Pretty Little Dead Girls by Mercedes M. Yardley Page B

to save her, as one saves dessert for a particularly fine reward for a job well done, a job like passing a grueling test at school or surviving this life, and thus he put Bryony away for later.
    That did absolutely nothing to dispel the fact he wanted to kill now, and to make it good and satiating. One does not necessarily have to have crème brulee to satiate oneself. Certainly when there is no crème brulee to be had, one can do quite well with marshmallow rice squares made out of the cheap generic store brand cereal. There is no shame in this.
    This particular victim was a girl that he saw shopping at a charmingly modest used bookstore that also doubled as a bakery, and she had exquisite calves. They reminded our killer of his days in junior high, where the girls had trim little calves that lengthened each time they had a growth spurt, and he would stretch his gangly legs out under their chairs so he could be as close to them as possible.
    I shall call this girl Kathleen, he thought to himself (for Kathleen was the name of a girl that he had a shy fondness for when he was about fourteen). He followed discreetly as she hopped in her car and pulled off in the park to enjoy her scone and book. He hoped that this would be her destination, because he had it on good authority (his) that the women who exited this particular bakery/bookstore tended to be the type who headed outdoors to enjoy their lives, and they did things like knitting in the bright morning sunshine, or running around, laughing, with a red kite, and practicing tai-chi out in one of the many parks. This made him realize two things: 1) Bakery/Bookstores are good for the soul, and 2) they were also a fine place to prey.
    “Excuse me,” he said, stopping beside the woman as she read her book. She looked up, wiping bits of scone off from her lips.
    “Yes?” she asked him with a barely detectable hint of nervousness.
    “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, “but I happened to notice that you are reading the same book I am hoping to buy for my wife’s birthday. Is it something that you would recommend?” A man walked by lazily, and the murderer’s eyes followed him with studied nonchalance.
    The woman, his “Kathleen,” looked faintly surprised. “You want to buy your wife a copy of Why It Is Prudent To Kill the Man That You Marry?”
    The killer’s eyebrows raised a fraction before he could control them. “Why, uh . . . yes. Yes, I do. That is precisely the book that I wish to purchase. For my wife.”
    “Kathleen” shrugged, and the killer sighed in relief. The woman burst into a long and tedious book report using words like “feminist ideals” and “male oppressive dogs” and by the time they were completely alone and it was time for her to die, the murderer was very, very ready to kill her.

CHAPTER NINETEEN
    A Song
    Eddie sat with his back against the cloying floral wallpaper in his apartment. He held Jasmine in his hands, and ran his fingers over her strings as he looked through the window. The moon was extravagant tonight. The stars were full of brilliant luster.
    His fingers never ceased their movement and with his eyes full of the stars he teased out a song. It was something quite unlike anything else he had written before. It was about death and life and a plant that can heal or kill, respectively. It was a song about making the choice to love when you knew that in the end
    . . . you would only have . . .
    . . . empty hands.

CHAPTER TWENTY
    Be Aware
    Syrina wasn’t home when Rikki-Tikki came by, but that was all right. He mostly came to speak to Bryony.
    “’Sup, girl,” he said, and hugged her. She had spent the morning paying bills and making Very Important Phone Calls and decided to reward herself for the hard work. She was frosting cupcakes and was careful not to get the frosted knife in Rikki Tikki’s dark hair when she hugged him back.
    “Hello, how are things? Would you like a cupcake?”
    He would like one, very much, and