Page 59 of The Perfect People

“Lola,” Maya said as if she was discussing the President of the United States. “My next-door neighbor, Lola Dorman. We’re hosting this themed party together. That’s the only reason I didn’t completely lose it when you had me kick most folks out of the party I’d been planning for weeks—because I could send them all next door.”

“I thought you were just sending them to the party next door to politely get them out of the house,” Jessie said, feeling strangely unsettled. “You’re saying the parties are affiliated?”

“Sure,” Maya told her, “through the Roaring Twenties theme. We even wore matching flapper costumes. We had different decorations, food, and drinks at each house, but the vibe was the same. In fact, I was over at her place earlier, trying some of the hors d’oeuvres she was serving when the guy jumped me.”

Jessie’s whole body surged with a tingling sensation that started in her chest and shot out to her fingertips and toes.

“You’re saying that you were attacked at your neighbor’s house and that the two of you are dressed exactly the same tonight?” she repeated.

“Uh-huh,” Maya said, seeming only now to get the significance of her statement.

“Do the two of you look alike?” Jessie asked as she pulled out her phone and called Susannah. “Comparable size? Hair color?”

“We both have brown hair,” Maya confirmed, “which we styled and tied back like this. And we’re about the same size, yeah.”

“What’s up?” Susannah asked, picking up the phone.

“I think we’ve got the wrong victim at the wrong house,” Jessie said quickly. “Maya says she was attacked next door at her neighbor’s party, which has the same Roaring Twenties theme. The neighbor, Lola Dorman, is dressed in a matching outfit and has the same build and hair color.”

“I’m heading over there now,” Susannah said.

“I’ll meet you,” Jessie said before hanging up and turning to Maya. “Text us Lola’s cell number and a recent photo of her. And lock the door again after I leave. There’s still a chance that you were the target.”

She darted for the door.

“All this time you’ve been watching me,” Maya said, “what if he’s already been over there? What if you’re too late to help her?”

“Lock the door!” Jessie shouted as she left the bedroom and ran down the hall to the stairs.

It was all she could say because she didn’t have a good answer to Maya’s question. In fact, she was asking herself the same one: what if theyweretoo late?

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

The party was still going strong.

When Jessie rushed through the front door, she had to shove her way past tightly packed pockets of people to find an open space where she could get a decent view of the living room. She looked down at her phone at the photo of Lola that Maya had sent and compared it to the faces in the room. No one was an obvious match but there were so many people littering the area that she wasn’t confident that she hadn’t missed her.

A text popped up from Susannah:Music too loud to call. Let’s just text. Checking the kitchen and first floor back rooms. SO many people!

Going up the stairs to get a better view of the living room, Jessie texted back.

She ascended the stairwell and stood on the second-story landing, where she could look out on the entire crowd. Even though it was almost midnight—11:53 to be exact—there were still easily a hundred people spread out in the room below her. That didn’t account for the additional fifty-odd people milling about in front of the house and however many were in the kitchen and the other areas that Susannah was searching down below. Even with Lola’s photo, it would take forever to find and warn her.

And in that moment, staring down at an unending multitude of revelers trying to recreate the looks of people from a century ago, she realized she was going about this all wrong. If Lola Dorman was among all those partiers, she was safe, because the killer only choked his victims in public for effect. He did his kills in private.

Jessie turned around and looked down the hall of the second floor, which was much quieter than the first. In fact, other than two women in the open-doored bathroom in the middle of the hall, giggling as they reapplied makeup, there was no one around. If he was going to kill Lola, it would be up here, in a bedroom, just like the previous victims. She was right where she needed to be.

Jessie shot off a quick text to the chain that included Susannah, Sergeant Breem, and Officers Shaw, Timms, and Oldmeyer, which read:Believe real target tonight is Maya Easton’s next-door neighbor, Lola Dorman. Checking upstairs bedrooms. Assist when possible.

Then she did something she could never have done downstairs: as she walked along the hallway away from the stairs, she called Lola’s phone. While the music from downstairs was still audible up here, it was quiet enough that she hoped she might hear it ringing.

Sure enough, a loud trill began to call out from a room off to her left. She pulled out her gun and reached for the door handle. It was locked. That could be completely innocent—a homeowner locking their bedroom door to keep people out during a party. But most homeowners kept their phones with them during parties.

Jessie had a bad feeling and decided to risk whatever blowback might come her way if the decision she was about to make went south. She took two steps back, then rushed forward and kicked the door in. The home may have been expensive, but the lock wasn’t, and the door shot straight open.

Framed in front of her in the darkened bedroom, with the moonlit balcony behind them, were Lola Dorman and the man who’d been killing women like her. His hands were tight around her neck as they stood in front of the bedroom’s long, glass balcony doors. They were both facing Jessie. Lola’s back was to him, and she was desperately flailing, trying to knock his hands away, without success.

The man, of medium height and well built, was wearing a striped, short-sleeved shirt and matching striped shorts. A straw hat was on the floor at his feet. He was standing mostly behind Lola, making it impossible to take a shot without risking hitting her.

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