track. Turns out the guy had a heart and came to us with the information before running the story.”

“What was the reporter’s name? Which detective did he talk to?”

“That’s the thing. No one ever followed up.”

“Alright. See if you can find the news article, and track down that reporter. If we’re lucky, maybe he’ll remember more of what the sister said. I’ll talk with the family and see if they ever met the boyfriend. Try not to let on that we dropped the ball, Marconi.”

 “I need to be there when you talk to the family, Corwin,” Pricilla cut in.

“No need for that Ms. Dunn,” Quinn brushed past her on his way to the elevator. “I’ll be sure to fill you in before your next press conference.”

Quinn walked out into the hall and stopped alongside Marconi. The two men exchanged looks, commiserating over the pain of dealing with such an exacting woman. Marconi shook his head and suddenly became engrossed in the toe of his shoe. Then his shoulders began bouncing erratically. Quinn turned to face him, intent on finding out what his partner was doing. Marconi, finally unable to contain himself, let loose with a burst of laughter.

“What the hell did you see in that woman?” Marconi managed to cough out the words as he tried, and failed, to calm himself. “Even I knew better than to try that one.”

“She has a nice ass.” The elevator doors opened, and the two men stepped inside. Quinn chuckled, and pushed the button to get to the main floor. “And you wouldn’t have lasted five minutes with her.”

“I just don’t want to waste my talent.” Marconi tried for smug and suave. Quinn rolled his eyes upward and watched the numbers tick down.

The elevator doors slid open and the detectives were greeted by the ever present stench and chaos of the precinct’s main processing and holding room. Turning a blind eye, the men wove through the crowd of desks and people. There seemed to be more activity than usual, Quinn noted. Uniformed cops were running in and out, and the dispatcher’s voice sounded frenzied over the radio.

“Where the hell have you ladies been,” the desk officer yelled red in the face.

“Dunn.” That was Quinn’s only response.

“Who’s looking for us,” Marconi asked as he shoved an ‘alleged’ drug dealer back down into his seat to finish waiting his turn for processing.

“You got a body,” the officer barked.

“While police and hotel ownership are unable to provide details of the death, our sources have confirmed that it has been ruled a homicide. Stay tuned to News 19 for continuing coverage of this story.

The governor met with leaders of...”

#

                The timing could not have been more perfect if he’d planned it that way. Observing the commotion at the hotel, he smiled to himself when he saw the scruffy man, the detective, trudge wearily through the lobby. Another body would certainly keep the interloper busy and far away from his Nicole, saving her from the agony of the man’s depraved advances. Nicole. Finally knowing her name made him feel all the more close to her. It was such a fitting name – one that he would relish whispering to her in the dark, beckoning her, adoring her, claiming her.

                Sad little Dulcie squandered her life, but with his help, her death was invaluable.

#

                By the time I left the office, my body was tense and my mind was buzzing. Replaying the day’s events as I slogged through traffic, I began to wonder if peddling the illusion of ‘happily ever after’ was something I was really meant to do. After the usual unproductive meeting with Byron, and Casey’s unannounced visit, I was summoned to Sadie’s office. Poor Mallory must have apologized a dozen times or more while relaying the message to me. I’d have to remember to be a little more polite to her or at the very least less impatient.

                My initial thought was that Byron had changed his mind and finally agreed to have Sadie serve as matchmaker. My hope was that he decided to no longer remain a client and return to his bar-hopping playboy ways. Either scenario would have ended poorly for me professionally, but being free of Byron Fields was worth it. Surprisingly, neither was the reason I had to make the long trip up to the twentieth floor.

                “Nicole,” Sadie announced, as though unsure of the reason I was in her office. She was sitting at her desk, which was actually a Victorian era dining table. The woman was nothing if not flamboyant.

                “I was told that you needed to meet with me Mrs. Goodwin.”

                “Yes, have a seat. First, you should know that I was rather surprised at the success of your first event this past weekend. I find that exceeding expectations is far better than meeting them, don’t you agree?” Unsure if I’d been insulted or praised, I simply smiled and mumbled my agreement.

                “As to the reason I called you here, I’m disappointed in your recruitment and reference numbers for this quarter. Fusion is a business, first and foremost. It cannot survive without new clients, and it is the responsibility of the Matchmakers to find those new clients. When I started Fusion, I didn’t sit around with my fingers crossed waiting for love-sick lonely men to come and ask me for help. I didn’t wait until broken hearted women came to me looking for their prince charming. I found them. I told them they needed help. I told them I had exactly what they were looking for. Now, I have a multi-million dollar corporation.” Sadie got up from her chair and rounded the table. “I need you to treat this like a business, not some school-girl fairytale. Boost your numbers by the end of the quarter, or I’m not sure we’ll have a place for you here.”

                “Understood, ma’am,” was all I could manage as I stood to excuse myself. I could feel the heat of my anger and embarrassment creeping up my neck and around my ears. To think, not three days ago I was hopeful of a promotion. How could I be expected to bring in twenty new clients while simultaneously trying to coordinate matches for just as many current members? More importantly, why was I the only one actually interested in helping those people find meaningful and lasting relationships? I’d made the mistake of rushing headlong into building a life with Dominic; my conscience wouldn’t let me lead others to that same fate. Lost in my musings, and hypnotized by the on and off glow of brake lights ahead of me, I nearly missed the ringing of my phone.

                “This is Nicole,” I spoke loudly so I could be heard through the phone’s speaker.

                “I know who it is woman, I called you,” Leigha responded.

                “Then you know I’m in the middle of traffic and I can’t see my phone right now. What’s up?”

                “I’ve got a last minute dinner meeting for another estate sale. Looks like you’re on your own tonight.”

                “Alright.” I wished her luck with the sale and hung up. Without Leigha in the house, I’d be free to wallow in my frustration for a bit longer before I forced myself into action to save my job. I decided to make an ice cream run.

                Three hours and half a pint of Sundae Best later, I had forgotten about my work day and was staring absentmindedly at the television when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but that didn’t stop me from answering.

                “This is Nicole.”

                “Hi dear, this is Molly from the bakery. Sam told me about your police friend that you brought by last weekend.”

                “He’s not my friend Miss Molly,” I pinched the bridge of my nose in an effort to stave off the looming headache. “I was only trying to help him answer a few questions.”

                “Well, Sam said he was quite the handsome fellow. A bit moody and unkempt, mind you, but handsome all the same.”

                “Was there something that you needed me to do for you Miss Molly?” I had precious few hours to spend relaxing before it was off to bed, only to wake up and torture myself all over again.

                “Of course, dear. The ladies, well we got to talking over tea this afternoon about the lace that policeman had pictures of. Ellie seemed to recall a woman from the island years ago who had a little sewing shop in the village. She couldn’t remember her name unfortunately, not that I’m surprised. Poor Ellie barely remembers when to meet for tea, and that happens every day at the same time.” There had to be a point to all of this rambling. More importantly, why was I the one on the receiving end of this information?

                “Miss Molly, don’t you think this is something you should be talking to Detective Quinn about?”

                “Oh heavens no! I don’t like police, never did. I was arrested once. Bet you didn’t know that, huh? Yes ma’am I was quite the wild one in my youth.” There was a story coming, I could feel it. Miss Molly had already started her spontaneous jaunt down memory lane. I was not letting her drag me along for the ride.

                “Alright, alright Miss Molly. I’ll give Detective Quinn a call and arrange a meeting for you. I’ll tell him to come to the bakery during your usual tea and you can tell him all about the old sewing shop. I’m sure he’d love to hear it.” I said a quick goodbye and immediately hung up the phone. I’d been taught to respect my elders, but I refused to listen to Miss Molly tell me yet another tale of her days as a cigarette girl in Vegas.

                After finding Detective Quinn’s business card in the bottom of my purse, I dialed his number. With every ring, I willed him to not answer. Leaving a message would allow me to remain at a distance with this whole murder thing; I had absolutely no interest in playing junior detective.

                “Quinn.” Nothing would come out of my mouth. I was so stunned by the abrupt and rather gruff way in which he answered the phone that the words were frozen in my throat. Then he hung up. I snapped my jaw shut, not having realized that it was hanging open like a gaping fish. I quickly redialed the number, determined to keep my wits about me. After two rings, he answered again.

                “Quinn,” he barked. It sounded even more aggressive than before. My tongue turned to lead and my stomach did a somersault. “Look I don’t have time for this bullshit. If this is how you get your rocks off, you picked the wrong…”

                “It’s me Detective. Nikki. I mean Nicole James, from the consignment shop. You gave me your card. You said I should call you. I mean, I needed you. No I don’t actually need you. I have something you’re interested in?” The words were tumbling out head over heel, without any sense or order to them. I couldn’t hear anything but a lot of muffled voices, many of them just as aggressive sounding as his. I smacked my head, realizing that I probably sounded like some attention starved bimbo with the IQ of a gnat.

                “Ms. James this really isn’t the best time to talk about this. I’m flattered, really, that you thought to call me. And if things weren’t so crazy I’d be more than willing to help, in whatever way you ‘needed’ me.” I could hear the smug, confident smile that was no doubt plastered across his face. Someone in the background started talking, but I could only pick up part of the conversation.

                “…girl checked in…maid…body.”

                “Listen Ms. James, I’ll come by after we get this wrapped up. Text me the address.”

                “No, really. That isn’t,” but before I could tell him that he didn’t need to make the trip, Quinn had hung up. Again.

                What was it about me all of a sudden that had guys jumping out of the woodwork? Well, perhaps I was exaggerating, but only slightly. I blamed Leigha. I was perfectly fine and flying well under the radar before she told me I needed to get laid. Now, it seemed that my dry spell was public knowledge and everyone wanted to be the one to help me end it. So, instead of giving the nice police man the location of my home, I decided I would send him a message to come by my office when he had a free moment. Maybe I could kill two birds with one stone – tell him about tea with Miss Molly and company, and rope him in as a new client. Determined to finally relax and enjoy the rest of the night without interruption, I turned off my phone and increased the volume on the television.  

#

                Quinn dropped the phone into his jacket pocket just as Marconi and Karl were approaching. All of the real commotion was upstairs, but Quinn had decided to check out the lobby first. Downstairs was business as usual – the desk clerks continued to check in guests, drinks were still being served in the bar Whitney Luxus Hotel was well known for its discretion and elite clientele. The fact that little was being said about the young girl found in one of the suites was not surprising – dead bodies tended to put a damper on business. What Quinn couldn’t understand, however, was how she would have been able to pay for the over-the-top suite.

                “You get anything from the manager yet,” Marconi asked as he sidled up to Quinn.

                “Nah. He wasn’t around at the time the victim checked in, but he went to get the desk clerk from that night. We also need to get the security tape, see if we can see who she came in with.”

                “How do we know she wasn’t alone?”

                “How did you make detective, really? She’s barely in her twenties, a hundred fifty dollars in cash, no credit cards, and no valet ticket. What about that doesn’t say ‘a second person’?” Quinn didn’t wait for an answer. He tilted his head at the manager, and walked over to the main desk. He’d have to talk to Chief again about pulling Marco.

                “Are you the one that checked the guests into suite 601?”

                “Yes,” the younger man replied shakily, “but it was just the woman. From what I could tell, she didn’t have anyone with her.”

                “You’re sure there wasn’t someone sitting in the lobby waiting on her?” The desk clerk shook his head vigorously. Quinn refused to believe that this girl walked in off the streets, alone, and checked into a suite for three nights. “How was the room paid for?”

                “I took the liberty of having the bill pulled up for you,” the manager cut in. “The name used was B.B. Poule. The room was paid for with a credit card. And there’s a notation that she wished not to be disturbed until today.” The last bit of information was given with slight hesitation, which Quinn picked up on. He quirked his eyebrow, but withheld his opinion.

                “Excuse me.” All three men at the desk looked up in surprise at the intrusion. Karl hitched his bag onto his shoulder and noisily made his way over, evidence kit and camera equipment banging against his knees as he walked. “What did you say her name was?”

                “B.B. Poule,” the manager answered the same time Quinn asked, “Do you know her?”

                “No, of course not. It’s just that her name, Poule, she was making a joke. She told you that she was a prostitute.” Karl’s eyes darted from one man to the next, looking for some spark of recognition. “It’s quite clever actually. If you pronounced the whole thing in French, it would be bébé poule – baby hooker.”

                “So I get using a fake name to check in, but I don’t see her being the type to come up with something like that on her own. Why would she call herself a baby hooker?” Quinn was getting the distinct feeling that they were being toyed with. That feeling was confirmed when Marconi approached.

                “I just got off the phone with the M.E. They found something in her mouth. I don’t think you’re going to like it, though.”

                “Just say what it is, Marco.”

                “It was a lace handkerchief.”

                “Son of a…” Quinn knew what this meant. If the killer was making changes to his M.O. there was little to no guarantee that Quinn would be able to get ahead of the guy. “Karl, I need you to get that lace and see if it fits into the age timeline of the veils. If this is someone else, I want to know about it immediately.” The crime tech made for the elevators as quickly as his load would allow. Quinn turned back to Marconi, “You go with the manager and get all the video of the lobby, bar, elevators, and the hall outside the room. Find out who that girl came in with. If he showed his face at all, I want to see it.” The two men left immediately and made their way to the security room.

                What was it about this woman that made the killer pick her? Why was he deviating from his pattern? Quinn, too, made his way to the suite. He’d taken a cursory look at the room when he first arrived on scene. But with photographers and techs swarming about and the medical examiner fussing over the body, there was little that could be done until some people cleared out. Now, as he walked in, Quinn could get a better feel for the room. It was definitely one of the nicer rooms that The Luxus had to offer – which also meant it was the nicest room Quinn had ever been in. He was sure the same could be said for the girl.

                The blankets and bed sheets had been turned down on one side. Continuing his perusal of the room, Quinn also noticed that only one set of bath towels had been used, and the tub still held a scant amount of water in it. Everything about the space said ‘one occupant’, with the exception of the desk chair that had been pulled alongside the bed. The killer sat there and watched her die. But why would he stay? Did he get off watching the life slip silently out of her body?

                “Karl,” Quinn called out looking for the young tech.

                “He’s already on his way back to the lab.” A crime tech Quinn wasn’t familiar with passed along the information while scanning the bed with a black light. He didn’t say it, but Quinn knew nothing would show up.

                “Did he get photos of the body before the M.E. took her?”

                “Saul takes the pictures. Karl was only here long enough to bag the handkerchief.” The tech was obviously bitter towards Karl, but Quinn didn’t have the energy to find out why.

                “I need this chair dusted for prints and samples taken of the bath water and soaps. If you find anything else that looks off, I want a photo and samples. When you’ve run them, get back to me. Only me.” The tech nodded in understanding and set off on the task of gathering the meager evidence that was left for them. Compared to what they were – or were not – able to find at the previous crime scenes, this hotel room was chock-full of clues.

#

                I wasn’t sure what time I’d fallen asleep. I didn’t even realize that I had until the constant knocking in my dream turned out to be an overeager person at the front door.

                “Jeez, Leigha! I swear if you locked yourself out again I’m going to leave you out there!” I stumbled off the couch, letting the blanket and ice cream carton fall out of my lap. “Ouch! Son of a…freaking chair.” I was making so much noise running into furniture and stomping to the door that I missed the fact that the person stopped knocking and was listening to me grumble to myself. I slapped the switch on the wall to turn on the porch light. The shadow that I saw was definitely not Leigha’s.

                “Who is it?” Everyone on the island would be in their own homes, so that ruled out anyone that I may know. There was some weird unwritten law that all residents be at home, doors locked by nine o’clock. Mainlanders were more of a weekend occurrence, and any who did cross the sound would have returned home. The ferry made its last shuttle hours ago, and the fog made the bridge a nightmare to cross.

                “It’s Casey, Nicole. Leigha said you might need someone to keep you company.” Leigha knew I didn’t mind solitude, but her being out so late was a rare thing. And she was prone to worry, if not very often. I opened the door and smiled hesitantly at my late-night caller.

                “I didn’t realize you and Leigha were on such familiar terms.” He walked through the door into the tiny foyer with grace and confidence. I began to wonder if his formal nature had an off switch – the guy was wound fairly tight. I showed Casey into the living room, hastily scooping up the empty ice cream carton to throw it away.

                “She’s been trying to convince me of your finer attributes, not that I’d need much convincing. You are quite an alluring woman. I apologize if I caused you any alarm.” I felt his eyes follow me around the small space until I finally settled an arm chair across the room from where he sat on the couch..

                “You seem to do that a lot, apologize I mean.”

                “I have, haven’t I,” he chuckled, the corners of his lips upturned slightly. I half expected him to say that he was sorry again. Instead, he simply sat there and continued to watch me. Sure, the guy looked like he was straight out of a J. Crew ad, but something about his demeanor felt disingenuous. I learned the hard way with Dominic. He was flat out gorgeous – tall, toffee skin, hazel eyes, smile that could make the sun rise. I probably knew from the very beginning that something was off, but I stupidly shoved that nagging feeling into the background and forgot about it. Then I found out he was married.

                “When exactly did Leigha call you? Last I spoke to her; she said she’d be in a dinner meeting and then coming straight home.”

                “She didn’t call, actually. I saw her as she was going into the restaurant for what I assume was her meeting. She mentioned that you were at home, most likely nursing an ice cream and watching sappy romance movies.” I was going to kill her. Just then, the sound of keys in the door caught both of our attention. Leigha came stomping into the house, chattering excitedly into her phone. She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of me and Casey in the living room. If she were a cartoon, her heels would have made a screeching sound. She immediately ended the call and joined us.

                “Well isn’t this cozy,” she cooed. “But, Nik, if you’re going to invite a boy over to make out on the couch while you pretend to watch movies, you should probably be sitting with him.”

                “I need to talk to you. Now!” I practically lunged at her, all but dragging her into the kitchen.

                “Why did you send him over here,” I demanded.

                “I didn’t. Hello? Do I look stupid? I may try to fix you up on dates, but I’m not going to send strange men to our house without telling you.” She had a point. Still, I wasn’t ready to calm myself down.

                “But you did tell him I was here. Alone.”

                “No, again. We’re roommates. If I’m not home, common sense would tell anyone that you were alone.”

                “Well, I could have company.” Leigha crossed her arms over her chest and stared at me.

                “Really? You basically told the guy that you were single and without prospects when we were at the shop last weekend.”

                She was right. I told a complete stranger that I was alone, and then welcomed said stranger into my home, at night. While I was alone.

                “Fine. I’m sorry.” With shoulders slumped, I walked slowly back to the livingroom.

                “Look, Casey,” I started, easing into the rejection, “I appreciate your concern, and that you stopped by, but I’m still not interested. I don’t know how else to say it to make you understand.” His amiable smile didn’t falter, but I could have sworn I saw his eyes narrow and his jaw clench.

                “As I’ve told you before, I have no intention of pressuring you into anything. I’m here merely as a concerned friend. Surely you still have need of those, Nicole.” Well, crap.

                “I tell you what, why don’t we stick to daytime encounters in public places. No more surprise pop-ins in the middle of the night.”

                “Of course.” Casey rose from the couch and made for the front door. I followed him, opening the door and seeing him out. He stopped abruptly and I crashed into his back. Turning to face me, he said in a low whispering voice, “I can only promise to be your friend for so long. Then, I’m going to do everything in my power to make you want me.”

                It was now time to show his darling Nicole how committed he was to ensuring her peace and happiness. Her wayward roommate was experiencing a sudden influx of clients wishing to use the tiny shop for estate sales. This, of course, was all thanks to a few referrals made to close friends with aging or deceased relatives.  The detective was engrossed in his investigations. He was amused by the irony of the situation. He’d known from the beginning that the few breadcrumbs he left would eventually lead someone back to him. It was never his intention to perpetrate the perfect crime. Yet now, his past transgressions were creating the perfect distraction giving him the means to his long desired end. His steadfast resolve to remain in control of himself, no matter how painful, was paying off tenfold. He felt certain that this time, with this one, everything would be different. His Nicole would realize that he was her best and only option. How foolish he’d been to think the women before her were worthy or deserving of him. In his desire to find his true match, he had wasted his time trying to force misshapen pegs into the hole in his heart that could have only ever been filled by her beauty and light. It wasn’t the fault of the other women, though. They knew that what he asked of each of them was impossible for them to accomplish. None would have fulfilled his needs the way his Nicole would. Unfortunately, they all paid for his mistake with their life.

                Now there would be no mistakes. Now, his love would not be spurned. Now, he would be complete.

#

                The next three days went by at a glacial pace. The fact that it was Friday did little to lift my spirits.  I had two follow up dates to plan, which meant that I potentially had four satisfied clients. It also meant that I’d be closing four accounts. That was the last thing that I needed since coming under scrutiny for my lack of recruitment skills. Closed accounts meant no money. The less money you brought in, the less useful you were to the Sadie Goodwin Empire.

What I did need, was a miracle. Detective Quinn was a bust. I hadn’t heard from him since I’d accidentally invited him for a late night booty call. A man like him didn’t strike me as the type who’d need the services of a novice matchmaker anyway. He was tall, ruggedly handsome, well built, and protected damsels in distress for a living. The man probably had a different woman in his bed every night of the week. And they all probably left sore but well satisfied.  Unlike me. No, I didn’t care about him, his women, or how lucky they all were to actually be getting some. I didn’t need that kind of drama and distraction in my life. Once I set up the meeting between him and Miss Molly, I’d wash my hands of him and focus on more important things – like my career.

Leigha suggested I advertise my services in the shop, since we were both targeting the same market. I tended to agree with her, so I put up a poster advertising an open mixer and a few business cards. I wasn’t going to put a lot of money into the idea simply because there wasn’t a lot to spend. I’d reuse the same restaurant as before, cut the refreshments to light finger foods, and dump the rest of my meager budget into the open bar. It’d be a slight step up from the standard bar or club scene, and to satisfy the need for a profit margin the whole thing would be ‘pay-to-play’. The more my plan came together, the more I felt tiny pieces of my soul being chipped away. The sudden ring of my phone jerked me back from the edge of despair I was dancing on.

“Nicole James,” I answered wearily.

“I’ve got to admit, that was not the reception I was expecting after our little chat the other night.” His voice was deep and slightly gravelly. I scrambled to refocus myself – I needed to sound like the professional woman that I was, not a sex-starved idiot.

“Detective Quinn, thank you for finally getting back to me. I’m sure you have a busy schedule so I’ll try to make this quick.” I paused, expecting him to say something. All I got was silence so I continued, “I recently got a call from one of the older ladies on the island who said she’d like to meet with you to discuss the veils your investigating.” I paused again, still nothing. “Anyway, the ladies always meet for tea at Sam’s Bake Shop at ten o’clock. Ask for Miss Molly.”

“I was under the impression you’d be there as well.”

“No. Why would I be there? You asked for help, I pointed you in the right direction. Now, you do your job and I can continue on with my life as if nothing happened.”

“What if I…what if I asked nicely?” The detective’s voice dropped to a whisper. It wasn’t a flirtatious thing, more like he didn’t want anyone else to hear what he was saying.

“You’re not scared of a bunch of little old women are you Detective,” I couldn’t keep the laughter out of my voice. “I’m sure they won’t bite. Big, strong man like you should certainly be able to hold his own against a few retirees.”

“So, you think I’m big and strong?” Before I could respond, a bouquet of calla lilies walked into my office.

“Hold that thought,” I rested the phone on my shoulder and addressed the flowers. “Mallory? Why are you hiding behind those flowers?”

“These just came for you, Ms. James.” Her head popped out from behind the massive arrangement giving her a better view of where she was walking. It was a good thing, too, because she was on a collision course with my chairs.

“Who brought them?” No one I knew would send me flowers, but I wouldn’t put it past one of the clients to send them as a ‘thank you’ for helping them find their future husband or wife.

“It was dropped off at security downstairs. I’m not sure who it’s from, but there’s a card attached. Want me to read it?”

“I can do that myself, Mallory,” I heard a chuckle on the other end of the phone.

The young woman smiled sheepishly and turned to the door. Just before passing through the open door, she turned back and added, “Whoever he is, he really cares. All I ever get are daisies from the supermarket.”

 I nodded, remembering a time not so long ago when I got excited over limp roses and chocolates from the corner store. Looking at the bouquet, it was easy to tell that whoever sent them spent a considerable amount of money. Two dozen full size white lilies were nestled amongst dark green palm leaves all arranged in a sleek rectangular crystal vase. The entire thing was massive in height and weight. How Mallory was able to carry it into my office was any wonder.

Tucked in the flowers, I found an envelope with a hand-written card inside. The writing wasn’t one that I recognized, but the shop owner could have written the card. Reading the message, however, made me ill. We are bound to each other...

“Ms. James? Hello?” The voice was muffled, as the phone was still tucked between my chin and shoulder. I was only half aware of the caller on the other end on the line. “Nicole!” it was the familiarity and sense of urgency in his tone that finally brought me back to the Detective.

“Yes, Detective. I guess I zoned out for a moment there.” I was still staring at the card, trying to discern who would have written the cryptic words. “You were saying something?”

“It wasn’t that important, don’t worry. Listen, I appreciate you setting up the meeting,” I didn’t hear any of the rest of what he said. Turning the card over I found the second half of the message - …’til Death do us part.

The details of what happened after are sketchy at best for me. Apparently I threw the vase of flowers across the room, because one of the janitorial staff was now busy sweeping up shattered crystal and bruised flowers. A puddle of water was soaking through the plush gray carpet, ruining it and the padding underneath. I wondered if Sadie would make me pay for the area to be replaced. Mallory, bless her heart, was attempting to console me by rubbing my back and muttering useless phrases like ‘there, there’ and ‘you’ll get through this’. She even made me a cup of her foul smelling herbal tea. Despite her best efforts, she made me feel even more helpless and vulnerable. And then there were the other women in the office who suddenly had to use the bathroom on my end of the hall – a thinly veiled attempt to find out what fresh drama was brewing. They were also clambering over each other to catch a glimpse of Detective Quinn, who was struggling to extract some scrap of useful information from the building’s security coordinator.

“You’re the head of security for a multi-million dollar corporation, and you’re telling me you have no way of knowing who walks in and out of these doors? Even better, you let them make deliveries without identifying themselves?” Watching the detective battle for control over his anger and irritation, I began to wonder at his motives in all this. Sure, he was an officer of the law and it was his duty to protect the public, but couldn’t he have sent any uniformed officer to take statements and file a report?

“It was just some stupid flowers,” I mumbled to no one in particular.

“What’s that sweetie?” Mallory’s hand stopped midway up my back. I was thankful for the pause; she was rubbing so persistently that my skin was raw and I was sure there was now a hole in my blouse. Quinn, satisfied that the security coordinator was thoroughly emasculated, came and crouched in front of me with a glass of water. He smirked when I thrust the cold, gray tea into his hands and gulped down the refreshing drink greedily. Hopefully Mallory didn’t see me. I knew she meant well, but I was sure whatever she put in that mug would have killed me.

“They were just flowers. I don’t need all of this…this fuss because I didn’t like the flowers.” I could see that Detective Quinn was going to argue me down from that point, but Sadie chose that precise moment to grace us all with her presence. With a critical eye she surveyed the room, finally settling on the obvious – Detective Quinn. She homed in on him like a shark to chum in the water.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself. Clearly our little Nicole doesn’t need all of this attention for something so silly and trivial. There is still a business to keep running.”

“I think it’d be best to let the South Port Police Department decide what is trivial.” Detective Quinn stood up and positioned himself between myself and the rest of the room. He looked as though he were shielding me from further attack. Sadie noticed as well, yet her ire was directed at me and not the man blocking her.

“Who might you be? Someone from our fine police department, no doubt.” I could tell her already cool demeanor was turning ice cold. This was her building, and we were her people. To have an outsider, and one of a lower class at that, come in and tell her what to do was unfathomable. Sadie did not suffer the poor, stupid, or weak. To his credit, the detective never once flinched.

“Detective Corwin Quinn, ma’am. I was speaking with Ms. James on the phone when she became distressed upon receiving the flowers and death threat.” I cringed at his words. In one fell swoop he managed to get me three strikes: 1) personal phone calls at work, 2) receiving romantic gifts while at work, and 3) allowing personal relationship problems to interfere with work. Everything boiled down to efficiency and effectiveness with that woman. It was our life’s focus to help the rich, powerful, and popular find each other, marry, and create more rich, powerful, popular people. I was really hating my job. Even more, I was hating the self-appointed protector standing before me. If I didn’t want to work at Fusion anymore I’d quit. His big mouth was going to get me fired.

“Actually, Mrs. Goodwin, umph.” I tried to cut in by nudging Detective Quinn out of my way. It was like trying to push over a ten inch brick wall with a feather. Getting the idea, he took pity on me and moved himself to the side, ignoring my glare. “Actually, I was speaking to the detective about the open mixer that I’ve put together for potential clients.” It was now his turn to glare at me. The side of my face started to burn a little, but I brushed it off. “I’d met Detective Quinn on the island and noticed how much attention he garnered from the women, young and old. I think he’d be the perfect thing to draw in more middle tier female clients. And once we have them, the men will surley follow.”

“And this ‘open mixer’, you came up with it on your own?” I probably should have been insulted at the insinuation that I wasn’t creative enough for such an idea, but I let it slide. She was forgetting about the dramatic scene that had just taken place.

“Absolutely. I took what you said in our meeting to heart, and I really think this will be an effective way to draw in a new type of clientele.” Sadie’s eyes flashed at the prospect of more money coming in. One crisis averted.

“Very well. Get this mess cleaned up. You’ve got work to do my dear. So do you, Mallory.” The younger woman yelped like a puppy that’d been kicked and quickly made her escape. Sadie raked her eyes over Detective Quinn one final time and then stalked out of my office, sending the small crowd outside my door scattering and scrambling for cover. The janitor was long gone; a faint water stain on the floor now the only remaining evidence of what had transpired. Under the guise of collaboration, the security coordinator grumbled something about surveillance tapes and made a hasty exit as well. That left me, and a very red-faced police detective.

“I’m not going to be your bait for desperate, lonely women looking for a meal ticket.”

“Then, I’m not going to sit in a bakery drinking peppermint tea and eating scones listening to a bunch of old biddies talk about the good old days.” I crossed my arms over my chest and looked at him as if to say, ‘so there’. I knew it was childish, but I needed this event to work.

“I don’t think my girlfriend would appreciate me whoring myself out for another woman.”

“But she’d be okay with you ‘whoring’ yourself out for her? She sounds like a real peach.”

“Fine, there’s no girlfriend. I still won’t do it.”

“Eat enough scones for me then. And watch out for Valerie Tharp, she’s a bit hands-y from what I understand. Young thing like yourself,” shaking my head, I trailed off the rest of the sentence  in dramatic fashion.

“Alright. I do this meat market thing, you go with me to the old lady tea party.”

“Deal. See you at ten a.m. sharp.”

#

He tossed the nondescript dark green baseball cap and windbreaker into a dumpster as he casually strolled down the street and away from the office building. He didn’t need to stay and make sure that the flowers were delivered, and once she read the card he certainly didn’t need to be anywhere nearby. It wasn’t time for her to come to him yet, but she needed to know that he had claimed her for his own. Until the moment was right, she would know that his love – their love – was all encompassing.

It was 10:38 in the morning and Quinn was sitting at a sun-drenched table in front of a bay window with five women who were all thirty years or more his senior. There were scones. There was peppermint tea. But, Nicole James was nowhere to be seen. This was supposed to be a police investigation into a possible serial killer, but judging by the stark silence of the table they were all just as uncomfortable as he was. Of course, he’d tried to remind the women that this was not an interrogation and he only needed their help in understanding where the veils, and now handkerchief, may have come from. The only response he got was a very stern, “We’ll wait for Nikki.” Quinn was beginning the hate the sound of the bell jingling every time the door opened; it had yet to announce the arrival of the one person who could end his current suffering.

After five more minutes of waiting, Nicole trudged down the sidewalk just outside the bakery window. Her usual quirky spark Quinn had become familiar with was missing. He knew that Nicole would be shaken by the threatening note she received the day before, but whatever was weighing on her now was much bigger. Watching her as she entered the small bakery, Quinn noted that she repeatedly looked over her shoulder searching for something. She also studied the face of every person who crossed her path – to those she knew, she smiled hesitantly. Strangers, which there were many of given all the weekend visitors, received an anxious glare. Quinn rose from his seat and met her en route to the counter.

“What happened?” He was trying for mild concern but there was an edge to his voice that surprised even him. Quinn didn’t have the time or strength to become emotionally involved in another case. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to get so deeply entrenched in the lives and sorrow of the families of the Veiled Killer’s victims. Yet he couldn’t tear himself away from the visibly frightened woman’s side.

“It’s nothing. Just…It’s nothing,” Nicole waved him off, shaking her head. Directing her attention to the girl behind the counter, she ordered a large coffee.

“The ladies already ordered for us.” Quinn needed to fill the silence. He’d spent the better part of his morning with women who refused to communicate with him. He was nearing the point where he’d settle for screaming or crying.

“I just want my coffee. I want something in my damn life to be my own without someone coming in and taking over. I want to be left alone,” Nicole wailed not caring about the dozens of curious eyes on her. Quinn wanted to kick himself for his earlier thoughts. A crying woman was not something he could handle, especially not in public. The looks from the other females in the shop were accusatory and murderous. The men all seemed to look at him with pity as though to say, “You poor bastard. Better you than me.”

“Why don’t you go back home, okay? I’m sure I can convince these ladies to tell me something.”

“I can’t leave you alone with that group,” she smiled half-heartedly. “They’ve been on this island their whole lives. If you aren’t from the island too, they will never trust you. Besides, I can’t let you back out on your end of the deal.” Vigorously wiping away the tears from her cheeks, Nicole turned and made for their table. And just like that, it was as though the entire episode never happened. Quinn wasn’t sure if he should be happy that it was over, or concerned at how emotionally unstable she seemed to be.

“So you want to know about Crazy Maisy, do you?” Whatever magic Nicole was able to conjure up, Quinn was grateful to her. The one that addressed him, Molly Harper, looked as if she would burst at the seams if someone didn’t let her tell whatever story she was holding on to. The other women – introduced as Valerie, Agnes, Laurel, and Charlotte – seemed just as excited to hear her tell it.

“Actually, I just need to know if any of you ladies recognize the veils in these photographs.” Quinn didn’t have time for gossip. While he was having mid-morning tea, Marconi was running down leads on a possible boyfriend of one victim and Karl was doing whatever lab geeks did. So far, all that they had was based on conjecture. The veils would give them a real solid start.  But the looks on the faces of the six women he sat with told him to shut up and listen.

“What Detective Quinn means is that...”

“Don’t you go excusing that man’s behavior, young lady,” the woman Quinn remembered to be called Agnes interrupted Nicole with a sharp tone and fiercely wagging finger. “You, young man,” the finger swung over in his direction, “are here for information. You are not in a position to interrupt or argue.”

“Of course not, ma’am, I apologize.”

“Go on Molly, tell them about Maisy. But do refrain from using that childish name.  Poor woman’s dead, have some respect.” Clearly Miss Agnes was the ringleader. Quinn put her at about seventy years old and she had a look about her that screamed librarian. She wore gold rimmed glasses on a thin gold chain around her neck, probably for reading. Her steel gray hair pulled into a bun and prim button down blouse and twill pants completed the look. Quinn reminded himself to avoid another confrontation with her or he’d likely get his knuckles rapped.

“Oh, hush Agnes. We all called her that. No sense in pretending to be above the fray now. Sorry Molly. You go ahead.” Valerie winked at Quinn. Nicole was right, that one was trouble. Recalling her earlier breakdown, Quinn cut his eye and caught a glimpse of her cradling a coffee cup between her two hands and staring blankly into the foamy, steaming brew.  He wanted to reach out to her – to bring her attention back to the conversations, to offer comfort, or was it simply because he wanted to touch her? Mentally shaking himself, Quinn pulled his eyes away and refocused on the job.

“Well, I can tell you,” Molly began, “that Maisy Collins was certainly crazy, or something very close to it. For as long as I can remember, that woman never left her house. I mean, wouldn’t even step foot out on her front porch to get the mail. Don’t know how she got taken care of, suppose her mama took care of her. Now that’s who I feel sorry for – working herself near to death while Maisy moped about the house mooning over some scoundrel of a man.”

“I always thought that was her aunt. Didn’t Maisy’s mama drown herself in the sound after killing her husband for carrying on with a mainland girl?” That time, it was Charlotte who interjected. She was the living embodiment of everything Quinn thought a sweet, grandmotherly-type should be.

“You know that isn’t true. Old Mrs. Collins died of heartache after Mr. Collins ran off with the store clerk’s daughter. Though that weasel of a man could do with a killing if you ask me,” Agnes sniffed.

“Ladies, not to interrupt, but you were talking about Maisy?”

“You’re right Detective Quill, we’re sorry.”

“Miss Molly, his name is Corwin Quinn,” Nicole corrected the older woman with a slight giggle in her voice. Hearing the lightness returning to her voice helped to subdue the worry that was festering in Quinn’s chest. “Molly’s not so good with names, but I’m sure the detective doesn’t mind. Do you Corwin?” The fact that Nicole had used his first name had Quinn almost chocking on the tea he was drinking. Struggling to cover his shocked reaction, he simply shook his head, fearing his voice would betray his surprise and pleasure.

“I’ll get right to it then, and spare you the island rumor. Cra...Maisy was believed to be madly in love with a traveling salesman who came to the island one summer trying to sell catalog and magazine subscriptions. I forget his name, but he was quite the handsome fellow. My daddy would just go on and on about how Mother almost wasted his money buying silly books from a prettied-up snake. Maisy must have fallen for him hook, line, and sinker because there was all this talk about a wedding and moving off the island. She even got her mother to order all this fancy silk fabric so she could make herself a dress, and spools and spools of thread for a veil.”

“Only there was no wedding, of course,” Agnes continued the story. “Your daddy was right, Molly, that man was a snake. Tricked Maisy into buying all sorts of books and magazines, promising a big house and fancy car with a cute little family. Must have made her think the only way they’d be together was if he made enough money so he could support them. Silly girl never realized he was taking her for all she had. When he left at the end of the summer, promising a fall wedding, Maisy kept on making plans – and making veils. Story goes, she made one after another while she sat by the window waiting for the salesman to come back and whisk her away.” Agnes huffed and dipped her scone into her tea cup.

Charlotte picked up where Agnes left off saying, “By the time we were old enough to know anything about it, she’d become ‘Crazy Maisy’ who never left the house until the day she died.” There was a hint of sadness in her voice. “Maybe if we were nicer to her…”

“Detective,” the woman called Laurel finally spoke up, “whoever’s been killing these ladies somehow got hold of Maisy’s veils, and probably knows what they meant to her. We couldn’t begin to guess who that might be or how he got them, though. All of the Collins’ stuff was boxed up and shipped to relatives after they all died, but no one on the island ever knew who that would have been. And there was never any indication that the belongings made it to their intended destination. We don’t know how helpful this all is in finding that awful man who hurt those poor girls, but at least you know where the veils came from.” Laurel offered an apologetic smile and covered his hand with hers. It was warm and soft, and Quinn nodded his thanks at the kind gesture.

“This will certainly give me a starting point,” Quinn rose from the table. “Thank you, ladies, for all of your help.”

“It was all Nicole’s doing. She’s the one that came to us thinking we would know something.”

Looking down at Nicole, Quinn rested his hand on her shoulder, finally drawing her attention to him. “Can we talk outside?”

“Oh, I’m sure the ladies have more they’d…like…to,” she drew out her words, seeing the five shaking heads and the shooing hands urging her away from the table and out the door. “Right behind you.”

Quinn led the way out of the tiny bake shop and around the corner to a small park. Pointing to one of the benches, he sat down and turn expectantly toward her. “What happened?” Nicole’s eyes widened in mock indignation, and she made as if to stand up and walk away. Quinn grabbed her arm holding her in place. “If something happened that is scaring you, I need you to tell me. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

“You’ve got a fairly full plate there. Are you sure to really need to add my drama to the mix?” She was trying to make light of things, but the haunted look in her eye told Quinn otherwise. Plus, she was still scanning the area like she was on perimeter watch.

“Is it the flowers? I already sent the card to the crime lab to see if they could pull anything from it.” Karl looked like he was going have an aneurysm when Quinn brought him the paper, but agreed to have someone in the lab take a look at it.

“There was another one on my car when I left work yesterday and one on my doorstep when I got home. There wasn’t a card attached to either of them, but they had to be from the same person, right?”

“Who would have any reason to want to scare you or hurt you? An obsessed client or unhappy ex-boyfriend

“I highly doubt my ex would risk incurring the wrath of his wife just to send me flowers.” Quinn didn’t want to judge her, because he was certainly no saint when it came to relationships. But the image of Nicole as a home wrecker was jarring to say the least. Besides, it was usually the betrayed wife who lashed out, not the cheating husband.

“It’s not what you think,” Nicole rolled her eyes and huffed, regretting that she’d mentioned anything about the torrid liaison. “I didn’t know he was married. All I saw was a sweet, loving, attentive man who made me feel like I was on top of the world. Then, it all came crashing down around me when I ended up in the hospital, waking up to a screaming woman standing over me going on about how her husband had almost died because of me. So, no. I won’t be getting any flowers from him, like ever.”

“Point taken. Anyone else?” If he could get even a tiny bit of information, Quinn could get Marconi to check into things for him while he ran down the new lead on the veils. He took his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and started dialing his partner’s number. Glancing up at Nicole, he raised his eyebrows urging her to continue.

“Well, there’s been this guy. I’m sure he’s really fairly harmless, but he can’t seem to take a hint.”

“Then he’s not harmless. Who is he?”

“His name is Casey something-or-other.” Quinn dropped his chin and looked at Nicole in disbelief. “What? It wasn’t like I was planning on dating him, why should I waste time trying to memorize his name and birth sign?”

“I don’t care what his damn sign is. His name, however, is pretty vital.” Quinn directed his focus to the phone at his ear once Marconi finally picked up. “Yeah, it’s me. I know exactly what time it is. I don’t care about your damn headache, shut up and write this down. Fine, but hurry the hell up.” Placing a hand over the phone, Quinn decided on a different tactic to get Nicole to remember more about the wannabe boyfriend and the mystery flowers. “Where did you meet this guy Casey?”

“He came in to pick up his aunt from the shop last weekend. Mrs. Bernstein…Barstool…Barn…Barnhard,” she finally shouted. “Mrs. Barnhard had a ton of stuff she wanted Leigha to sell, a lot of antique and vintage clothes and jewelry. They were in really nice condition, too. Casey swooped in like a total Don Juan.”

“Did you see him…hang on,” Quinn put the phone back to his ear. “Yeah, look up a Casey. Last name possibly Barnhard. If not, look at the family first and see if you can track him that way. No, he may be stalking someone and making death threats. I don’t know, but if he is our job just got a lot easier.” He ended the call and smiled at Nicole. “That should take care of Casey. If he comes around you again before I’ve checked him out, call me.”

“Why? So you can scare the poor guy? He may be slightly creepy, but that does not a stalker make.”

“And you know this because you have expert knowledge into what makes a stalker?” Nicole rolled her eyes in response. “No? Didn’t think so. How about you let me judge who or what a stalker is because between the two of us, I actually do this for a living.”

“Fine.” Nicole pushed herself off of the bench they’d been sitting on, started to march away, but turned to address Quinn once more. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an asshole?”

“At least five times a day,” Quinn answered with an unapologetic smile.

“Just don’t be late tonight. And wear something other than jeans and that hideous thing you call a jacket.” Satisfied that she’d gotten the last word, Nicole resumed her self-righteous march away from the park and out of sight.

Quinn sighed, leaning back against the bench with his arms and legs out stretched. His mind was a swirling mess of information – Maisy Collins’s veils, six murder victims, and now Nicole’s stalker. He’d take care of Nicole first. But only because it’ll be an easy case, he told himself. That, and there was also the fact that Marconi was proving to be surprisingly competent in working the murder cases.  It sure as hell wasn’t because the mule-headed woman was somehow growing on him.

#

He hadn’t thought his little Nicole would be ready for him, but watching her search the faces of those around her all but pulled him out of hiding in the shadowy alleyway and to her side. She was looking for him. She knew he sent her the flowers – courting her – and now she was seeking him out. His once heavy heart seemed to have thrown of its shackles and was now filled with the lightness of joy and rapture.  He would not force her to wait any longer. He would claim his love and give her heart the wholeness it desired.

#

Looking at myself in the mirror, I continued to fiddle with the peacock feather pin on my sweater. Should I even wear the sweater, I wondered. It wasn’t as if I had many other options. There was a uniform that had to be worn by Matchmakers while hosting or assisting at events. I’d donned the very same dress, sweater, and heels combination dozens of times over. I knew what to expect each time I had to wear it. So why I was fidgeting and scowling at my reflection was beyond me.

“Is Detective Hottie going to be there?” Leigha wasn’t going to the mixer, but not because I didn’t need her. I didn’t want her disrupting the fragile balance within the group of potential clients I had slated to attend. All of the women were disillusioned with the idea of true love and romance. They had all been overlooked or cast aside by their ideal man. As far as they were all concerned, Prince Charming was dead and gone. The men were finally exiting what I referred to as the ‘horny toad phase’, where they all wanted porn-sex with supermodels and would not compromise on their obscenely high standards. The fact that they had average looks and meager bank accounts however, were not going to get them a one night stand with a runway diva. Leigha would be catnip for the men, and the cause of a cat fight with the women.

With slumped shoulders, I admitted defeat and decided to keep the sweater. “He’d better be there. I’ve got at least four women with cop fantasies who I promised a real live officer of the law. If he doesn’t come I’m screwed.”

“Wrong, sweetie. If he’s not coming you’re not screwing.” Leigha giggled at her lame attempt at humor. I wanted to take the high road and ignore her, but the twitch of my lips told her I was fighting to keep from smiling.

“You know that was good, come on and admit it.”

“Fine, yes, that was clever. Do you ever think of anything other than sex?”

“Clothes?”

“You’re hopeless,” I called over my shoulder as I walked out of my bedroom and down the hall to the living room to gather my things and leave.

“And your horny,” she yelled back at me. “Call me when you’re done. Or if you plan on spending the night with you-know-who.” I slammed the door against the sound of her high pitched laughter. Walking down the steps and to the path leading to my car, my lightened mood was quickly washed away by the sight of the crushed lilies I found waiting for me the previous night. Taking a brief scan of the yard and street, I was somewhat relieved to find there was nothing, and no one, waiting for me. Nevertheless, I made a bee line for my car and didn’t breathe until safely locked inside. Starting the car, I sent up a silent prayer that tonight would be an uneventful one.

                The evolution of their relationship, in such a short amount of time, was no surprise to him. Upon discovering that his sweet Nicole would be holding another party at the very place their destinies first crossed paths, he knew that she was signaling to him that she was ready. It had only taken a week for her heart to reach out to his and embrace their love. That she had never meet him, much less spoken to him, only served as further evidence to the fact that she was meant for him – they shared a bond that transcended the superficial. Theirs was a bonding of souls.

Scanning the mass of hungry, lonely fools he felt awash with their desperation. The men walked about with puffed chests and presumptuous grins. The slightest indication that special attention was being paid to a particular female, and she would giggle and flush with reckless abandon. Playing witness to such a pathetic and pitiable display of mating rituals grated his sensibilities. The sooner he could take his Nicole away from such a world, the better. All of the preparations had been made; as usual, he left no detail unattended. Tonight, it would be done.

#

                Had I not needed my job as badly as I did, and if I were less afraid of Sadie, I would have rescheduled the night’s event. Taking full stock of my situation, a bar full of strangers was the least safe place for me to be. The idea had seemed almost fail-proof in the beginning; larger gatherings meant more money. Sure, the selection pool was a bit murkier but hey, money was green no matter whose pocket it came out of. And with my stock on a rapid decline, I needed this particular boost.

                Scanning the courtyard, I was pleased at the descent turnout. No one seemed to pay me any particular attention, so that was reassuring. Surely if I had a stalker he’d be staring a hole through the side of my head – at least that’s how it always seemed in the MyTime late night movies Leigha and I were addicted to. The one we saw a week ago was eerily similar to the predicament I was currently in – a naïve girl seduced by a mysterious man, but when she tried to leave him he stalked and killed her. I had to remind myself to stop watching those. They were making me paranoid.

                “Are you the one in charge this evening,” a hushed voice broke me from my musings. Blinking my eyes back into focus, I came to find a man standing in front of me. A quick assessment told me that he was well-off, most likely in finance, and still relatively young despite his silvery-gray hair. I immediately put him in the ‘Daddy Warbucks’ category.

                “I wouldn’t call it ‘in charge’,” I responded with a half-smile. “I’m more like a referee. Did you need help in meeting someone in particular?”

                “Honestly, I came over to introduce myself. I was here last weekend, and I guess you could say I crashed the party. My curiosity got the better of me while I was inside the restaurant, so I decided to come out and investigate.”

                “Oh, well in that case I’m glad you came back. I’m Nicole James.” I extended my hand in greeting. He captured it between both of his and drew me in slightly causing me to stumble, only to catch myself by throwing my free arm around his neck. To my absolute horror, he groaned at the impact. I had gained a few pounds, I knew, but I wasn’t so big that I could take down a grown man.

                “I am so incredibly sorry. Normally I can walk just fine; I don’t know what happened there. Are you okay?” Trying to untangle myself, and maintain some shred of professionalism, I looked about to make sure no one witnessed my faux pas. Corwin Quinn was propped up against the bar with a sardonic grin on his face. I immediately turned away from his pointed stare and snatched my hands behind my back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. Redirecting my attention, I continued trying to make amends with the gray-haired gentleman before me.

                “Is there someone you’d like for me to introduce you to? I haven’t had personal interviews with all of the ladies yet, but there’s bound to be someone that strikes your fancy.”

                “To be honest with you I only came tonight to test the waters, as it were,” he replied with a sad sort of smile.

“In that case, take your time. There’s an open bar and they should be bringing the hor d'oeuvres soon.” With a reserved smile and nod, I moved on to greet other guests and prospective clients as they entered the courtyard.

The sliding glass panel that divided the bar from the courtyard had been opened by the restaurant staff, nearly doubling the space. It also allowed for curious patrons to come out and join the festivities. I was totally fine with the added numbers. It had the potential for more business than my original plan projected. I’d let them mix and mingle until it was time for what I was calling ‘mini dates’. Those that hadn’t paid to fully participate would be asked to return to the restaurant. If they chose to stay, they would have to pay the participant’s fee.

Each person would be given the opportunity to spend one-on-one time with up to five probable dates. If they liked what they saw, I would become their official matchmaker and help them narrow their selections and facilitate more formal dates. There was also the outside chance that I could get bumped up to Matchmaker Special. The increase in pay was a welcome perk, but the unsettling feeling of peddling love for money continued to eat away at me. Giving the thought an angry shove to the back of my mind, I checked my watch for what may well have been the millionth time. Let’s get this show on the road.

“Now, that doesn’t sound promising.” I could hear the smugness on his face, and turning to look at Detective Quinn, I was unsurprised to see that I was right. Apparently, I’d been thinking out loud.

“Oh don’t you worry your pretty head, Detective. I’ve got at least eight women with cop fantasies chomping at the bit to get you alone.” I smiled sweetly. “I have to say, I am surprised that you even showed up. And you dressed appropriately, too. Thank you, sir.” I hadn’t had the opportunity to fully assess Quinn while he was at the bar. Now that he was standing next to me, I couldn’t deny that the man certainly cleaned up nicely. He was still clad in dark, neutral tones. Thinking back, I couldn’t remember seeing him in anything lighter or brighter than gray.

Tonight, he wore dark washed jeans, boots, and a slate colored button down shirt. I smiled when I noticed that he listened to me and left his hideous bargain basement blazer at home.

“Well, you did provide me with one of the biggest leads I’ve gotten since the case started. So, thank you.” Leaning closer in, he added, “And I’m glad you like what you see.”

Rolling my eyes, I shooed him off and took up position in the center of the courtyard to call everyone’s attention.

“Alright people,” I called out and clapped my hands together. “Let’s see if we can get you started down the road to romance!” There was a bit of nervous laughter from the small crowd, and I got down to the business at hand.

#

Given the circumstances, Quinn should have been back at the precinct sifting through evidence. It wasn’t that Marconi hadn’t proven himself to be a reasonably competent detective, but Quinn was starting to feel that he was losing focus. Half-clues and spotty information were making his mind a chaotic mess. The dead prostitute, the kidnap/murder victims, antique veils, and now Nicole’s stalker all fought their way to the forefront. He needed to make sense of it all.

“Corwin,” his father used to say, “the only way to eat a seventy-two ounce steak is one bite at a time.” Quinn needed to stop searching for the big picture and focus on all of the tiny breadcrumbs that had been collected. First, and most importantly, Karl was right; the women found on the beach were all selected for a specific reason. Based on the fact that they were all of various ages and backgrounds, it was fairly safe to say that the killer wasn’t trying to recreate a person from a past relationship. The reason had to be something other than physical. A mother complex seemed a bit of a stretch, so Quinn felt it safe say that wasn’t it either. What trait was he searching for?

Casually assessing his current surroundings, it finally hit him like a two ton truck. Women – all of varying ages, education, and economic standing – putting themselves on display for men who were circling the room, hunting and sniffing out the weakest prey; looking for love, or a one night only love connection. That’s what the Veiled Killer was looking for, too – a connection.  However, that didn’t explain the prostitute. Quinn knew that his suspect was too smart to believe the false promises of a professional girl, and yet he took her to the hotel. The body was well cared for, but she’d had the lace handkerchief lodged well into her throat, instead of simply stuffed into her mouth. Was he trying to force her innocence back on her?

If that was the case, then it begged the question “What made him think the other women were innocent?” Was it even about innocence? Though Quinn wasn’t too informed on wedding rituals, he was almost certain veils had something to do with preserving modesty and innocence. According to the medical examiner none of the victims were virgins. Hell the last one, Ramona Villanova, was divorced because she wanted children but her ex didn’t. It was a given that she’d been sexually active at some point during her forty-four years of life. Yet there were no signs of sexual trauma found on any of the bodies. There were no signs of sexual activity of any kind. Was there something that stopped the killer from consummating the relationship he thought he’d had with each of the women?

“Well shit,” Quinn huffed as he realized that he was running himself in circles again. The best he could do was to wait and see what Marco had been able to come up with, and then maybe he’d have a few more pieces of the puzzle. Dragging his hand across his face, he tried to refocus himself on the present. That included a petite Asian woman with disproportionately large breasts sauntering his way. Well, he supposed that she was attempting a saunter. Unfortunately it ended up looking like she was trying to walk her thong out of the crack of her ass. Quinn downed the rest of his drink to hide his laughter at his own joke as she approached.

“Hello handsome,” she greeted him in a breathy voice. Quinn hated breathy women. “I’m Claudia and I love a man in uniform.” Quinn cursed inwardly and signaled the bartended for another drink. He had four more of these ‘dates’ to get through.

“…and I just think that it is so selfless and brave what you do. Putting your life on the line every day for complete strangers, it’s so heroic.” Quinn could only take so much hero worship, and he’d reached his limit on date number two. Here he was at number three, with still two more women to meet, and he knew that if he drank anymore he’d be a prime candidate for an intervention. What was this chick’s name anyway? He couldn’t remember, nor did he care to.

“It’s just a job,” he deflected. “Excuse me will you,” pointing to his phone. “Work stuff.”

“Oh, totally! Protect and serve, right?” Quinn shook his head. Freaking badge bunnies.

Moving to an unoccupied corner, Quinn typed furiously on his phone and hit ‘Send’. Staring intently at the recipient, he waited for a reaction. Moments later Nikki, in the midst of a heated conversation across the courtyard, peered down at her phone’s screen with a frown and then burst out laughing. Quinn was pleased with himself as he watched her turn away from the man in front of her to search him out instead. When their eyes finally met, Quinn leveled her with a mixed look of anger and challenge. The first to break contact, Nikki returned to her phone and tapped a short response with a slight quirky smile on her lips.

When his phone buzzed, Quinn slowly looked at his phone making sure his face was unreadable. He knew she was still watching, anxious for his response.  A slow smile crept over his face as Quinn read the words on the screen – Suck it up.

“You need to leave Nicole alone; we both know you aren’t right for her.” Rather than immediately acknowledge his aggressor, Quinn calmly returned his phone to the pocket of his jeans.

“Alright.” Quinn made to side step the stranger, but was stopped by a firm hand at his chest. Quinn allowed himself to be stopped, but kept his eyes trained ahead refusing to engage any further.

“I don’t think you get it,” the man said as forcefully as he could manage. Quinn lowered his head and took in the sight of the man’s hand as he attempted to shove him back. Quinn then looked his would-be assailant square in the eye and chuckled. Hearing Nikki’s announcement to switch dates, brushed past the man and made his way back to the bar. The woman he saw waiting for him was a blond this time. His first thought was to question whether or not she was old enough to drink. Second, was that Nikki must have gotten some sick pleasure out of arranging these dates from Hell.

A night that had begun as a mere annoyance, was quickly taking on a sourer note. Promise or no, Quinn had to find a way to leave soon or he was going to lose what little control he had. At that moment, his cell phone buzzed. Glancing at it, he saw Chief Campbell’s name flash across the screen. It was as though the universe could sense his suffering and took pity on him. He’d found his ‘out’. Relief washed over him, and Quinn altered course away from the bar.

“Yeah, Chief,” he answered hoping that the noise of the event couldn’t be heard in the background.

“You wanna tell me why Marconi is running down new evidence alone?”

“What new evidence? All I asked him to do was run a background,” Quinn responded in an effort to avoid getting chewed out. He was a few feet from the door, almost free, when Nikki stopped him cold with an accusing stare. ‘Gotta go,’ he mouthed and gestured to the phone at his ear. ‘Work.’ Nikki huffed in aggravation and crossed her arms over her chest. She was making it clear that nothing he could say would make her let him leave. She’s cute when she’s angry. After thinking this, Quinn was yanked back to his phone conversation by the chief’s belligerent voice.

                “You get your ass back here or I’m giving the case to Marconi!” The crashing sound of the receiver signaled the abrupt end of the one-sided discussion. He’d have to make a call to Marco and find out exactly what was going on at the precinct. First, he needed to convince Nikki to move away from the door.

                “I have to leave,” he said plainly.

                “You have two more dates. You can’t leave,” she countered, testily.

                “If you’re referring to the other two women who I’m supposed to help re-enact their most recent cop fantasy, I’d rather not.”

                “Is it because of Byron, then? Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know he would even be here tonight. He can be a bit much but…”

                “Who the hell is Byron?” Quinn asked cutting her off. Realizing that the jack-off that approached him was the same guy she’d been talking to when he texted her earlier. Listening to her try and excuse Byron’s behavior fully ignited his irritation. “Oh you mean the douche bag? Take my advice; avoid obsessive assholes. You seem to have a collection going.”

Quinn angrily marched away, leaving a stunned Nikki in his wake. If she wasn’t going to actively take part in ensuring her own personal well-being, he told himself, why the hell was he supposed to waste his time on it? He had actual victims, dead victims, and a serial killer to worry about. Quinn punched in the number for Marconi, and held the phone to his ear listening to it ring. It was time to do some work that actually mattered.

“Yeah, it’s me. What’ve you got?”

I reluctantly dragged myself from a deep, dreamless sleep. I could sense the light before I could see it and it made my head hurt like hell. Leigha must have forgotten to turn off the hallway light because it was shining directly in my face. I felt as though I was on the receiving end of a hangover the likes of which I hadn’t experienced since college. Then I paused. I was working last night. There was no way that I could have had anything to drink, right? Trying to retrace my steps throughout the evening, I remembered starting the event. I remembered Byron showing up unannounced and uninvited, and then there was the thing with Quinn.

                Shortly thereafter, I had a brief conversation with Sadie. What came next? I left. No, I had to clean up and do a quick review of my daters’ follow-up cards. Didn’t I? What did I do? Oh God, what did I do? I felt the tell-tale burn of bile rising in the back of my throat. The dull throb behind my eyes became a blinding white pain. I had to get to my bathroom. I had to get to Leigha. Even if I came home plastered, she’d know what happened to me. Or at the very least, how I got home.

                Rolling myself out of my bed, which felt a lot lumpier than usual, I blindly stumbled in the direction of my bedroom door. In slow, measured steps I moved forward until my left foot was snatched out from under me and I slammed face first onto the cement floor. Cement? I may not have been able to remember much, but I knew for a fact that my bedroom had hardwood floors.

                “What the..,” I whispered as I palmed my now bruised face. Pulling myself up to kneel, I heard a dragging, clanking sound. Ignoring the pain, I snapped my head hard to the left and I looked wide-eyed at my side. I was chained.

                “What the fuck? What the fuck!” Now the hangover, if I could even call it that, was a forgotten detail.

*

                She was his.

*

                Quinn hadn’t left the precinct in two days. The clothes that he wore to Nicole’s dating event were now rumpled and ill-fitting. His usual scruffy five o’clock shadow had grown into a full beard and mustache. He looked and felt like shit, but it was worth it because they now knew the true identity of their hotel victim, BB Poule.

                “Glad you’re finally up princess,” the chief boomed as he came stomping into the quiet room where Quinn had slept for the last three nights. “The AV tech finally came back with the security footage from the hotel. She says she’s got something for you to see.”

                “Yeah. Alright.” With a groan Quinn rolled to the edge of the threadbare cot and let his feet, still weighed down by his heavy boots, drop to the floor. The fact that it had taken another body for them to finally get near the killer was a hard pill for Quinn to swallow. Sure, the girl from the hotel didn’t appear to be as wholesome as the other women but that didn’t make her expendable.

Someone started pounding on the door, and it mirrored the throbbing pain he was beginning to feel behind his eyes. “I’m up,” Quinn shouted.

“Hurry up, old man!” Marconi was the worst wakeup call ever. “This chick’s got a bug up her ass. Keeps saying stuff about having other cases. You gonna get out here or what?”

“Gimme a minute. I’m coming.” Quinn thought he heard a snicker and what might have been ‘that’s what she said’ but he couldn’t be sure. Not that it’d be surprising to hear something like that from Marconi. Avoiding his reflection in the mirror by the door, Quinn made his way into the bullpen. Why the hell would anyone put a mirror there, he mused. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of how weathered and worn he was getting. Dragging his scattered thoughts back to center, he wove his way through the maze of desks and file cabinets towards Marconi and the video tech.

A leather clad slip of a woman was bearing down on Marconi, and the guy looked beyond terrified. “Next time you wanna talk about my ass, I put a bug up yours! Got it?”

“Lover’s quarrel?” Marconi’s eye’s darted to Quinn and seemed to be pleading for help. The woman, whom Quinn assumed was the AV tech, spun around and looked at him squarely with her hands fisted at her side.

“Are you Detective Quinn,” she barked at him. Eyes wide with amusement, Quinn stole a glance at Marconi. His partner was attempting to silently roll his chair back to his desk and away from the force of nature.

“Yeah. You the tech?” Unlike his wimp of a partner, Quinn was not intimidated by aggressive women. He simply handled them the same as he would any guy.

“I’ve got your footage here.” Quinn noticed that she didn’t answer the question, instead taking a small, flat box the size of a deck of cards and a cord out of her bag. “You mind?” She pointed to his chair, to which Quinn motioned for her to proceed.

“It took some time to weed though the usual hotel lobby bull but I was able to finally catch about a minute of your vic’s ‘John’.” With a few clicks, the woman pulled up the video file on his computer and Quinn was able to get his first glimpse of the killer. “See,” she tapped on the black and white image on the screen. “That’s him against the wall with his head ducked. I don’t know how he managed it, but none of the other cameras caught him entering.”

Quinn leaned over the desk and studied the screen. The image was grainy. “That’s the best you can do?”

“Not my fault. The place makes you fork over a kidney to pay for one night, but they can’t get a decent surveillance system. I cleaned it up the best I could. If I go any further it’ll start messing with the integrity of footage and the DA won’t be able to use it as evidence.”

“Did she tell you that?” Pricilla strikes again, he thought.

“I have a criminal law degree,” the tech snapped back. “I don’t need to be told what happens during a trial.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm herself. “Anyway, I was also able to get him leaving the room and heading down the hall towards the stairs. That’s why I wasn’t able to track him leaving the lobby. The camera by the stairs in the lobby was out for repairs or something.” She opened up a second file. Just as she had said, Quinn was able to watch the killer close the door and hang the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the knob. He then walk to the stairwell door and disappeared behind it as it closed. His head was bowed the entire time. The quality, however, was marginally better. The man had grey hair and a well-tailored suit jacket.

*

                The initial shock of finding that I was chained to a bed in a cement room quickly gave way to panic and fear.

                “HEY! LET ME OUT! GET ME OUT OF HERE!” I screamed nonstop. I banged the rusted metal headboard of the bed against the wall. I wrenched my ankle blindly hoping the chain would give out. I carried on like that for several hours with no response. Hoarse, sore, and tired I slumped onto the bed and looked around my tiny, isolated prison. The room couldn’t have been more than ten or twelve feet square, with a cement floor and cinderblock walls on three sides. The fourth wall was earthen. I was underground. There would be no point in calling out for help anymore. The only person who would hear me, if anyone at all, would be whoever put me down here. The likelihood of getting any assistance from them was nonexistent.

                There was a door opposite the wall where the bed was, but the hinges and knob must have been on the outside because all I was presented with was a cold metal break in the stony wall. The only other object in the room was a large white bucket with a lid. Was that my toilet? How long was I going to be down here? My stomach heaved for a second time since I’d woken up and my head began to swim. Then I was enveloped in darkness, falling into an endless abyss.

*

                Quinn kept staring at the grainy image on the computer screen. He’d made the AV tech go through the entire footage frame by frame, not that she was at all pleased to have her work questioned. This was the closest he’d come to the killer and it was eating him up inside that he couldn’t see the man’s face. He never turned toward the cameras. Quinn wasn’t even lucky enough to catch the guy standing in front of a reflective surface. It was a start thought. That, of course, was only if the overly general description of a tall man with a medium build and salt and pepper hair could be considered a start. Frustration mounting, Quinn tossed his computer mouse at the monitor. It was time to attack this from a different angle.

                He spun in his chair to face Marconi. “D’you get anything from Vice yet?” After showing the girl’s picture to a few of the ‘working girls’ in holding, he was finally able to find one who recognized her. She was called Dulcie, but none of them could tell him where she usually worked or who she may have worked for. Asking Vice for help with anything was something that most homicide detectives avoided at all costs. DA Dunn, however, didn’t care about department politics; she wanted an arrest. So, the call was made in order to get the background they needed. And for their troubles, Vice wanted in on the case, calling it a ‘sex crime’.

 The other detective held up a hand, telling Quinn to wait. He was on the phone, listening intently to the person on the other end and scribbling something on a scrap of paper. When the call ended he hurriedly replaced the receiver of the phone and jumped out of his seat.

                “I just got off the phone with them. Get this; she was working out of a local bar. They said more and more of the girls with ‘executive’ clients set up shop in an upscale restaurant or hotel. Usually someone on staff will point out the Johns, and get a cut after the date.”

                “Do we know what bar she usually worked?” Quinn.

                “Yeah, hang on,” Marconi responded as he shuffled papers around. “The Terrace.”

                “Well, hell.” He’d just been there Saturday night for that dating thing Nicole forced him to attend. Quinn then realized that he hadn’t heard from her since that night. Sure, he’d said some things – some not so nice things. In his defense, though, she was being absolutely impossible. Who the hell stands up for a womanizing slim ball anyway? If not for the obvious difference in skin tone, Quinn would have pegged ‘What’s-his-name’ as the killer. He was slimy enough. And possessive. And aggressive. He had all the makings of a stalker. He’d have to talk to Nicole about that guy. That was assuming, of course, that she’d still talk to him.

                “So you ready to go or what,” Marconi looked at him expectantly as he adjusted the collar of his jacket. Quinn cursed silently. How long had he been staring at the empty chair across from him?

                “Yeah. You drive; I’ve got a few calls to make.” Quinn pulled himself out of his chair and grabbed his jacket off the.

                “Hey, Detective,” a uniformed officer ran up to Quinn. “You just got a call from some newspaper reporter. He says you’ve been looking for him.” Quinn looked at the young officer trying to make sense of what he’d just said. He couldn’t recall being in contact with any reports, newspaper or otherwise.

                “That’s mine, kid,” Marconi broke in. He took the slip of paper the message was written on and waved the younger man off, dismissing him.

                “You care to explain why you’re talking to the press? Dunn won’t be too happy with you trying to steal her spotlight.” Quinn started walking out of the bull pen and towards the elevator.

                Marconi scoffed, “She doesn’t scare me. Besides, this is the reporter who talked to the second vic’s sister. You know, the one with the new boyfriend.”

                Quinn spun around, “We talked about that a week ago!”

                “It took that long to find this guy. Apparently he made it big and moved down the coast to work at some national paper.” Marconi pressed the elevator button, and then turned to face Quinn. “I’ve been working this case just as hard as you have. In fact, I think I should take over as lead detective.”

                Quinn rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his knows. “I tell you what, you keep thinking on that while you go to the restaurant and try to find Dulcie’s pimp-bartender. I’ll stay here and call the reporter.” The doors to the elevator slid open and Quinn all but shoved Marconi inside.

                “But I did all the work to get that number! I should be…”

                “You should be out there proving you’re lead detective material. Not stuck behind the desk making phone calls. Good luck. And make sure you report back to me with what you find.” Quinn smiled and waved at Marconi’s reddened face just as the doors were sealing shut.

                “But…” Marconi’s argument was cut short as the doors finally separated him from Quinn.

With a sigh, Quinn slumped slowly back to his desk. First, he’d call Nicole and warn her to stay away from the d-bag from the other night as well as the Casey she mentioned. Then, he was going to call the reporter to see what information he’d gotten from the sister of the second victim, Cassandra Marche. After that, he’d need to call the other victims’ families to see if perhaps there was a new love interest or friend that emerged in the days leading up to their murders as well.

Quinn pulled out his phone and scrolled though his calls to find Nicole’s number. Once he found it, he hesitated to press the button to call. She’s probably still pissed, he decided and opted to call the reporter first instead. What would it hurt to delay the inevitable a couple of hours?

I know that it's been for..ev...er. Please don't think that I forgot about this story, or that I gave up on it. Life in the last few months has been crazy, more so than usual (i have 4 kids and a military hubby, crazy is the norm lol). We moved to a new house, and in the process the USB that held ALL of my stories, notes, ideas, cast pics, and random thoughts went missing. No, there were no backups. Yes, I 'bout lost my mind. Thankfully I found it.....mixed in with the hubby's stuff. I finished chapter 11 in one night, and 12 should be soon to follow. Don't give up on me ladies! Thank you for your support and encouragement!!

S/N: I'm realizing, the further I get into the story of Nicole, Quinn, and the gray-haired man..the hot and steamy is slow in coming. This isn't that kind of story. Hope you're cool with that. Maybe there will be something more in the future....

               The peaceful way she laid across the tiny bed was in stark contrast to the ferocity with which she tried to free herself earlier. He stopped his work briefly to observe her. Her hair had long since escaped the confines of the knot she had pulled it into – it was now a wild halo of curls cast around her head. The worried crease of her brow was erased and the tight purse of her lips relaxed into a seductive pout. Her breathing had calmed; the gentle rise and fall highlighting the feminine swell of her breast. Even at rest his Nicole was calling to him, tempting him. Reaching out a hand, he stroked her face and swept an errant curl aside. Seeing his love lay there, making herself vulnerable and submissive to him, stirred emotions and desires within him that were becoming increasingly more difficult to control.

               “Patience, my darling. You will have me soon enough.” A chaste kiss on her lips sealed his promise. One final check of the room ensured that everything would be in place once she woke up. She would see and understand his devotion to her, and then nothing would keep her from fully accepting her place in his life.

#

               “I understand that it’s been a while, Mr. Gibbons. But anything you can remember about the story that you wrote or the interview you had with Cassie Marche’s sister, Veronica, would be helpful.” Quinn had a tenuous hold on his temper, and even that was beginning to give way. The reporter that had initially presented the police with what he thought should be a person of interest was now trying to stonewall the detective, claiming not being able to recollect any such information. He wasn’t going to beg the man for his help, but Quinn knew that if he walked away from this call empty-handed he’d be read the riot act by the chief and DA Dunn.

               The man on the other end of the phone sighed heavily, “I suppose there are a few things that I can recall. Of course, I’d expect to get an exclusive interview once the killer has been apprehended if my information is as vital as you say it is.”

               “Of course,” Quinn sneered. “I’m sure the DA would be more than happy to talk with you. That is to say, if what you give us leads to the killer. If not, you’ll just have to wait for the press release like every other reporter.”

               “Well, I can tell you that Veronica Marche assured me that her sister had met someone new, a new boyfriend. She couldn’t give me a name as she hadn’t met him herself, but she said that Cassie was practically glowing and seemed without a care in the world. So Ms. Marche didn’t press her sister too much for information in the beginning. When Cassie went missing, Veronica was quite certain that whoever her sister got involved with was the person responsible.”

               “I have to tell you, Mr. Gibbons, I’m not hearing anything suspicious or vital here,” Quinn cut in.

               “I’m doing you a favor, detective,” Gibbons said irritably. “If you don’t want to listen to all that I have to say, I’m sure your chief would be more than willing to hear me explain how a killer slipped through your fingers on account of your impatience.”

               “You need a story and I need an arrest. Cut the dutiful citizen bullshit and say what you’ve got to say.”

“I’m sure you’re already aware of Cassie Marche’s health and financial problems.”

“Yes. I spoke with Veronica. Cassandra Marche was a recovering addict with an eating disorder and she was drowning in debt.”

“I take it, then, that you were unaware of the fact that all of Cassie’s debts had been paid – credit cards, car note, and medical bills. Even her student loans were taken care of.” Quinn’s ears perked up at the information. Whoever this guy was, he had serious amounts of cash on hand and easily accessible. The fact that he choose to spend it all on a girl like Cassie, after only knowing her a short time, secured his spot on the suspect list. Why give a near perfect stranger a free pass like that, Quinn wondered.

“She was also getting gifts from this secret boyfriend,” Gibbons continued, “very expensive ones. Veronica said that she didn’t think to be concerned until her sister told her that the boyfriend wanted Cassie to quit her job and move into a condo he owned.”

“Why the red flags,” Quinn questioned.

“Veronica was seeing less and less of her sister. And the few times she did, Cassie seemed edgy and impatient. She never stayed too long to visit. Veronica said that it was as if she’d had to sneak away just to spend time with her family.” To hear Gibbons tell it, Cassie’s boyfriend had made the scary transition from Casanova to predator.

“If that was the case, why didn’t Cassie leave him? Why didn’t Veronica intervene? Why the hell didn’t she tell any of this to me months ago?” With each question, his voice grew more aggressive and insistent. Quinn knew they would go unanswered; he was asking the wrong person. True to his nature, Gibbons wasn’t going to give any more information than he absolutely had to in order to maintain control of his sources and exclusivity of the story. And Veronica Marche had been a mental and emotional wreck after what happened to her sister. Even now, trying to talk to her about it only resulted in tears. Lots and lots of tears.

“You find that out, Detective Quinn, be sure to let me know.” Before he could respond, Quinn heard the hollow sound of the dial tone on the other end of the line. With a weary sigh, he dropped the receiver and tried to wrap his head around what he’d just learned. Cassie was a sugar baby, for lack of a better term, whose boyfriend was controlling of her time and interaction with others. That would explain why Veronica had known so little about the relationship. It was also giving Quinn a clearer picture of the man he was dealing with. He was going after women in obvious need of being cared for or about.

Was there some kind of twisted knight in shining armor aspect at play? That argument could be made. Cassie was certainly in need of rescuing. She had put herself on a fast track to prison or an early grave with her drugs and anorexia.  Dulcie was a prostitute. If that didn’t warrant an intervention, what did? Only, she was killed immediately. Whatever Cassie had that pulled the killer in, Dulcie lacked it – and Cassie didn’t have enough to keep her alive. Quinn could feel pieces starting to pull together out of the hazy randomness. He’d need to review his victim board and check into the other murdered women. He was finally getting a pattern.

“Corwin.”

Of course, Quinn thought. Of course she would show up now. He dragged his hands over his face and attempted to mentally steel himself for what was to come.

“Pricilla,” he growled in reply. So far, he was failing at maintaining his calm.

“I understand you got some very promising evidence from the hooker’s murder at the Luxus. Do we have a suspect yet?”

“Yes.”

“Care to explain why you’re napping at your desk instead of bringing him in for questioning?”

“No.” One word answers were all Quinn could manage. The woman was insufferable.

“Do it anyway.”

“There is no one to question, because you can’t see the guy’s face in any of the surveillance footage. And before you ask, there were no witnesses from the hotel either. All we have to work with so far is a tall, well-dressed male with graying hair.”

“So, the evidence is basically shit then? Honestly, Corwin, I’m beginning to think this case is beyond your abilities as a detective.” Pricilla pinched the bridge of her nose in mock frustration. “Is there anything you’ve managed to do that could be considered productive?” Quinn leaned into the back of his chair and studied the DA for a moment. She was perched on the corner of his desk, supporting herself on one hip while the other was flared out in an attempt to create a dramatic curve. The tight fabric of her skirt was pulled even tauter, and had slightly risen up her thigh. Quinn chuckled to himself. In the past, that would have done things to his libido.

“Actually, ma’am,” Quinn finally stated with a derisive smile, “I’ve gotten quite a bit done that I think is very productive. Unfortunately, constant interruptions seem to be preventing me from following up on them.”

Her lip curled up in a sneer at Quinn’s words. Without further response, DA Pricilla Dunn slid off of his desk and stalked out of the bull pen, pausing only briefly to berate a detainee who was stupid enough call her ‘baby’.

#

I woke up gasping and fighting against the emptiness. I couldn’t tell if I’d been asleep for minutes or hours. Could it have been days even? There was no way for me to gage the passage of time. Instead of searching again for an escape I simply lay on the bed with my eyes closed, resigned to my fate. Leigha was probably frantic and worried sick. That was to say if she was even at home. I had no idea how long her trip upstate was supposed to take. If it lasted longer than a day or two, she’d have no idea what had happened to me. No one would. I was going to starve to death in this box, if I wasn’t tortured and killed first, and all for some sick pervert’s enjoyment.

The thought of food made my stomach growl and churn. I was so hungry I could taste it. I could smell it. I paused. Sure, I hadn’t eaten in some time, but I couldn’t be going crazy this soon. Be realistic Nicole. Focus, I told myself. I opened my eyes. To call what I saw peculiar would have been to mild a description. Without question is was totally bizarre.

In the opposite corner of my cell was a small table covered by a white linen cloth and a solitary chair, pulled out in anticipation of its intended occupant having a seat. The table was decorated with a single white lily in a porcelain vase and a votive candle. Walking to the table, I found that it also held one place setting and a dinner plate laden with the most amazingly delicious looking meal. Before me was a golden roasted breast of chicken with a glistening buttery herb sauce, creamy risotto with baby Portobello mushrooms, and a salad of baby field greens, dried cranberries and almonds. Everything looked sinfully delectable. My mouth began to water and the temptation was almost too great to resist. Instantly I felt all of my frustration, fear, anger and confusion surge through me.

“You must think I’m stupid,” I whispered hoarsely. I turned my back to the table and yelled at my captor. “You think I’m going to eat this! Look at you, trying to be scary – bad enough to leave me in here chained, but you can’t kill me yourself. You want me to poison myself?” I picked up the vase and threw it at the door. The sound of the fragile container shattering as it struck metal was satisfying in a perverse way.

“You want me DEAD! HUH?” The candle was next to fly across the room, its wax splattered on the door. “You get down here and do it yourself! You fucking do it yourself! YOU HEAR ME?” I reached for the offending plate next, ready to show my captor what I thought of his deadly last meal. As I raised the plate, poised to hurl it in defiance too, an impatient sigh filled the room causing me to freeze.

“I hear you quite well, darling.” I spun around in the spot where I stood, my eyes wildly searching for the source of the voice.

“Honestly, Nicole,” the mystery voice continued, “the tantrums are not necessary. And I think we both know you’re better than that.”

               “Please,” I begged. “I’m sorry. Whatever I did to you I’m sorry. But you have to let me out of here. You can’t just keep me here.”

               “I know, sweetheart.  I know that you’re sorry. Believe me I do.” I let out an unsteady breath, not realizing until I did so that I’d been holding it in. I set the plate down. “But you’re here for your own good. Can you not see that, darling?”

               “No, no, no, no, no.” My vision blurred with tears. “NO! You cannot keep me here against my will. There are laws against this. YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” I was nearing hysterics again. My pulse accelerated and I began to break out in a cold sweat.

               “I CAN DO THIS,” the disembodied voice rang out in menace. The sound of it reverberated through the whole of the room. It was a deep and powerful baritone and I felt it vibrating in my very chest. Stunned into silence, I cowered against the chilled wall.

               “I tried, dearest. How hard I tried to be patient and understanding. I waited for you to bring yourself to me. You repaid my…courtesy by seeking out that, that mongrel of a police detective.” He saw me with Detective Quinn. How long had he been watching me? The wheels in my head began to spin struggling to put a face with the voice that now surrounded me. Was he a disgruntled client? Or a guy that I turned down at the bar?

               “And not only that,” he continued angrily, “you insult me further by destroying my gift and promise of eternal love and run into his arms to seek comfort.”

               “That was you,” I balked. “You sent me the flowers.” It was more a statement than any question.

               “You love calla lilies,” he crooned. I could hear the smile in his voice. The thought of it made me want to heave, but at least he wasn’t shouting at me. “I can understand why. Their soft, delicate curve reminds me of you. So graceful.” A chill ran down my spine and I instinctively covered myself, pulling my arms around me to shield myself. Could he see me? My eyes scanned the corners for a camera lens.

               “You deserve better than that filth,” he spat out. “You can’t see it now. You’re frightened. You’re blinded by your silly, anxious mind. Trust me, my love, it pains my soul to see you so distressed. But very soon you will come to see that this is exactly what you need, dear one. Now please, eat. It isn’t poisoned. I would never hurt that beautiful body.”

               “No, wait,” I cried. “Please! Who are you? Where have you put me?” Silence. “Wait! Please, come back! COME BACK!” The last bit of fight that I had within me slipped away. I was left with sheer despair at my situation. He knew me. He had watched me.  He saw me with Quinn. Now he was holding me hostage until, what? I fell in love with him? I dragged the plate toward me. Its scrapping along the cement floor filled the space. I picked up a piece of meat and set about the task of eating. I had embarked on the single most difficult yet most important fight for my very existence. I had to take care and be ready. This bastard had to show up and face me eventually. When he did, I’d be ready.