Page 11 of Say Yes to the Death

“Are you that girl? The one who escaped the Widowmaker?” The faded name tag on her brown smock read Monica.

Damn it. “I am,” Claire admitted.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you. I think you’re real brave.”

“Thank you. Bravery had nothing to do with it though. It was fight or die.”

“Would you sign this for me?” Monica dragged a pack of menthol cigarettes out of her back pocket.

Claire cringed. “Oh, I don’t think that would be appropriate. Tobacco is responsible for preventable deaths of over like eight million people a year.”

“Please? It’s really for my daughter, Emma. She’s four. Every time your picture comes on the TV she runs to watch.”

“Ah. Okay. Let me see if I have something else in here.” Claire dug through her purse. For a moment she wished for Luke, who always carried a tiny notebook in his pocket in case inspiration struck. She fished out an old receipt and a permanent marker. Claire scrawled “For Emma—always stand up for yourself” and her name on the back and handed it over. Her cheeks burned again. What was she doing? She wasn’t a celebrity. As Monica took the receipt, the handwritten, itemized list on the front side materialized.

1 Penis Cake Pan

12 Light Up Pecker Necklaces

12 Bags Gummy Dicks

1 Pack Metallic Dick Glitter

Claire’s mouth gaped open in horror, and she almost reached across the counter to snatch it back. The list was for Nicole’s upcoming bachelorette party. Did a four-year-old have the reading comprehension necessary to understand traditional bachelorette party décor? Before she could demand it back, the clerk folded the paper and slid it in the back pocket of her jeans.

“Thank you. That’ll be $51.07,” Monica said, tapping at the register.

Apparently, there was no attempted-murder-victim discount on wine. Claire dug her credit card out and handed it over, already mentally cataloging the routes of the other liquor store in the area. She couldn’t come back to this one after autographing such a penis-heavy shopping list.

The bottles rattled in the back seat of her car as she drove over one of West Haven’s infamous potholes. A glass of wine, a pair of leggings, maybe a pint of ice cream. Those were the only items in her arsenal that could turn this day around. Thanks to the Rachel snafu, she didn’t even get Chinese.

As Claire turned onto Beaumont Street and slapped her turn signal on for the parking garage, her heart jumped. Ever since Barney had held her in the underground parking garage of his new hotel, the sight of one sent her into an emotional tailspin. Her heart rate climbed as she pulled into her parking spot and opened the door. A light overhead flickered. Something felt wrong. The walls were too close, the air too dense. Her footsteps echoed in the emptiness. She rubbed the healing marks on her wrist from the cords that had bitten into her skin.

The unease lingered as she let Rosie out to pee. She peered into the face of each passing stranger. Barney wasn’t eligible for bail. There was no reason for her to be nervous. So why couldn’t she shake the feeling that she was being watched? A tingle ran up her spine as she ushered Rosie back inside and half-ran into the stairwell. They climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, where Claire unhooked Rosie’s leash so she could sniff each neighbor’s beige, unremarkable door.

Were her eyes playing tricks on her, or was her front door ajar? She narrowed her eyes. Oh, shit. The front door to her apartment hung open.

Her stomach clenched like she was hurtling along in a car that had just slammed to a stop. She had definitely locked the door before she left that morning. One of her least-endearing qualities was performing a dance move every time she did something important, like locking a door or turning off the stove. Her right elbow was still tender where she had banged it into the doorframe while performing a step-ball-change on the way to the office. So, who was in her apartment?

In an instant, she was beneath the Heirloom Hotel, hands bound behind her as a dark shadow approached. She fell against the wall, scrabbling for her Taser and fighting to take a breath. Her pulse beat behind her eyes. Did she call the police? Luke?

Rosie wandered into the apartment, completely unperturbed.

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