Page 8 of My Killer Blind Date

I type quickly.

Looking_for_Zoe Just flagging that the six months are pretty much up, so if Zoe fits the pattern, we should keep an eye out for that headline …

I don’t have to wait long before answers start popping in.

KillMe_Softly CHILLLS. Because that also means a new victim would be chosen, which is really scary, especially for all us singles out there who might be swiping right on somebody incredibly dangerous. Stay safe and pack your mace, ladies!!!

SpartanWarrior1983 I don’t know why anyone in this day and age would use the apps to find love. It’s incredibly dangerous out there. If you’re that stupid, I’m sorry if this is insensitive, but you deserve what’s coming to you.

A few more people add their two cents, but my eyes have decided they are done working overtime – the bright screen is starting to blur. All of a sudden, exhaustion crashes over me. I glance at the time – oh God, two in the morning? How the hell did that happen? I have to be at work at eight a.m. tomorrow, and it’ll be a long day with George’s bridesmaid dress fitting right after that. If I don’t get to bed now, I’ll be useless.

And it’s important not to be useless. I didn’t just take the job at Anderson & Pulaski for the paycheck. I took it because Zoe worked there. It’s probably a long shot, but it’s possible I could find a lead there that unlocks the whole case. The person I’m most interested in talking to is Devin, the guy who runs the cremation ovens, known in the industry as ‘retorts.’ From what I’ve put together, he and Zoe were buddies, and even had lunch together the day she disappeared. I’m itching to ask him about that, but so far, I’ve been too busy playing corpse chauffeur to get my shot. Tomorrow might be my chance, and I have to be sharp.

I shut the laptop. Rise from the couch and toss my now-cold dinner in the trash. I triple-check the locks on my door, then the windows, and finally, fall into bed. I barely have time to remember that I really should brush my teeth. Sleep comes immediately.

Chapter Three

After a long day of work with four morgue pickups and not a single Devin sighting, I stumble into the bridal shop five minutes early, which is a personal triumph considering the two buses involved in getting all the way from Anderson & Pulaski to Lincoln Park, where the posh people live. Sometimes I indulge in the fantasy of owning a car, before I remember I can barely even afford my own apartment. Trains and buses it is.

It’s four fifty-five, and as the air conditioning envelops me in its chilly embrace, I suddenly remember I’m starving. Between today’s pickups, I didn’t get a chance to grab lunch. I’m also really wishing I’d had time to stop at home for a shower …

‘Hello!’ A woman in black pants and a tunic-length crisp white shirt sashays toward me, a glass of champagne in her manicured hand. ‘You must be with the Ames-Cherian wedding party.’

‘Yes, thanks,’ I say as she hands me the champagne. OK – wow. Fancy. And actually kind of nice. I need to relax a little, and maybe the champagne will help me transition from handling dead people to consorting with alive people. I take a quick sip. Oh my God, it’s only the best champagne I’ve ever tasted.

‘I’m Siobhan,’ the woman says, ‘and I’ll be taking care of you today. Your name?’ Her blond updo is sleek, her makeup flawless.

‘Margot McKee.’

‘Come right this way. You’re the first one here, but I’ve already pulled all the dresses, so we can go ahead and get you started with your fitting …’

I follow her, stealing another cold swig of champagne as she ushers me into the dressing room area, where our dresses hang from a rolling rack. Half a dozen dressing rooms are positioned on either side of a giant, three-way mirror, each room with a heavy velvet curtain for privacy. Facing the dressing rooms, two blue couches and assorted armchairs make for a viewing area. The couch is calling my name, but I must resist. Fitting first, relax later.

‘And I have your dress right here,’ says Siobhan, pulling my satin pea soup dress off the rack and approaching one of the dressing rooms. ‘Just slip it on, then we’ll take a look.’ She sweeps open a curtain, then efficiently closes me in.

‘Thanks,’ I call out behind her.

The dressing room is huge – there’s even an armchair inside here. My vision of getting my fitting over with in a snap dissolves. Instead, I sink into the chair, slouch all the way down and take another long swig of champagne. Delicious. Gentle piano music pipes through invisible speakers, and I roll my shoulders. Slowly but surely, every ache and pain from the day’s exertions starts to melt away.

With my head leaned against the back of the chair, I turn my head from side to side and the muscles in my neck pop in a satisfying way.

‘Everything OK in there?’ asks Siobhan after a while.

‘Great! Be out soon!’ I call back, but I don’t move. There’s no hurry. The girls aren’t even here yet …

As if on cue, there’s suddenly a chatter of voices. I grin – they may not realize I’m in here. Maybe I can jump out and surprise them …

‘I’m so sad to miss out on the champagne!’ cries a very distinctive voice – Bix, George’s maid of honor. She’s massively pregnant with her second child, and always popping with opinions.

‘Girl, it’s delicious.’ Trish – petite and put together. George’s four other bridesmaids are all her sorority sisters, so I’m the odd one out. I know them somewhat, obviously, just from being around George and participating in the occasional trivia night with them, but it’s not like we’re super close.

‘I guess Margot’s running late,’ says George. ‘Maybe we can wait a few minutes?’

I’m about to spring up and surprise them when Bix pipes up again.

‘Can I just say? That girl is a wreck. I know her roommate disappearing was intense, but it’s been half a year. And where is she working now? A funeral home? It’s like she’s obsessed with death.’

I freeze in place at the edge of the chair, heart pounding uncomfortably.