Page 9 of A Step You Shouldn't Take

That sounded so normal. Mind you, a potential rapist was hardly going to walk around calling himself Satan, was he?

“Yep, like Tim Burton.”

“Did he mention his surname?”

“I’m not sure. Sorry. And probably Tim wasn’t his real name either. In the movies, the bad guys always make something up.”

Right. Except this wasn’t the movies, this was my life. Ever since I was born, I’d been following somebody else’s script, and just when I thought I might be able to write my own ending, a new scene reminded me I was nothing but a puppet here on Earth.

“I’ll call you later in the week, okay? We need to go over the options for your wedding favours.”

“Any time. Apart from Wednesday morning when I have yoga. Or Thursday lunchtime because I’ve got lunch with Don and some of his investors at the country club. Or my regular manicure slot between two and three on Friday. Any time apart from that.”

“Friday at eleven a.m.?”

“Perfect.”

CHAPTER 4 - KIMBERLY

GEORGETTE RILEY.

I searched for her on the internet while the locksmith ran up a massive bill. Front door, back door, garage—all of those keys had been in my purse. I’d spent last night on edge with my new phone in my hand, listening for anybody creeping around outside. The only good thing about an otherwise horrible day was the realisation that I’d left my car key in the office when I hitched a ride to the Park Plaza with Annie.

Georgette Riley had been a twenty-four-year-old retail assistant working at the make-up counter at JCPenney in Arlington before her disappearance two years ago. The last time anyone saw her alive, she’d been heading for the dance floor in Club Riviera, tipsy but not drunk according to the friends she’d been with. One girl thought she’d glimpsed Georgette later, dancing with a dark-haired man, but she couldn’t be sure and he’d never come forward. The only certainty was that when the club closed at three o’clock in the morning, Georgette hadn’t been in the building.

Her boyfriend at the time swore she hadn’t come home, but several neighbours in their apartment building said they’d heard yelling earlier in the evening, and he admitted they’d had a fight before she went out. That the only reason she’d gone clubbing in the first place was a stupid argument over pizza toppings. Volatile, he’d called her. Flighty.

As Officer Leopold had said, the boyfriend had been the main suspect, although ultimately, the case fizzled out like a damp squib because with no body, foul play couldn’t be proven. A small follow-up article a year later noted that Georgette had never contacted anyone, not even her parents or brother, and her bank account remained untouched.

Missing presumed dead.

Except for me, there was no “presumed” about it. I knew Georgette was dead, her life snuffed out in the back of a luxury car driven by a lethal Casanova.

I leaned back in my leather desk chair, hidden safely away from prying eyes in my home office. When Annie had offered to take my meetings this morning, I’d gratefully accepted, partly so I could catch up on sleep—which hadn’t happened—but mostly so I could research Georgette in peace. That poor girl. How had she crossed paths with Tim or whatever his real name was?

Had he bought her a drink the way he did with me? Or offered her a lift home? Or had she genuinely liked the man, only for him to turn on her in the worst possible way? I’d never find out unless I could talk to her again, and I didn’t have the first clue how to track down a dead woman. I was a wedding planner, not a detective. All I could do was hope the cops came up with a suspect.

Kayla gave me a sympathetic look when I shuffled into the office at lunchtime—a small, hesitant smile and apologetic gaze even though she had nothing to be sorry for. No, last night’s events had been totally my fault. Annie had obviously filled her in on what happened, including how utterly stupid I’d been.

“Can I get you a coffee? Hot chocolate? Green tea? Fruit juice? Or a muffin? Some lunch?”

“I ate before I left home. Sorry, I should have stopped at Starbucks on the way.”

“It’s fine, honestly. I already had two lattes today.” She paused, eyes searching my face. “How are you? Annie told me about… You know.”

“You know me—I always bounce back.”

At least on the surface. Inside, I’d been bottling up all my anger and fear and frustration for years. Anger that my parents had let me down. Fear that I’d be alone for the rest of my days with my strange gift. Frustration that I couldn’t lead a normal life.

“Do you want a distraction? I need to find a pair of pure-white Falabella horses.”

“Fala-what?”

“Like pygmy ponies.”

Uh-oh. I had a bad feeling about this. “Marnie Blake?”

Kayla nodded and grimaced at the same time.

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