Page 46 of My Killer Blind Date

Am I ready to enter Liam’s lair?

The time of day does feel like it offers some protection. I mean, does anyone murder anyone in the morning, if they can avoid it? It seems like the mood would be off, right?

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I approach the locked entrance and survey the call buttons. No names, just unit numbers. It would be better to surprise him at his very door, but there’s no way I can suss out which apartment is his.

I pull out my phone and dial Liam. It rings twice before he picks up.

‘Hey,’ he says.

‘Hey! So, surprise, I’m right outside your building! At least I think this is your building? And I brought doughnuts! I hope you’re hungry. Or did you eat breakfast already? Well—’ I laugh. ‘—it doesn’t matter, because there’s always room for doughnuts!’

There’s a silence.

‘Yeah, uh … I’m not actually home right now. And I can’t talk now either. Catch up later?’

‘Oh … OK—?’

‘Sorry, Margot, gotta go.’

He hangs up without waiting for my response. What the heck?? He didn’t say he had any plans this morning. Maybe he’s lying, and he is home, but doing something really shady that he doesn’t want me to see.

All the more reason to get in there.

Just then, someone comes out the front door – an older couple in athletic wear, holding hands.

‘Oooh, who’s getting a doughnut delivery?’ says the woman with a friendly smile and a lustful glance at the box. ‘I love that place, by the way.’

Now’s my chance.

‘I’m actually dropping these off for Liam Porter, who lives in the building. But the delivery instructions didn’t include his unit number. Do you happen to know …?’

‘Five-oh-five,’ says the woman, a sudden frown of distaste overtaking her previously peppy expression. ‘He lives across the hall from us.’

‘Oh! Is he, uh, a good neighbor?’

The man frowns too. ‘He keeps to himself. But a lot of strange smells seem to come from his place.’

Holy shit. ‘Strange … smells?’

They wrinkle their noses simultaneously. ‘Not pleasant,’ says the woman. ‘I’m very sensitive to strong smells. And don’t even get me started about the noises.’

‘I think it’s just the TV, honey,’ says her partner.

‘Oh, no. I think those screams were real.’ She purses her lips, her wrinkles feathering.

‘My wife is convinced it’s his lady friends,’ says the man with a pointed look at me, ‘who are very vocal, if you catch my meaning.’

Words fail me. Screams of pleasure? Or the other kind? I tighten my grip on the doughnut box.

The woman tugs on her partner’s elbow. ‘Come on, sweetie. We’re going to be late for brunch.’

The man smiles kindly at me. ‘Good luck with your deliveries today, young lady.’ And they’re off.

Pushing the door open, I step inside the building.

Elevator or stairs? Stairs. I’m too antsy to wait. Soon, I’m out of breath and standing in front of 505 – a plain white door with the unit numbers in brushed brass. I press an ear to the door. Silent. Or … wait. No. There are footsteps. Oh my God, he’s actually home.

I knock on the door, loud. The footsteps stop.