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Sean tensed.
Kate showed her the picture of Mick Mallory. The woman again shook her head. “This guy is too old—the guy who came in didn’t have gray hair.”
“He could have been wearing a wig or hairpiece,” Sean said.
“It’s not him. This guy looks Irish—round face, blue eyes—but the guy who came in had a skinny face. Average, under forty. Short.”
“How short?”
The woman frowned and looked from Sean to Kate. “Shorter than you,” she said to Kate.
Kate was nearly the same height as Lucy, about five foot seven. That put the guy at five and a half feet.
Kate frowned. Her last photo was of Biggler, and he was five foot ten. Kate flipped the picture.
“No,” the woman said. “None of them. Now what’s going on?”
“We need your security tapes from Monday.”
When the florist went in the back, Kate turned to Sean and said, “Mallory must have another partner.”
Sean wasn’t so sure.
“Sean, what are you thinking? You’re unusually quiet.”
“This has nothing to do with Mick Mallory.”
“Cody being killed by the same man who sent Lucy flowers? It has everything to do with Mallory.”
Something didn’t feel right to Sean, but he didn’t know what it was. He looked at his phone for the tenth time since he’d sent Lucy the text. Lucy hadn’t responded to his message. He sent another message.
Luce, let me know you’re okay.
“Sean, talk to me,” Kate said.
He couldn’t explain it to Kate, so he didn’t try.
“I have to go,” he said. “I need to get to the church.”
“Sean—”
Kate’s comment was interrupted when the florist returned with a DVD. “This is everything for the last week. It’s set to record over every Sunday night.”
Sean took the disk before Kate could grab it. “Thanks,” he said and walked out to his car. He tossed Kate his keys. “I’ll look at this while you drive to the church.”
As soon as he sat in the passenger seat, he pulled out his laptop and popped in the DVD. The quality of the black-and-white image wasn’t stellar, and the image was slightly distorted because of the wide lens, but he could see enough.
Kate said, “Talk to me, Sean.”
“Bad feeling,” he said.
“If it helps, she said the guy came in between eight-thirty and nine.”
“Thanks.” Sean pulled down the search window and typed 8:25 for the time stamp on Monday morning. He fast-forwarded, looking for a short white guy.
At 8:39, he walked in.
The stalker admired a display near the front of the store. He had dark hair, cut conservatively, and was pleasant-looking—neither attractive nor unattractive. Average. Normal. He had a nice-guy appearance, and Sean would peg him in his mid- to late thirties.
