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.