Chapter One
Harbor Point Restaurant thrummed with people. Almost every table seemed to be full. Chase was squeezing past and apologizing as he made his way toward the bathroom. He could feel his hands sweating; his pulse felt quick and heavy in his wrists. Pushing into the bathroom, he dropped his bag onto the floor and leaned heavily onto the sink. The room was fogged with an unclean smell.
Chase took a deep breath and then rubbed his temples. A light flickered in the corner of the room, plunging the end alternately in and out of shadow. Pressure throbbed behind his eyes. Stress. That’s why I have all these headaches.
Warm water poured from the tap and over his hands as he rinsed away the soapy lather. The man was lost in his own thoughts. I wonder if I should stay. He flicked droplets from his fingers and stuck his hands under the air dryer, which buzzed as it blew. Sighing, the man rubbed at his temples again. It’ll work out. Leaning down he picked up the leather satchel. It can work out.
A moment of blinding pain in his neck, and then another. He cried out, but it was only a croak. He crashed to floor and feebly tried to push himself back up onto his elbows only to slap back down onto the hard floor.
Footsteps. A door swinging closed. A scream. Then the world dimmed as sound and light drained away. And then there was nothing but the body of a dead man.
Skyler drummed her sea green-painted nails on the table. Her date’s dark hair was beginning to droop on the right side where he’d attempted to push it back. Sitting across from her, talking (largely to himself), was a thirty-five-year-old man, making him two years her senior. Bill .
“And that’s how I met Sam!” Skyler forced a laugh. “Now here we are on a blind date. Who’d have guessed?”
“Certainly not me!” She wasn’t sure it sounded at all sincere. Bill had brought her to The Harbor Point Restaurant, an upscale place, at least somewhat, with floor-to-ceiling windows along one side and décor of red and black. The waiting staff were all dressed in grey waistcoats with black bowties.
“Now, we were talking about the state of two-party politics in this country, weren’t we?”
Oh, please. Not again. “Why don’t you tell me about your hobbies instead?”
“Funnily enough”— Oh, I so doubt that it’s funny —“politics kind of are my hobby!”
His words became a monotone background track, and she smiled and nodded in the right places. Or she assumed so. He looked confused on occasion. A sharp ringing cut his monologue mid-flow.
Picking up the phone, he made a few one-word replies and then told her, “Sorry, gotta take this,” whilst heading for the bathroom.
Her sigh of relief was audible. She quickly pulled out her own phone and typed out a message to Nichole: “911 IN TEN. THIS DATE IS SOUR.” Slinking back in her chair, she sipped on her coke. People at the table just over from her stood and left, but the restaurant still seemed to be bursting with customers. That made it stuffy, and Skyler found herself using a napkin as a fan.
Bill burst from the bathroom, his eyes wide. Running over to Skyler, he grabbed her hand, wrenching her from the chair and trying to drag her out of the restaurant. He pulled her past several tables, tripping over his own feet. The other diners looked up from their meals as she planted her feet and freed herself from his moist grasp.
Anger tinged her voice. “What do you think you’re doing?”
But hysteria edged his expression, and sweat dripped from his forehead. “Someone’s dead in the bathroom! We have to leave, right now. There’s a killer in this restaurant!”
People moved, fast. Some shouted; many hurried in silence toward the door and abandoned their meals. Skyler pushed her way through the throng toward the bathroom. A shaking waiter moved past her, not bothering to block her way as she entered. The sight
Harbor Point Restaurant thrummed with people. Almost every table seemed to be full. Chase was squeezing past and apologizing as he made his way toward the bathroom. He could feel his hands sweating; his pulse felt quick and heavy in his wrists. Pushing into the bathroom, he dropped his bag onto the floor and leaned heavily onto the sink. The room was fogged with an unclean smell.
Chase took a deep breath and then rubbed his temples. A light flickered in the corner of the room, plunging the end alternately in and out of shadow. Pressure throbbed behind his eyes. Stress. That’s why I have all these headaches.
Warm water poured from the tap and over his hands as he rinsed away the soapy lather. The man was lost in his own thoughts. I wonder if I should stay. He flicked droplets from his fingers and stuck his hands under the air dryer, which buzzed as it blew. Sighing, the man rubbed at his temples again. It’ll work out. Leaning down he picked up the leather satchel. It can work out.
A moment of blinding pain in his neck, and then another. He cried out, but it was only a croak. He crashed to floor and feebly tried to push himself back up onto his elbows only to slap back down onto the hard floor.
Footsteps. A door swinging closed. A scream. Then the world dimmed as sound and light drained away. And then there was nothing but the body of a dead man.
Skyler drummed her sea green-painted nails on the table. Her date’s dark hair was beginning to droop on the right side where he’d attempted to push it back. Sitting across from her, talking (largely to himself), was a thirty-five-year-old man, making him two years her senior. Bill .
“And that’s how I met Sam!” Skyler forced a laugh. “Now here we are on a blind date. Who’d have guessed?”
“Certainly not me!” She wasn’t sure it sounded at all sincere. Bill had brought her to The Harbor Point Restaurant, an upscale place, at least somewhat, with floor-to-ceiling windows along one side and décor of red and black. The waiting staff were all dressed in grey waistcoats with black bowties.
“Now, we were talking about the state of two-party politics in this country, weren’t we?”
Oh, please. Not again. “Why don’t you tell me about your hobbies instead?”
“Funnily enough”— Oh, I so doubt that it’s funny —“politics kind of are my hobby!”
His words became a monotone background track, and she smiled and nodded in the right places. Or she assumed so. He looked confused on occasion. A sharp ringing cut his monologue mid-flow.
Picking up the phone, he made a few one-word replies and then told her, “Sorry, gotta take this,” whilst heading for the bathroom.
Her sigh of relief was audible. She quickly pulled out her own phone and typed out a message to Nichole: “911 IN TEN. THIS DATE IS SOUR.” Slinking back in her chair, she sipped on her coke. People at the table just over from her stood and left, but the restaurant still seemed to be bursting with customers. That made it stuffy, and Skyler found herself using a napkin as a fan.
Bill burst from the bathroom, his eyes wide. Running over to Skyler, he grabbed her hand, wrenching her from the chair and trying to drag her out of the restaurant. He pulled her past several tables, tripping over his own feet. The other diners looked up from their meals as she planted her feet and freed herself from his moist grasp.
Anger tinged her voice. “What do you think you’re doing?”
But hysteria edged his expression, and sweat dripped from his forehead. “Someone’s dead in the bathroom! We have to leave, right now. There’s a killer in this restaurant!”
People moved, fast. Some shouted; many hurried in silence toward the door and abandoned their meals. Skyler pushed her way through the throng toward the bathroom. A shaking waiter moved past her, not bothering to block her way as she entered. The sight
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