“Two days after school starts. Why would you be sorry?”
Claire shrugged. “It just seems like something I should have already known.” Matthew reached across the table and squeezed her hand. The murmuring at some of the tables across the diner picked up. “There’s no reason you should have known that. Did anyone ever tell you you’re too hard on yourself ? Seriously, though”—Matthew locked eyes with her—“it would mean a lot to me if you came to the opening match.”
Claire’s heartbeat echoed in her ears. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” she whispered.
The waitress appeared out of nowhere and dropped two plates between them. Claire pulled one of the plates closer to her, picked up the burger, and took a bite.
A worried crease appeared between Matthew’s eyebrows. “You okay? You seem kinda quiet today.”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Claire said. “Just a little tired, I guess.”
Oh, and my mom said I couldn’t see you anymore and also I’m pretty sure Kate-Marie Brown just took a picture of us with her cell phone.
The waitress brought the check the instant the last fry disappeared from their plates. Claire reached for the cash she’d stuck in her back pocket, but Matthew snatched up the bill before she could get to it.
“Not a chance.” He smiled and shook his head.
Claire shifted uncomfortably. “Matthew, I can pay my share.”
“I’m sure you can. But this is a date, and I’m buying.”
“It’s not a date if I buy?” Claire fired back, arching an eyebrow at him.
He considered that. “I dunno.” Then he grinned. “I’ll think about it while I go pay this.” He slid out of the booth and walked over to the cash register.
Claire dug a piece of gum out of her pocket and headed for the front door. The stares that were drilling holes into her back didn’t even bother her. Let them look. She could pretend to be normal, right? What do they call it? Hiding in plain sight? Guess I’m gonna have to get pretty freaking good at that.
Chapter Nine
THE SMELLS COMING from the Dumpster were almost too much to bear. The wasted, rotten food. The toxic plastic of the trash bags. The bitter scent of a bottle of that must have been pitched before it was empty. Still, it was the best hiding place—in the darkest corner of the alley, but close enough to the back door of the apartment building for easy access. She breathed slowly, ignoring the stench, and forced herself to be still.
The suburbs were too easy, but this—an exclusive building downtown, where the idiots felt safe—this was perfect. It was even better than a daytime kill.
Two women wearing impossibly high heels and too much perfume breezed down the alley and into the back door of the building, arguing about whose turn it was to clean the bathroom. She tensed, once again checking the angle of the security camera above the door.
Finally, she saw the streetlight at the end of the alley catch his blond hair. Looking rumpled after a long day, he walked down the alley toward the building. He paused in front of the door, patting his pockets of his suit coat like he was looking for a key.
She leapt without hesitating and closed her jaws around his neck, crushing his windpipe before he even thought of screaming.
A few days after Claire had been to Louie’s with Matthew, the editor of the Hanover Falls Post turned up dead. Every TV station was blaring the story, and the paper had devoted the entire front page to him. He had been young and handsome and important, which had made everyone even more upset about his killing than they had been about the others.
Claire found Lisbeth at the kitchen counter, mug in hand, staring at the newspaper.
“Emily called—she said you weren’t answering your cell.”
“I don’t usually answer my phone when I’m sleeping,” Claire pointed out. “What did she want?”
“She wanted to meet you at that coffee shop on Fourth. If you want to go, I can take you over in an hour or so.”
“That’d be great.” Claire grabbed for the remote, already tired of the repetitive news show, but Lisbeth snatched it away from her.
“It’s just tragic.” Lisbeth said, sipping her tea. There were dark circles under her eyes and the frown on her face made her look pinched.
“The editor?” Claire asked, hopping up to sit on the edge of the counter.
“Of course the editor!” Lisbeth snapped. “And don’t sit on the counter. You know your mother hates that.”
Claire thunked back onto the floor. “Fine. Geez. If I’d known you were so tense I wouldn’t have said anything. Where is Mom, anyway?”