Page 97 of My Killer Blind Date

‘Yes.’

‘Damn. Poodle – my girlfriend – makes her sourdough. It’s the only bread we eat at home. It’s great for gluten sensitivity. And honestly, I have a soft spot for tradwives. Their lifestyle isn’t so different from ours.’

Whoa. I’m a bit speechless. I never thought of tradwives and a submissive in a BDSM relationship as being similar, but now that he’s said it, I can’t unsee it. Tradwives are absolutely submissive – or at least, that’s their brand. So now we have two women, Crystal and Brooke, who were outspoken on behalf of their submissive lifestyle, though ironically, they were both also formidable business women who were clearly forging their own paths on their own terms. But Zoe – she doesn’t fit that mold. Nor does Kayleigh.

‘I have to go,’ Big Dog says, ‘but I want the record to show that I loved Crystal. I didn’t hurt her. You can put that on your podcast. As for Zoe, I met her once, that’s it. Never touched her, never hurt her. But hey, if you solve it, let me know.’ His voice takes a darker turn. ‘And if you find a lead and the cops don’t act, I’d be happy to. Don’t put that on the podcast, though.’

‘Yeah … thanks. I’ll keep you posted.’

We disconnect.

I shut the laptop and grab my phone to text Liam.

Hey, just talked to Crystal’s partner. Where are you? Lots of thoughts. Call me when you can!

It’s one in the afternoon, and a grumble in my stomach tells me I should prioritize lunch. Inspired by Liam’s chefliness, I open my fridge and stare. A mushy tomato, one remaining egg, a can of Seltzer water and a very ancient container of takeout stare back.

Ramen it is.

*

It’s only when I wake up that I realize I fell asleep on the couch. The bluish light tells me it’s early evening. Gah! I’m late for dinner with Liam! I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I guess the exhaustion of it all has gotten the better of me. Scrambling up, I grab my phone from the coffee table, preparing myself for a bunch of ‘where are you’ texts – but nothing, just a missed call from an unknown number, which usually means a spam call about auto insurance even though I literally don’t own a car.

OK. It’s six thirty – not actually that late. Maybe we can meet there at seven thirty. That’ll give me enough time to freshen up and get my ass over to his neighborhood.

When I go into Messages to text this to Liam, I notice he hasn’t yet responded to my previous text. I add another to the chain.

Hey! Getting hungry! What’s the name of the taco place? Should we meet there in an hour?

When he doesn’t respond immediately, I go back to Reddit and kill some time reading the new comments. But an hour later, there’s still no answer from Liam.

At this point, it’s getting a bit late. Is he OK? Or just working? I’m not sure if I should be worried or pissed.

Liam is a professional private investigator, I remind myself – so I’m not going to spiral about his safety. Pissed it is.

Thankfully, I also have a great taco place near me, so I grab a sweatshirt, toss it over my pajama top and head to the hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

At the last minute, I decide to add a couple extra tacos to the order just in case he texts. At this point, he’ll have to come to me. I carry the bag with the carne asada and al pastor tacos home and eat at my coffee table with an ocean documentary on.

Around nine, I text him again.

I guess you got busy, huh? I’m turning in. Talk tomorrow?

But before I lock my screen again, I notice that pesky missed call. Is it possible Liam called me from another number? Oh my God, is he in trouble, and this was the only call he could place, and I ignored it? For hours? I hit dial. It rings three times before someone picks up.

‘Gallery 323, this is Simon Lambert.’

Simon! This must be the gallery number instead of his cell.

‘Hi, Simon, it’s Margot McKee. I think I just missed a call from you earlier? Is Liam Porter by chance with you?’

‘Margot, hi. How are you? Liam is not with me, no, but I’m glad you called back …’ His tone is crisp, refined, but underneath I can’t help but notice a note of agitation.

‘No worries – what’s going on? Did they identify the guy in the alley?’

‘No, no, nothing like that. I wanted to let you know that there’s been an—’ He clears his throat. ‘—uptick of interest in the piece you and Mr Porter saw. In fact, perhaps flood would be a better word.’

‘But … how? I thought you hadn’t made them available to the public yet.’