6

Rachel temporarily forgot about her broken ankle. She lurched back in involuntary surprise. Her crutches lifted from the ground as her arms flailed for balance, her body swaying dangerously. Matt reached out a well-muscled arm, clutching her elbow with one strong hand, while his other grasped his cane to hold his own balance. For a moment, they both teetered on the brink of disaster.

Then Rachel settled her crutch tips on the ground. Her heart beat in frantic staccato, as much from the almost-fall as from the scare that Matt had given her by standing right behind her like a giant creep. A giant creep with strong hands and a winning smile. Rachel inched backwards until the small of her back made contact with the counter.

Matt gripped his cane and wiped sweat from his forehead. His embarrassment cracked his bravado. Rachel found this slightly-sheepish version a vast improvement.

“You OK?” he asked, only half-smiling now. A thin film of sweat coated his upper lip. Rachel wondered if he’d strained his knee somehow.

“I’m fine.” Rachel turned back to speak to Grace but saw that Grace had abandoned her post, no doubt to join the huddle in the hallway.

“You don’t look fine,” Matt said.

“Well”—Rachel lifted a hand to push back a waterfall of curls that had fallen over her forehead—“there seem to be some upsetting things going on.” She gestured toward the TV and then back toward the hallway from which came the sounds of low voices and muffled crying.

Matt looked genuinely confused.

Had he really been so caught up in flirting with her that he’d failed to notice the hyper-emotional vibe in the office? Rachel tried to crutch around him, but he reached out a hand to take her elbow as she headed for the door.

“I’m fine.” Rachel tried to brush him off, but he followed her all the way out to her car and helped her into the driver’s seat, his hand warm and dry against the inside of her elbow. Up close, he smelled pleasantly of laundry detergent.

But her brain only half-registered this fact. All she wanted to do was call Ann and Lynn to fill them in on her afternoon. Someone from her own doctor’s office had actually been killed by the Memento Killer. This was the closest degree of separation she’d ever had from an actual killing, and she couldn’t wait to hear their shocked reactions.

Before she could call either of them, she must somehow detach from Call-Me-Matt, who now stood just close enough to prevent her from shutting her car door.

“When will I see you again?” He gazed down at her.

“Let’s leave it to the fates,” Rachel said, reaching for the door handle, inwardly congratulating herself on the best closing line she’d possibly ever given. While she should rightly have said “Let’s leave it in the Lord’s hands,” she suspected she’d get more traction if she spoke his language.

Matt, however, refused to let her have the last word. Not only did he fail to step out of the way, but he also put up a hand to stop the car door as it swung toward him, the frame making a soft thwacking sound against his palm. “Wait.”

Rachel took in a deep breath and let it out sharply. Up to this point, she’d just been putting up with his Don Juan routine, but now she was starting to feel annoyed. There remained one final line that almost always worked as a deterrent when sleazy men hit on her, and now was the time to deploy it.

“Look,” she said, “if you really want to see me again, you’re going to have to come to my church.”

He said nothing.

“I go every Sunday and sit right down front,” she warned.

“OK.”

Rachel gaped at him. Why wasn’t this working? Usually the mention of church sent men like him scurrying for the nearest escape route. Instead, here he was pulling out his phone and looking weirdly excited.

“Hold on just a sec. I need to write this down.” He asked for details of location and service times, typing her responses into his phone one-handed.

Anxiety bubbled quietly in the pit of Rachel’s stomach. Perhaps this tactic had been ill-advised.

As she pulled out into traffic, Rachel looked in the rearview mirror to see Matt standing in the parking lot, watching her drive away, one hand lifted in farewell.

~*~

“Do they think it was the Memento Killer?” Lynn asked, just as breathless as Rachel had imagined she’d be.

“I don’t think they know anything yet.” Rachel pressed the phone against her ear with her shoulder as she put on her turn signal and peered into the side mirror in an attempt to merge. “They haven’t said anything about how she died, so I don’t know yet if she was strangled with a found object—whoops!” She jumped as a car behind her beeped. Blind spot.

“Are you driving?”

“Yes, but—”

“Rachel. I don’t even like to think about you driving one-legged right now, even without talking on the phone. I’m hanging up.”

“Don’t hang up!” Rachel nearly dropped the phone. She caught it between her chin and her sternum and jiggled her shoulder to work it back up into place. “Calm down.”

“Call me once you’re home.”

“No, wait, hold on. I’ll park again.” Rachel pulled into a pharmacy parking lot. She wiped some sweat off her upper lip and turned the car’s air conditioning on full blast. “Now listen—”

“Are you parked?”

“Yes, I’m parked. Stop being such a mother hen.”

Lynn sighed. “Go ahead.”

Rachel recounted everything she had overheard. “They’re not saying anything definite on the news yet, but this woman Grace told me that the dead girl usually carpools with somebody else from the office, and she didn’t show up for work today. Then they saw her house on the news, all covered in caution tape, apparently now a crime scene, and a woman matching her description was found inside.”

Lynn made clucking noises as Rachel continued.

“This woman was the right age and the right demographic. She’s got to be victim number four.”

“We don’t even know yet if she’s been receiving any mementos.” Lynn’s voice took on a worried tone. “I hate to even say things like this out loud, but maybe her boyfriend killed her or something. Maybe it was a home invasion or a robbery gone wrong. Maybe she killed herself. You just don’t know.”

“True, but”—Rachel’s eyes fell on the clock—“I really do have to go. I have packing to get finished before bed tonight, and if I’m going to get anything done at all, I’ll have to start soon. But we’re not through talking about this.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I have some other things to tell you too.” Rachel’s voice dripped with laughter as she anticipated both Lynn’s and Ann’s reactions to the Call-Me-Matt episode. But that was a story best told in person, when she could act it out.

“I’m sure you do. Drive safe.”

Rachel hung up and quickly set a news alert on her phone to keep up with any press releases made regarding the Memento Killer. She then slipped the car into drive and headed for home, brain whirring.

Just a week ago, her biggest concerns had revolved around getting enough sleep before the end-of-the-year push, dealing with the frizziness of her hair during the onset of Florida’s rainy season, and wondering how long she could possibly postpone packing. Now, she had a shattered ankle, a possible stalker, and a near brush with the Memento Killer.

Who would have imagined?

Rachel pushed sweaty curls from her forehead and leaned forward into the blast of the air-conditioning vent. At least she could count on one thing. At this point, there wasn’t much else in her life that could go wrong.