where only I knew the footing. Treacherous ground, my own territory.
― Margaret Atwood
It was stupid―offering myself up as a target for a killer. It was stupid but I was desperate and desperate men are liable to do anything.
There was a killer in town who was relentless. He already gunned a man down to throw his pursuers off his scent―I was convinced of that.
No, Ned Harkness didn't have to die. He was a sacrifice the killer made to buy time.
It was a calculated diversion, a blind alley. The action virtually screamed, Look over here and get tangled in a maze of conflicting motives. Adding one more unsolved crime to the list would overtax a local police force already stretched to the limit.
Someone had to do something and since I was in charge, that someone had to be me. I painted a huge target on my back and could feel eyes silently watching me.
I was risk averse but not avoidant. I knew there was a cost I'd have to pay. But I couldn't let a serial murderer keep on going while I analyzed his past crimes and frittered away time sifting through motives.
He was continuing perfectly concealed in plain sight, his camouflage undiscoverable unless I made him feel he was being pursued and tempted him to carry out a pre-emptive strike.
It was the most dangerous game of all―pursuing two-legged game who could hide in plain sight until the opportune time when he could launch a deadly strike
Despite temperatures in the high 60's, I shivered there in the street, imagining my killer's sights now trained directly upon me.
I needed shelter and comfort and instinctively sought it from Ella Wiltshire in the general store.
I actually hurried along the pavement and didn't breathe easy until I entered her shop and felt the door close securely behind me.
Ella was serving a customer but looked up and waved, unaware of what was happening inside me. I sat down in the lunch section and ordered a coffee, hoping the warm drink would calm me.
Finally, she was free and joined me.
"Hey Scott, I was hoping you'd drop by. I have something I want to share with you, but not here―is there somewhere else we can go?"
"How about Montana's?" I suggested, knowing the restaurant was away from the downtown and we'd have to drive .
"Sure," she replied, "my wheels or yours?"
"Well, your car's just outside―how about you drive?"
I waited until we were clear of the main street before I relaxed a bit.
"By the way,"I said nonchalantly, "I was invited to the Loyalist Lodge for their annual party on Saturday―want to accompany me?"
"Today is Thursday, Scott-―talk about last minute. You should give a girl more notice."
I coloured. "Sorry, it just happened―the Franklins invited me."
"The Franklins huh? Well, I wouldn't want you going alone with Flora Franklin on the prowl. That woman has a reputation and poor old Harold seems blind to her flirtations."
"Then, I take it that's a yes?" I asked.
She couldn't resist a smirk. "It's still short notice for our first date."
Her calling it a date produced a warm feeling inside me, but I couldn't resist feeling guilt I may have endangered us both by the choices I made.
There was a killer on the loose and I just had to make sure his next target was me.