Page 98 of Forever Gone

Right on schedule, the door to Harry’s Print Shop opened.

Deb stepped outside.

Deb’s blond hair had been cut short since the killer last saw her at close range. It curved neatly around the ears and lifted at the crown, styled rather than merely trimmed. Deep red lipstick sharpened the mouth. A fitted black coat replaced the loose brown one Deb had worn through most of the marriage.

The killer grimaced.

A glow-up. That was what people called it now. Divorce as a cosmetic procedure. Cut the hair. Buy different clothes. Paint the mouth as though a new color could cover everything said with it.

Deb paused beneath the shop awning and checked a phone.

A man in a delivery uniform passed, turned after three steps, and glanced back.

The killer’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

Deb had always known how to gather attention without seeming to ask for it. A tilt of the head. A smile held half a second too long. The appearance of openness where none existed.

Perhaps a former lover would have noticed those things.

Perhaps an old friend would have noticed, too.

The killer knew Deb.

The killer knew the careful sweetness used in public, the concerned voice, the quick laugh that made strangers feel chosen. Beneath it lived something meaner. Sordid thoughts moved behind the polished expression, waiting for privacy before they became words.

Deb had used those words freely once.

The killer had not forgotten any of them.

At 1:02, Deb started walking.

The killer waited until two vehicles passed, then pulled from the curb.

Following required patience in a town this small. A car that stayed too close would be noticed. A car that disappeared at every junction could seem just as strange. The killer allowed a pickup to move between them and kept Deb in sight through gaps in traffic.

Deb passed the florist and the insurance office. At the corner, Deb entered the Fox’s Den.

The killer knew what Deb would order before the door closed. Turkey on rye, no tomato, mustard spread so thin it barely marked the bread. Deb had ordered the same lunch for years and complained whenever a new employee prepared it differently. Once, long ago, the killer had listened while Deb sent a sandwich back because the lettuce had been torn instead of cut. Deb had laughed afterward, proud of making the girl behind the counter cry.

That memory had seemed small at the time. Most cruelty did when viewed alone. People excused each incident because none appeared large enough to define a person. The killer had learned to consider the total.

The killer continued to the next intersection, turned, and circled the block.

By the time the car returned, Deb had emerged carrying a paper bag and a bottled drink. Deb headed away from Main Street toward William Screech Square.

The park had once been the lawn of a courthouse that burned before the killer was born. Only the stone steps remained, leading nowhere beside a bronze plaque most people ignored. Black iron railings enclosed the square on three sides. A paved path crossed between mature trees and a small fountain that had been shut off for the season.

The killer parked along the side street opposite the railings.

Deb entered through the northern gate and chose the same bench as always.

Wet leaves covered the grass around it. Wind moved through the branches, releasing another slow fall of yellow and brown. One leaf caught against Deb’s coat sleeve. Deb brushed it away, opened the paper bag, and removed a sandwich.

The killer remained inside the car.

From that distance, Deb could have been anyone enjoying an ordinary lunch. A recently divorced woman rebuilding a life. A friendly employee from the print shop. Someone who remembered birthdays, sent cards, and asked after sick relatives. That version of Deb existed for most of Elmsview.

The killer had seen the other version emerge when doors closed and witnesses became allies. Deb could reduce a person to a story, then repeat the story until everyone forgot there had once been a person inside it. Regret had never followed. Only irritation when consequences threatened to arrive.