08 - December Dread by Jess Lourey

woman who’d spoken. She was a presence, tall and heavyset, with short dark hair and thickly lashed, heavily made up brown eyes. She was also wearing a smooth coat of taupe concealer and a blush that matched her coral lipstick. She was about my age, and all that make-up caused me to be immediately suspicious of her. “Excuse me?” I asked.
    “Sorry.” She wiped her hand on her skirt before offering it to me. She was wearing Crocs with white tights, which seemed incongruous against her flower print blouse and calf-length denim skirt. She was either a nurse, a daycare provider, or a cult recruiter. “I’m Lynne Bankowski. I worked with Natalie.”
    I shook it. “I’m sorry. What did you two do?”
    “We were travelling nurses for the same company, based out of Minnesota. We worked all over the Midwest, though River Grove is home base for both of us. Or was, for Natalie.”
    “That explains your shoes,” Mrs. Berns said. I jammed my elbow in her side, and she looked at me, surprised. “What? They look ugly and comfortable. Nurse’s shoes.”
    “You look familiar,” Lynne said, focusing her attention on me. Her gaze was an unnerving mix of calculating and intense. “Have we met before? What’s your name?”
    “Mira James, and I don’t think so. I went to high school with Natalie, but I’ve lived in the Cities or Battle Lake since then.”
    “No, that’s not it.” She tapped her chin. “I know. You were talking to the reporter and the FBI agent yesterday. I talked to them, too. A few times.” She fluffed the back of her hair.
    I gave her a look. “I didn’t get out of my car.”
    “I’m pretty observant.”
    “Do you live on the same block?”
    “No, I was out walking. I live on the other side of the city park.”
    She seemed immune to social cues and unaware that her behavior was odd. I wondered if she had social anxiety or some sort of mild disorder. “Did you and Natalie hang out a lot?”
    “Never. Not outside of work. But I can tell you that all of Natalie’s friends were decent, and she wasn’t dating anyone.”
    She didn’t offer any more information, and I could see Mrs. Berns and Patsy starting to inch away. “Well, I’m sorry for your loss.”
    “You too.” She rushed over to the wall of photos of Natalie, as if someone had called for her. She stood there alone, hands behind her back, studying the largest picture.
    “There’s a crunchy nut in every box,” Mrs. Berns muttered. “Back
to what we were talking about. Patsy, if we wanted to find out more about Natalie’s recent activities, who here would we talk to?”
    Patsy pointed toward three women about our age huddled near the coffin. “I met those ladies at two of Natalie’s Coddled Cook parties. They’re from River Grove, and I think were good friends with her. Will you excuse me? I see someone I want to talk to.”
    Mrs. Berns tugged me over to the trio.
    “What questions do you have for them?” I asked as we navigated the crowd.
    “What are you going to ask them, you mean. You’re the private dick. I’m telling you, you need to get over your fear and start digging into this serial killer’s business.”
    I stopped. “Remember you said you wouldn’t call me that?”
    “Not officially.” She pushed me until we were directly behind the women, and I let her because I didn’t want to cause a scene. I pretended to admire the nearest flower arrangement while Mrs. Berns peer pressured me with her eyes. I knew I’d have to ask the women something to get her off my case, but I didn’t want to intrude on their grief and had no idea what they could tell me that the police wouldn’t already have asked them.
    “… the orange begonia killer!”
    “Oh my, that would have been our luck.”
    “Excuse me?” Mrs. Berns inserted herself into their conversation. “Orange begonia killer?”
    The three women exchanged embarrassed funeral laughs and glanced from Mrs. Berns to me. The shortest, a woman about ten years older