Page 34 of D for Dead

Today she would people watch.

And think.

She had a lot to think about: the killer who had recreated murder scenes from two of her books; the man who had followed her when she left the Velvet Lounge on Wednesday night; Detective Jake Sullivan. All three things were unsettling her.

She felt guilty about the murders and more than a little helpless. The killer appeared to be using her Zack Maguire novels for inspiration and Amy was conscious there were four more books in the series. Was this lunatic going to kill again? The revelation of her connection to the church murders had been unnerving enough. Knowing the killer had taken it a step further and was targeting her writing specifically was a hell of a burden. She remembered Special Agent Rivers’ words:

Three people would still be alive if you hadn’t written those books.

Sullivan had tried to sugar-coat it, but Rivers was right. She was responsible. Their blood was on her hands. Neatly bringing her on to Sullivan.

The man was bossy, blunt and to the point, and had initially given the impression he didn’t particularly like her. Except he had turned out in the middle of the night when she had called him.

He was doing his job.

And he had defended her against Rivers yesterday.

He was reserving judgement. Maybe.

He had defended her. Had come to her aid when she’d called him. And she was attracted to him. Much to her annoyance. It had to be down to being followed. He had come to her rescue. She had been relieved and grateful, and it had somehow manifested itself into a silly crush. It wasn’t real and she would get over it.

Choosing to believe she was right, Amy crossed the road to Mabel’s and pushed open the door, charmed, as always, by the old-fashioned bell announcing her arrival.

She didn’t recognise the girl behind the counter and guessed she must be new. Patiently, she waited in line behind an older couple, her attention drawn to the beautiful bouquets of flowers adorning one of the corner tables. Lilies, roses, irises and daisies in an array of colour. Some stood in vases, others were in wrappers. Amy’s focus was drawn to the framed picture that sat in the centre. A young girl with dark hair and smiling eyes. The girl who usually served her.

A word, a name, drew her attention away from the table and back to the couple in front of her.

Kasey.

‘Such a sad waste of a young life,’ the gentleman in front of her was saying.

They were talking about the girl in the picture frame; the girl who had served latte and cookies to Amy on numerous occasions. And they were talking about her in the past tense.

Kasey Miller.

Realisation dawning, Amy turned and fled from the coffee shop, all appetite for latte and cookies gone, and crashed straight into a hard, masculine body.

Hands gripped her arms, strong, steadying, and for a brief moment she panicked.

‘Amy?’

Heart thumping from the shock, she pulled back, relieved when they released her, and focused on the friendly, concerned face she immediately recognised. Troy. It was Nadine’s boyfriend, Troy.

Warily she glanced around for Nadine, but he appeared to be alone.

‘You okay?’

Amy ordered herself to breathe, to calm down. ‘Yeah, sure, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to run into you.’

‘It’s fine.’ He took another step back, realising he was crowding her space, but continued to look at her with concern. ‘You’re sure you’re okay? You look white as a sheet.’

‘I’m fine. I realised I’d forgotten something.’

Troy raised his brows slightly, waiting for her to elaborate. She didn’t, and instead changed the subject.

‘You live around here?’

‘No, I’ve just come from a meeting with a client.’