“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.”