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“The croissant looks delicious.”
“It’s to die for. I already had a bite.”
“Okay. Say less. I need one of those, with a side of cream and dark chocolate shavings.”
“To go, Doc?”
“No. I’ve some time to waste before work,” I said, tapping my shoes against the floor as she filled my plate with the buttery croissant.
I had known Miranda for a few years now, and she was always kind and warm. Her smile was the best thing I’d see every morning—it made me feel like the day was going to be better somehow. The way she called me Doc always brought a smile to my face. If I wasn’t who I was, I would have befriended her a long time ago. Being alone sucked. But pulling another person into the chaotic medley that was my life—oh, I couldn’t do that to Miranda. She was sunshine, and I was thunderclouds.
She’d be lucky to have a friend like you. Kat smiled.
Like you? You died!
Miranda handed me the plate of pastry with a smile. “Have a nice day, Doc.”
“You too, Miranda.”
She turned to the next one on the line and greeted her in her singsong voice. “Your order, ma’am?”
I walked out of Hot Cuppa toward the row of wrought-iron chairs placed along the sidewalk, surrounded by potted plants. Taking the chair at the very back, I closed my eyes for a second, inhaling the fresh smell of melted butter and roasted coffee beans.
Slicing the croissant and filling it with diced strawberries and a dollop of whipped cream, I took a bite with a delighted sigh. I was lost in my food when my phone rang. “Detective Rosario?”
“I’m calling to inform you that Victor’s body has been exhumed.”
“Let me know once you get your autopsy result, Detective,” I said, licking the cream off my fingers.
“I don’t have any doubt that your report is a hundred percent accurate. I won’t worry about this.”
“I’m not worried,” I said, biting into the last piece of my croissant. I hurled the crumpled coffee cup into the trashcan and walked toward my car. “I’m just sad that you’re wasting department resources on someone like Victor.”
“I know, but my hands are tied.”
He hung up. I was putting my phone down when it pinged again—a message from an unknown number. I instinctively knew who it was from.
The fucker was pushing me, playing me, but he wouldn’t win. He could try. If he thought he was going to break me, he had another thing coming.
Unknown: I have written my next letter, Yara. I’m just looking for a mailman to get it to you.
To me?! And Yara… he called me Yara, not K.Y. Wolff.
My fingers trembled, and my phone almost slipped from my hand. My head spun, and my eyes were filled with black stars. What did he mean? Were all those letters… for me?
Me: Who are you?
Unknown: You know who I am.
Me: The Strangler?
Unknown: I don’t like that name.
Me: What should I call you then?
Unknown: I will tell you when it is time. You look gorgeous in that blue dress.
Heart racing, I whirled around, my eyes scanning the crowd of people. Even if he was here, how the hell would I find him?
