08 - December Dread by Jess Lourey Page B

“She had to have been exactly our age.”
    I nodded miserably. “It’s terrible, Patsy.”
    “God, her parents! They must have just found out. I have to go to them.”
    That’s exactly the kind of person Patsy was: golden, through and through. “Do you need a ride?”
    “No. Do you want to come with?”
    Just the thought made my stomach clench violently. At will, I could call up the autumn scent of rotting leaves and the Old Spice the reporting police officer wore when he came to the farmhouse to tell us my dad was dead. I could hear my mom’s wail, the thump as she fell to the floor in a sobbing heap. Me, left standing alone in front of the officer. No, I wouldn’t be coming with, though I hated my cowardice. “I can’t, Patsy. I have to get back to my mom. I can check on your kids though, if you want.”
    “They’re with their dad. They’re fine. Thank you, though. I’ll call you.”
    We embraced in a long, sad hug. She went in the kitchen to gather her coat and purse, and I walked into the frigid night. In the foyer, a white sheet of paper with a red, blue, and black flag on it caught my eye. Women’s Self-Defense Classes. Certified Instructor, 4th degree Black Belt. Learn to Defend Yourself in One Week. I ripped off a slip of paper with the phone number, location, and times, and shuffled to my Toyota.

Eleven
Tuesday, December 18
    Day two of the PI class was supposed to focus on Minnesota statutes regulating private investigators and the ethical code of the PI field, but the classroom was vibrating with talk of the second murder.
    “Should we just get it out of the way?” Mr. Denny finally asked, holding up his hands. It was the third time Gene’s and Leo’s whispering had interrupted him. “It’s the death in River Grove, isn’t it?”
    Leo nodded. “That’s two dead women within 60 miles of here, and the police don’t have anything to go on. And this wacko’s been at it for three years!”
    The murmurs and nods passed through the class like a fever. I found myself joining in.
    Mr. Denny crossed his arms and leaned back against his desk. “Before I opened my own PI firm, I used to be a police officer. In Minneapolis, 23 years. I can tell you they’re doing everything they can, in partnership with the FBI. Once the killer crossed state lines, this became a federal investigation.”
    “But how hard can it be to catch someone who sends calling cards, for Christ’s sake?” This from buzz-cut Gene. “Seven women in White Plains got targeted, three in River Grove.”
    “What?” I asked. It was the first thing I’d said out loud in class today. “Three women in River Grove were targeted?”
    Gene turned to face me. Although he’d seen me before, he seemed to be finally looking at me, and I recognized his expression. I’d seen more of it in the last 48 hours than I’d ever seen in my life: concern and pity. Every brunette in the state was probably on the receiving end of the same stare and understood what it felt like to be a bull’s eye. “It was on the news this morning, ma’am. The murderer left a snowman with a candy cane in front of the lady’s house before he killed her. At least two other women in town had the identical snowman in front of their houses, and the police are checking to make sure there aren’t more.” He turned back to Mr. Denny. “Wouldn’t
it make sense for any woman who receives something strange to call the police?”
    “It’s December, the week before Christmas. Millions of unexpected gifts are being exchanged every day. This killer knows what he’s doing, I’m afraid.”
    Leo clenched his fists. “Can you teach us something to help catch him?”
    Mr. Denny shook his head. “On an investigation of this scale, the best thing any of us can do is to stay out of the way and contact the police if we see or hear anything relevant. Back to work, okay?”
    As he distributed the test, one of those fat, lazy winter flies started buzzing around my head, as