Page 23 of If She Sensed

She set the phone face-down on the counter, picked up her champagne glass, and finished what was left in it standing at the mirror.Still feeling a bit randy, she wondered if she should post something a little subtle and vague about how the night had ended.She figured there was no need.There was no need to brag.Plus, the admins might flag it.

Nancy carried the glass out of the bathroom and down the short hall toward the kitchen, thinking vaguely about whether there was anything worth eating in the refrigerator.She'd been too wound up to eat much before the date and her stomach was making its case now.There was leftover pasta she thought, maybe some cheese.She was running through the options with the pleasant, unfocused energy still cascading through her body from the way the night had gone.

She was almost to the kitchen when there was a knock at the front door.

Nancy stopped walking, turning her head toward the door.It wasn’tthatlate, so a knock wasn’t totally unheard of.She glanced at her watch and saw that it was 7:42.The date had been for appetizers and drinks, and had started at four.Somehow, it made her feel as if the night, now at quarter to eight, had just begun, really.

Still, she stood in the hallway and went through the short list of people it could reasonably be at this hour.Her neighbor Claire occasionally came by late, but she always sent a text first.Her daughter lived forty minutes away and never dropped in unannounced.She wasn't expecting anyone, and she hadn't buzzed anyone up.

She moved toward the door.On any other night she would have called outwho’s therebefore touching the handle.It was a habit she had built carefully over sixteen months of living alone, a small, automatic precaution that had become second nature.But the champagne had softened the edges of her caution, and she was still warm from the evening, still carrying that bundled buzz of excitement.She felt, for the first time in a long time, like a woman with no particular reason to be guarded about anything.

She unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.

It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing.The face in the doorway was not Claire, and was only vaguely familiar—maybe a face she’d seen in passing at some point.Her brain spent a disorienting second trying to place it in a context that made sense.She knew this face, but not from any situation that explained its presence here, at her front door, at this hour.She started to form some confused version of a greeting, but by then, she knew it wouldn’t matter.

The warmth of the evening left her completely when she realized with a terrible and absolute clarity that she should have asked who was there before she opened the door.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The field office had mostly emptied out by seven.By 8:00, Kate and Sloane had the second-floor mostly to themselves, which suited them.Sloane had commandeered a second monitor from an empty desk and connected it to her laptop so they could look at different sections of the forum simultaneously without passing a single screen back and forth.

The mistake they’d made was assuming that there wouldn’t be that much content to sift through.But the forum went far deeper than they’d thought.And when they took comments and replies from the Facebook group into consideration, there was a seemingly endless stream of things to read through.

The Fresh Horizons online community was called The Next Chapter.It had four hundred and twelve registered members, stretching back six years to the program's founding.The interface was clean and simple, organized into topic threads.There was also a general feed where members could post updates and admin-approved photos.There was a private messaging function as well, which they had flagged for closer review.They had been working through all of it methodically for nearly two hours.

Kate had taken the general feed and was moving through it chronologically, working backward from the most recent posts.The content was largely what she had expected: life updates, small victories, requests for advice, and general chitchat.In a lot of cases, it was merely women checking in on each other across months and sometimes years, maintaining the thread of a community that had started in a circle of chairs on a Tuesday evening.The group was for men as well, as was the organization itself, but the overwhelming majority of the group members were women.

A woman named PatriciaR had posted three days ago about her first solo vacation.She’d spent a long weekend in Charleston, and had attached four photographs.Fourteen people had commented, all warmly.A user called WandaLemon had shared that she'd been promoted at work and was treating herself to a nice dinner alone, which she had declared a milestone.The eight responses had all been celebratory.So, it seemed that the program wasn’t just built to help people start dating again, but to appreciate the idea and identity of being single.

Taken at face value, the page was exactly what it was supposed to be—a support network doing its job.

Meanwhile, Sloane had taken the member profiles and the interaction logs from the forum.She had been cross-referencing anyone who had engaged with Carol Paige's posts and Donna Holt's posts in the weeks before their deaths.

"I've got five users who interacted with both Carol and Donna within roughly a ten-day window before the first murder," Sloane said without looking up."PatriciaR, SunflowerMom52, a user called JustBreathing44, and another one called NewLeafNora.And there’s another one with the handle DesertRoseRebecca."She snickered and said, “Man, the usernames get a little out of control, huh?”

“Unless you think WandaLemon is some sort of clever inside joke,” Kate said."What kind of interactions are you seeing?"

"Likes, mostly.A few comments."Sloane read from the screen in a monotone voice."PatriciaR commented on Carol's post about starting her new gym membership.Said something like,that's huge, keep going.Donna got a like from SunflowerMom52 on a photo she posted of her pottery class project.JustBreathing44 replied to a post Carol made about feeling lonely on Sunday mornings with,Sundays are the hardest, sending you a hug."Sloane sat back."It all reads perfectly innocent and supportive."She shrugged and then added: “And maybe a little cheesy.”

"Nothing reads as targeted, though," Kate said.

"Nope.Nothing reads as anything other than a group of women being kind to each other, honestly."Sloane turned back to her screen."Which makes it harder, not easier."

Kate went back to the feed.She had been looking not just at the posts themselves but at the timing.She was trying to nail down the rhythm of who posted when and who responded.She was looking for someone whose engagement pattern felt slightly off—too consistent, too broad, maybe someone who sort of lurked more than participated.Someone whose presence on the forum was less about connection and more about gathering information.So far, the patterns were frustratingly organic.

She was midway through a thread from two months ago when Sloane's phone rang.

Sloane looked at the screen and grabbed it quickly."It’s Middleton," she said before taking the call.She answered and listened, nodding every now and then.Her expression didn't shift dramatically, but Kate watched her go still in a way that was its own signal.The call lasted less than thirty seconds.

Sloane ended the call and looked directly at Kate.“There’s been another one,” she said, already closing her laptop."Nancy Briggs.Fifty-three.She's in an apartment on the east side.Middleton caught it because the responding officer flagged it as consistent with our two."She was on her feet, reaching for her jacket."He said the scene is very fresh.Within the past hour."

Kate had her things in her hands before Sloane finished the sentence.They moved almost fluidly together, so much in sync and pushed with such urgency that they didn’t share another word until they were already out of the conference room and headed for the car.

***

Middleton met them in the corridor outside apartment 4C, about fifteen feet from the open door where the latest victim had been killed.He looked like he was in a state of shock, maybe having an issue with keeping up with the sheer number of deaths that were piling up at his feet.His jacket was on but his collar was open and he had the rigid, almost contained posture and energy of someone working hard to remain professional.

Beside him stood a woman in her mid-forties in a robe and slippers.Her arms crossed tightly over her chest.She had short dark hair and her eyes were red at the edges.She looked at Kate and Sloane as they approached with an expression of sadness and relief.