by Melinda Colt
The extremist opinions went on as Chelsea scrolled down through the posts. Black Dawn had always something bad to say about everything—a new book released by a famous author, a baby panda born at the zoo, a popular comedian who fought for feminism in innovative ways. Black Dawn was a pariah, a person who didn’t seem to like anything about society—not today’s society anyway. And although there was no proof in the posts she’d read so far, Chelsea had the same distinct impression Evan had expressed that Black Dawn was a woman. She was too bitchy, too sour, too chatty to be a man. None of these were solid arguments, it was just a gut feeling Chelsea had about this person. And something else nagging at her was that Black Dawn’s words seemed familiar. Her expressions, her wordy phraseology rang a bell in Chelsea’s head, but she couldn’t identify if or where she had encountered them before. It may have been just the fact that Black Dawn was all in all a prototype, one Chelsea had studied in psychology books. She’d even counseled a couple of patients with a similar personality—both women. In the end, they both had stopped showing up for sessions, unable to believe or accept they had a problem. To their mind, the cause of their constant unhappiness was the people around them, the society, the planet—anything but them.
Lost in thought, Chelsea barely noticed when Evan returned. He sat next to her quietly, mindful not to break her concentration. On autopilot, she had created a new document and was typing down notes and impressions. She stopped, fingers hovering over the keyboard. After a moment, she turned her head to look at Evan.
“I think you’re right about this person being a woman,” she said. “I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the way she expresses herself, or the fact that she’s particularly mean toward other women. We may be making a big deal out of nothing, since the internet is full of nuts. Being crazy doesn’t necessarily make them killers, but it doesn’t exonerate them either.” She chewed on her bottom lip for a while, rereading her notes, checking if she could add anything. Saving the document, she set the laptop aside. “I’ve made some notes, but they’re mostly educated guesses. I can’t say we have anything concrete.”
“I trust your educated guesses,” Evan said, giving her a lopsided smile.
She smiled back. “Thanks. Have you considered creating a fake profile and befriending this person? It might be interesting.”
He stroked his chin thoughtfully, reaching for the laptop and staring at the screen. “It’s an interesting idea. It’ll have to wait, though. Realistically speaking, this is not a strong lead. Right now I have to focus on those three men who dated Shannon.” He opened a file containing the information and photos of the men, and read their names out loud, “Malachi Doyle, Ronan McCarthy, and Jack Dunhill.”
Chelsea’s lips parted and she jerked the laptop toward her to look at the data. Sure enough, it was the same Jack Dunhill.
Evan stared at her. “What’s the matter? Do you know any of these guys?”
Still stunned, she drew back, her eyes on the screen. Her mouth had gone suddenly dry. “In a manner of speaking. I know Jack Dunhill.”
Evan became suddenly animated. “So, what can you tell me about him? Is he a friend of yours?”
Chelsea shook her head slowly. “No.”
“A patient?”
“I can’t divulge that information, Evan. Even if he were, that would be confidential.”
“Are you shitting me? This man may be a killer and you won’t talk about him?”
She almost flinched at his raised tone, but her own temper flared. “If I suspected he was a killer, don’t you think I would tell you?”
“How the hell do I know? Would you?”
“Damn it, of course I would! Look, I hardly know the man. I am not saying that he’s my patient. And if he were, I couldn’t tell you what we talked about. That would shatter my entire work ethic.”
He dragged his hands through his hair, looking exasperated. “I’m not asking you to tell me what you talked about, Chelsea. I don’t care if the man wears women’s panties or has a fetish for high heels. I just want to know if he could be a murderer.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then reconsidered. Was Jack Dunhill a potential killer? He was certainly a self-centered misogynist, perhaps a narcissist, but a murderer?
She shook her head, shoulders slumping. “I don’t know, Evan. I don’t know him well enough yet.”
“Yet?”
At his raised eyebrow, she felt her cheeks grow hot. “I only saw him twice. I got the impression he was flirting with me. It was just an impression,” she emphasized, gesturing vaguely. “It might have been my imagination. He didn’t do or say anything inappropriate. Perhaps he was trying to be charming.”
“I’ll bet.”
She could have laughed at his sour expression if the situation hadn’t been so serious. Taking a deep breath, she clasped her hands together.
“Listen, Evan. I never give out information about my patients—ever. But since this is an unprecedented situation and I can’t, in good conscience, vow that he’s not capable of murder, I can tell you the little I know about Jack Dunhill. I don’t know if it’ll help, you’ll judge the rest when you interview him.”
She related the discussion she’d had with Dunhill, omitting the more personal information, while making sure she aligned all the important facts. Evan listened, typing some notes under the man’s profile. When she finished, he looked back at her.
“Thanks for this,” he said softly. “I would never ask you to break your work ethic, Chelsea, if this wasn’t a necessity. You know this information will stay buried if Dunhill turns out to be innocent.”
“I know. As I said, he’s yours from here. Anyway, you can’t interview him until Tuesday. He mentioned going out of town this weekend to meet his girlfriend’s parents.”
“Son of a bitch.” Evan closed the lid on the laptop. “Well, I’ll go and see if I can catch the other two tomorrow.”
“Good luck. I’ll see about creating a profile and trying to friend this Black Dawn character on social media. Maybe I’ll pretend to be a man who shares her radical views. We’ll see if she takes the bait.” She hesitated, then took a plunge. “Listen, if you don’t have any plans for tomorrow night, a friend of mine is giving a party. Would you like to come?”
Tongue-in-cheek, she watched his face draw in a wary expression.
“Do you mean a Halloween party with costumes and stuff?”
She fought to remain serious. “Yes. My friend rented this awesome club downtown, and she arranged for fireworks at midnight. It’ll be grand!”
Evan shifted his legs in an uncomfortable gesture. Perhaps she was being vain, but Chelsea would have sworn if it were anybody else asking, he would have said no. Still, she kept her steady gaze on him, watching his reactions. He was conflicted, and she hoped it was because he wanted to go with her.
Finally, he blew out a breath. “Okay, but I’m not wearing a costume.”
Her lips curved in a smile. “It’s alright. You can dress like a homicidal maniac. They look just like everyone else,” she whispered theatrically, making him snort out a laugh.
“Then I guess I’ll go. Thanks for inviting me.”
“Thanks for agreeing to go with me.”
They watched each other for a long moment, until Kieran padded into the room. He strolled toward the couch, gauged the distance, then jumped into Chelsea’s lap. Delighted, she stroked his soft fur, enjoying the vibrations of his purring. God, he reminded her of Tail!
“Would you take a picture of me and this fine lad?” she asked Evan, sliding out her phone from her jeans pocket, careful not to disturb the cat, who had made himself comfortable.
“Sure.” Evan took the phone, grinning. “You two make a lovely couple. How about a kiss?”
Chelsea giggled, cooing to Kieran, who seemed to understand. Guided by her tickling fingers under his chin, he tilted his head upward, whiskers twitching. Chelsea couldn’t resist rubbing her nose against his. She was completely smitten.
/> “There, I must have taken a dozen pictures,” Evan said, handing her the phone. “You should be modeling.”
Chelsea scoffed. “I’m missing at least thirty centimeters in height for that career. But it’s not my cup of tea. Thanks for the compliment though, if that’s what it was.”
“It was.”
Their smiles relaxed and their eyes connected. Before they became too serious, Chelsea patted Kieran on the butt and set him on the floor, then stood.
“You’d better drive me back to my car. It’s getting late.”
Evan stood as well. “Sure. Let me grab my sweater.”
She said goodbye to Kieran, who kept her and Evan company as they put on their boots and coats. They didn’t talk much during the short drive to the church where Chelsea had left her car. As she opened the door to get out, she thanked Evan for the ride.
“What time shall I pick you up tomorrow evening?” he asked.
“Around eight.”
“Okay. Thanks again for the invite, Chelsea,” he said through the open door. “I look forward to it.”
She smiled, feeling her cheeks warm. “Me, too.”
She drove carefully on the sleet-covered streets, and once she got home she ordered chicken and noodles from her favorite Thai place. She was so hungry she couldn’t think straight. While she waited for the food to arrive, she changed into her comfy pajamas and opened her laptop. She was about to download the photos of her and Kieran from her phone when she noticed one of them was already uploaded on her social media account.
A chilly wave of confusion made her blood run cold. When the hell had she posted that photo? She could swear she hadn’t. Had she done it in the car while waiting for a red light and didn’t remember? She must have because the photo was there, already getting likes and sweet comments. It was true she didn’t always remember every little thing she did while she multitasked, but this was something she should remember. Wasn’t it?
Chapter Ten
Evan felt a vein would pop in his head. Nothing about this case was going well. As Chelsea had predicted, he’d been able to reach only one of the three men he had to question. Ronan McCarthy had been cooperative and had expressed deep sorrow when he’d heard about Shannon’s death, but the biggest surprise was that the man was married and claimed to be with his wife on the night of Shannon’s murder. Evan thought the guy was a sleazeball for frequenting a dating website while he was married, so he wasn’t sorry that he had to question both McCarthy and his wife. After confirming his alibi, he let McCarthy deal with his furious missus. Evan thought her eyes glowed a bit red and for good reason. He’d be surprised if she didn’t divorce the cheating sack of shit after this. But although he was a lying two-timer, he wasn’t a killer. At least not Shannon’s killer.
Malachi Doyle was out of town, but during their phone conversation he expressed his sorrow for Shannon’s tragedy and claimed he would contact Evan at the beginning of next week, as soon as he got back.
As for Jack Dunhill, his phone was off and Evan couldn’t reach him at all, which was the main reason for his explosive state of mind. He didn’t know why, but suddenly this guy had become his number one suspect. He hated to think it was because Dunhill was Chelsea’s patient and had hit on her. Damn it, he had to be objective! All that was irrelevant. If Jack Dunhill was guilty, Evan would prove it and make sure he paid for his crime. But until Dunhill was back, he could only wait.
He’d made no progress with Black Dawn either. Chelsea didn’t answer her phone when he’d called her around lunchtime. He was still debating what to do next as he fell asleep face down on the desk.
It seemed only minutes later Kieran woke him by shoving his fat furry body against Evan’s head. For a moment he couldn’t decide what hurt more, his stiff neck or his scarred shoulder. He straightened up inch by inch, gritting his teeth while his body protested the abuse. He really needed a day off just to sleep, eat, and sleep some more.
“Not gonna happen, so stop thinking about it.”
He lifted the cat, who was walking on the keyboard, typing unintelligible words over his report. Luckily, he’d learned to save his work every five minutes.
Yawning, he looked at his watch. It was ten to seven. Why hadn’t Chelsea called to make sure he would come pick her up for the party?
Reaching for his phone, he dialed her number. It took several rings before she answered.
“Hey, are you okay? I tried to call you earlier,” he said.
“Yeah, I am. Sorry I forgot to call you back, but I was doing my nails.”
Although her voice had a fake cheerfulness to it, underneath it he could read something else. He just didn’t know what.
“Tell me you’re not dressing too fancy. Are we still on for the party?” he asked.
“Sure. I’ll wait for you at eight. I know I said not to dress up, but maybe wear something other than jeans and a T-shirt?”
He rolled his eyes. “I knew I’d hear more about this. Okay, I won’t embarrass you, I promise. What are you wearing?”
“We don’t know each other well enough for you to ask me that,” she said in a low, throaty voice, then laughed. “You’ll find out. See you at eight.”
He stood with a heartfelt sigh and went to the bedroom. This wasn’t his idea of fun, but Chelsea was right. It was a distraction, a break for his mind. Who knew? Maybe he would be surprised and have a good time. Chelsea was fun, so this shouldn’t be too bad.
He showered, shaved, brushed his teeth, and splashed on some aftershave. He chose an outfit he thought worked for any occasion—a pair of black jeans and a black dress shirt. Not wanting to look too overdressed, he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and left the top button undone. There, he was ready and it had taken him twenty minutes. Why Chelsea needed hours to get ready was beyond him. Unless she was going to wear some strange suit and paint all of her skin green, in which case he might pretend not to recognize her and walk away.
Grinning to himself, he filled Kieran’s bowls with food and water, polished his shoes, then took his coat and locked the door behind him.
It was 7:55 when he reached Chelsea’s house. He would have gotten there sooner, but he’d taken a couple of wrong turns on the way. He was still debating whether to go knock or simply honk, when she opened the door and locked it behind her.
Evan climbed out of the car automatically, unable to suppress a wolf whistle. Chelsea laughed and did a pirouette.
“You like?”
“Mm-hm.”
Her tight black leather Catwoman costume covered her from neck to toe, yet little was left to the imagination. If he’d made educated guesses about the shape of her body before, now he could confirm each one. She didn’t wear a mask or any head attire, leaving her hair flow naturally down her back and shoulders. As she walked to him on high heels, her movements were those of a sleek, sexy feline. There was something predatory about her saunter.
Evan cleared his throat, trying not to stare at her luscious, cherry-red lips. If he focused on that sensual mouth he might do something he would regret later.
“You look great,” he said, going around the car and opening the passenger door for her.
“Thanks. You, too.” She smiled, climbing gracefully into the car. “Ye clean up nicely, yank.”
Evan slid behind the wheel. “I’m no Batman, but I told you I wouldn’t embarrass you. Where are we going?”
She gave him the address, and he tapped it on the navigation screen. The estimated time of arrival was twenty-three minutes.
“Do you mind turning up the heat a little?” Chelsea asked. “My outfit is thinner than it looks.”
Her sheepish smile was sexy as hell. Evan wanted to lower the window and let the cold night air cool his head, but he did as she asked.
The streets were festively decorated, with myriad lights that highlighted spooky shapes and jack-o’-lanterns. Groups of trick-or-treaters walked the streets, wearing ghoulish outfits and vivid makeup. Doors opened without hesitat
ion, and candy was handed out along with delighted smiles.
“Halloween really is a big deal around here, too,” Evan observed while driving.
“Sure it is. Don’t you celebrate it in America?”
“We do, big time. Somehow, I’ve never gotten the spirit of it. Maybe it’s because in modern times it’s more of a commercial holiday than a true celebration of… the spirits’ world—or whatever its meaning. To be shamefully honest, I never knew exactly what this holiday was about.”
Chelsea shifted her body to make herself more comfortable. “Halloween, or All Hallows’ Eve, is a Celtic holiday that marked Samhain, the end of harvest and the beginning of winter. The Celts thought this was the darkest time of the year, when the boundaries between this world and the otherworld thinned, and the spirits or fairies could come into this world more easily. The souls of the dead were also said to revisit their homes seeking hospitality. Places were set at the dinner table and by the fire to welcome them. The belief that the souls of the dead return home on one night of the year and must be appeased has ancient origins and is present in many cultures throughout the world. This is what Halloween is really about.”
As he listened to Chelsea’s quiet, modulated voice explaining the significance of the holiday, Evan had a strange feeling of déjà vu. His mother used to tell him bedtime stories in the same low, patient tone. Her voice alone could make him feel warm and cozy even on the coldest winter nights. He knew it must be the whole setting of tonight that gave birth to these unsettling feelings.
“Do you believe that?” he asked impulsively. “That there’s any way to return from… wherever it is we go after we die? Do you think the souls of our loved ones can come back, even one night a year?”