Kristy and Adrian ran down the sidewalk until they found a bar with televisions mounted to the walls. Normally, she considered them intrusive and distracting, but now she was grateful for them.
They stood as close as they could get to the television that was broadcasting news. The headline at the bottom: HAS KISS AND KILL CUPID STRUCK AGAIN? Everyone in the vicinity was also watching.
The reporter, a woman standing outside an apartment building swarming with policemen, was saying, “Details are sketchy right now, but we know a woman was found strangled to death in this apartment. One officer confirmed the lipstick message was found on her body, but we haven’t been officially notified of this yet. Kiss and Kill Cupid usually strikes at night, though his pattern changed somewhat last year when he entered the apartment of Marcy Sturgiss while her boyfriend was sleeping over. The killer has become more daring.”
The camera turned to a woman who was standing outside the yellow crime ribbons, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “It’s kind of a relief, you know. Now we don’t have to worry about him for another year.”
Kristy thought she saw Dale Soza in the background talking to one of the police officers, but the camera panned away before she could tell for sure.
“We’ll have more details as soon as they’re released. Stay tuned.”
All around her, thoughts zinged about the killer. She, however, was stunned. She turned to Adrian, who looked as confused as she felt.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Unless, because of you being in my life, he picked another victim. Maybe you did scare him away.”
He released a long breath. “Are you relieved or disappointed?”
“Both, but mostly disappointed. I wanted to stop him. I didn’t want to see this newscast. This was our only chance to help catch him.”
“Let the professionals figure it out. That’s what they do.”
She glanced up at the television again, though they’d moved on to some other story. “But only if they have enough clues.” She looked at him. “You’re relieved.”
“You’re not in danger.” And he could abandon his bodyguard duty. “Take the car back to your place. I’m going to check on Owen. I’m worried about his state of mind.”
She nodded. “When we kissed back there…you didn’t see the vision, did you?”
He seemed to just realize that. “No. It’s over, Kristy.” He left, and she watched him walk over to the black car and instruct him to take her home. Then he walked down the sidewalk.
It’s over. He meant it. Them. Probably her writing assignment. And worse, maybe Owen’s peace of mind.
The only thing that kept her from collapsing into a ball of frenzied tears and screaming was finding out what was going on. She called Dale.
“Did you see the news?” he answered, obviously recognizing her number. Excitement permeated his voice.
“A few minutes ago. Did you…follow Owen this morning?”
“Yeah, he went down to Dirty Harry’s bar for breakfast and spent the morning nursing a whiskey on the rocks. Then I got the call. I’m here at the scene now. The crime unit is still in there doing its thing. What we know is that it happened this morning, though they haven’t pinned it down any closer than that.”
Soon, though, all the details would be splayed across the news with those adjectives about the crime—gruesome—and the victim—sweet, such a nice girl, what a shame.
Dale’s chirpy voice broke her out of her grim thoughts. “So it wasn’t you he was targeting. That must be a relief.”
“Yeah.” She wasn’t going to get into how she really felt. “But I feel terrible for that woman.”
“They haven’t released her name. One of the neighbors said she was nice, volunteered at the hospital and dressed up as an elf at Christmas.”
“Of course!” she blurted out. He was killing her. “I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.” Before she hung up, though, she added, “You won’t need to print anything about Owen then. Now that we know he’s not the killer.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t print your name at all.”
“What do you mean, ‘your name’? You’re not supposed to print any names or any story about him.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I only promised to keep your name out of it. His sordid past, too juicy to pass up. The ‘Brain,’ a killer. People eat that stuff up. Gotta go. They’re bringing the body out. Photo ops.”
She stood holding the phone for several more minutes, grappling with the cold truth. She was responsible for ruining someone’s life. The news turned back to the crime scene, showing what Dale had described: a covered body being carted out to a waiting ambulance. The lights weren’t on.
She took the car home, brewed up some chamomile tea, changed into a velour jumpsuit, and called Adrian. This was the hardest call she was going to have to make.
He didn’t answer, so she left a message. That was easier, but not the way she’d wanted to do it. “Adrian, it’s me, Kristy. I just spoke to Dale Soza, and I think he’s going to print the story about Owen. I’m sorry, so sorry. Please come over so we can discuss how we can do damage control. If there’s anything I can do, I’ll do it. I’m going to keep working on Dale, too, to change his mind. He’s busy with the Kiss and Kill Cupid story right now, so we’ve probably got a few days. Please, don’t ignore me. I know you’re angry, and you can fire me and write nasty comments about my online articles and whatever you need to do to feel better. But come over tonight so we can work on this together. If Owen wants to come, I’ll apologize to him in person. I owe him that. Okay?” She released a breath. “Right, you can’t answer because this is a message. Okay. Bye.”
She trudged into the kitchen to make five-cheese macaroni and cheese. Comfort food. Because that was the only comfort she was getting today.
Adrian sat next to Owen at the seediest bar he’d seen in a while. He didn’t know what to say once he’d relayed Kristy’s message to him. Owen had ordered another whiskey and chugged it. His chin was so low it nearly touched the rim of his glass.
The televisions were going, both channels featuring the Kiss and Kill Cupid story. Owen looked up at the screen, his eyes narrowed. “I could kill her.”
“You don’t mean that. She made a mistake, but I could hear it in her voice. She feels terrible.”
“Not as terrible as I feel. I have to go.”
Adrian stood the moment Owen did. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to do myself in or anything. I just need to be alone.”
Adrian watched him wave down a cab, his gait unsteady. He had to let him go for now. Owen needed his stew time. But Adrian would be there for him later.
He thought of Kristy. He couldn’t be there for her. How could he forgive her for this? The cab pulled away, and an uneasy feeling settled into his stomach. Something wasn’t right.
The apartment filled with the scent of baking cheese and chocolate. Not together, of course. There was no chocolate ice cream in the house and, with Kristy’s reddened eyes and tear-streaked face, no way was she going out to get some. She found a bag of chocolate chips in the cabinet and pulled out her double boiler to melt them. No strawberries, alas, but she would make do with one banana and a box of Ritz crackers. If she got desperate, there was half a jar of sweet baby gherkins in the fridge. She was going to eat dessert first because the mac-and-cheese was taking too long.
She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh my gosh! I left the handle sticking out. Berta, do you see this? Call the pot-handle police!”
Berta wasn’t there, thank goodness. Kristy was about to push the handle back over the stove but felt cranky enough to leave it as it was. “Here’s to you, Berta, wherever you are.” She sent her a raspberry.
The phone never left her side, and every five minutes she picked it up and had to restrain herself from calling Adrian again. He didn’t want to talk to her. She’d done enough, and what could she really do to help the situation now, except grovel? She would, but only in person.
She’d also left a message for Dale, this time begging him, tears in her voice and all, not to print the story. He hadn’t called back, either.
The knock at her door propelled her off the couch. Adrian had come! She and Berta rarely got visitors, so it had to be him. She yanked open the door and blinked in shock at the sight of Owen standing there.
He walked right in, nudging her out of the way. Her throat tightened in fear. She remained near the door. Would anyone come or call the police if she screamed? Probably not.
He spun around, his mouth in a hard line, his gray eyes finally filled with something other than that blankness.
I could kill her…squeeze that pretty throat of hers.
Her eyes widened, and her heart leapt at that thought. “Owen, I’m sorry about what happened, truly I am. I never meant—”
He advanced on her. “You thought I was Kiss and Kill Cupid!”
“I…I wasn’t sure, but yes, you were a suspect.”
“A suspect. So, how many suspects did you have?”
“Just…you,” she squeaked out. “I got a weird feeling about you, and you kind of fit the profile, and I was like a bulldog, wanting to find the bone. I wanted to fit you into that profile. Adrian wouldn’t hear of it, you should know that. He didn’t believe it for a minute. And that’s why I went to Dale Soza. I figured he could find out more about you, about your past, since he’s got research resources.”
His face contorted into a snarl. “And he did, didn’t he?”
“Adrian told you everything, right? About why I suspected you?”
“Yeah. You’re both freaks. Supposedly you can hear thoughts.”
“Yes, you just thought you could squeeze my pretty throat.”
His mouth dropped open. “What the—?”
“I’m hoping you meant that in a nonliteral sense. You did, didn’t you?”
He didn’t answer and, as usual, his expression gave away nothing.
Her cell phone rang. “Hold on.” She was relieved to have a distraction and to be able to tell someone Owen was there. Dale’s number filled the screen.
“Dale, tell me you’ve changed your mind about printing that story,” she said without preamble. “Owen is here now, and he’s pretty upset.”
“Owen is there? Kristy, you’ve got to get out of there. The police just pinned down time of death. It happened very early this morning. Before I started watching Owen. That’s why I’m calling. He could still be the killer.”
She felt the blood leave her face. “O-o-okay, so you won’t print the story,” she said, as though confirming.
“Get out of there. I’m on my way over.”