Page 102 of My Killer Blind Date

The kitchen feels different. I don’t know why, I just feel it. I open my eyes again and scan slowly. Skillet in the drying rack … stove looking really clean … overfull trash, as usual … and my purse mess – Rubik’s Cube, ratty tissues, photo book …

Photo book. It’s open. I snatch it up. It’s a page I haven’t seen yet.

The picture on the left is just of Zoe, smiling in front of a birthday cake with candles and a big, frosted number sixteen. But the picture on the right—

Holy fuck. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Zoe, in black jeans and a band T-shirt with her hair long down her shoulders, her arm slung around someone else. And even though his hair is shorter, I’d know those haunted eyes anywhere.

Devin.

My brain pulses in my skull as things snap into place.

Devin knew Zoe in high school. And it looks like they were close.

Oh my God – Devin Donaghy. Deedee. He was Zoe’s best friend. I’d always assumed Deedee was a girl, but I was wrong. Devin is the one Zoe ran away with at sixteen. The one who was sent to military school as punishment, before they lost touch. They must have reconnected at the funeral home, whether by chance or on purpose.

Maybe he was in love with Zoe. Maybe Zoe didn’t reciprocate. This has occurred to me before, but now that I know how far back they go, it seems even more likely. I could absolutely see him being one of those possessive types that think, if I can’t have her, no one can have her. He’d lost her once after their high school escapade. Maybe he wasn’t willing to lose her again.

He had a weird vibe from the start that I was an idiot to dismiss so quickly. Funny that the documentary I have on is talking about dragonfish, since that’s the first fish that came to mind when I met Devin, freshly ascended from the dark depths of the crematory. What are the odds that this segment would come on today? I don’t believe in signs, but damn, this feels like it could be one, nudging me toward the predator. He must have been the one to steal Zoe’s ashes after all.

I pace the living room. My skin itches, like ants are racing up and down it. OK. Liam saw this picture. Recognized Devin. And went – where? To Anderson & Pulaski? To Devin’s house? I don’t have his address – but I can get it.

I grab my phone and dial work.

‘Anderson and Pulaski, how can I help you?’ says Elsie’s voice, as flat and personality-less as ever.

‘It’s Margot. Is Devin there?’

‘I’m sorry, he’s not available.’

‘But is he there?’

‘I’m sorry, but—’

‘Cut the shit, Elsie! I need your help! I think Devin—’ Do I say it? Why the hell not. ‘I think Devin is hurting my friend right now. I need to know, is he at work?’

She pauses. ‘He’s not here. He hasn’t been in since yesterday around lunch. He got a call and said he had to go take care of something.’

Oh, no.

‘I need his home address.’

‘You know I’m not allowed to share—’

‘Someone could die!’ I shriek. ‘This is real, Elsie! Shit is going down! Please stop being so calm and give me his fucking address!’

There’s a silence, and then, miraculously, she’s reciting it.

I quickly write it down. Based on the street numbers, it’s an address on the South Side.

I can practically hear Elsie’s lips purse through the phone. ‘If this really is life and death like you’re saying, you should call 911.’

‘Yeah, they’re not going to do anything.’

I hang up before she can say anything else.

I do call Barnett again and leave another message with Devin’s address. Then, as per usual, I text the address to George next with a I need you to call the cops if I’m not in touch within 2 hours.

I wait for her to acknowledge it, but nothing comes. Well, I can’t wait for backup. Liam’s life could depend on it. I’ve sent my pleas for help and now I move forward.