The Seance by Heather Graham Page B

split it,” Christina told her.
    After the costume shop, they headed down International Drive, Ana complaining about the tourists the whole way. “The traffic gets worse every day.”
    â€œIt’s October in theme-park land. What do you want?”
    Ana was quiet for a minute. “Haven’t they heard we have a serial killer on the loose?” she asked.
    Christina was surprised by her friend’s intensity. “Ana, most people never think they could be victims themselves. And most women can assure themselves they’re not young or a redhead.”
    Ana looked at her worriedly. “You are.”
    â€œBut I’m not a tourist,” Christina said with a sigh.
    â€œHere we are,” Ana said. “And I’m starving.”
    They had reached O’Reilly’s, a pub that predated the invasion of theme parks into central Florida. Family-owned and operated, it was currently in the hands of the third generation. The food was good and solid, and the atmosphere was friendly.
    â€œCheck out the pictures on the wall when we go in,” Ana said. “You can see who’s won in previous years.”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” Christina said meekly, smiling.
    A friendly hostess showed them to a booth. They both opted for iced tea and shepherd’s pie, the house specialty. When their drinks were delivered, Christina dutifully looked at the pictures on the wall, recently hung as a ploy to entice customers to make O’Reilly’s their destination of choice on Halloween. First prize was a thousand dollars—and a place on the October Wall of Infamy.
    â€œOh, my God,” Ana breathed suddenly.
    â€œWhat?”
    Ana pointed to the television behind the bar. Customers usually sat there to watch sports. But there was no game on tonight. Instead the screen showed a reporter, looking grim as he spoke live from the shoulder of a highway, where he was interviewing a police spokesman.
    â€œTurn it up, please,” someone at the bar said.
    The entire restaurant seemed to go still as the police spokesman, a lean, older, authoritative man, spoke quietly.
    â€œâ€¦yet another victim. We are withholding her identity until her next of kin have been notified. We’re asking everyone—especially young women—to be careful. Don’t go anywhere with strangers. Don’t walk through dark parking lots alone. Many of the businesses in the area will be taking special precautions to ensure the safety of our residents and tourists. We’re also asking for help. Be vigilant and report anything, anything at all, that looks suspicious. Be smart, be careful.”
    â€œSome people are saying that the Interstate Killer has come back to town,” the interviewer said. “Are we looking at a copycat, or was a serious mistake made twelve years ago?”
    â€œBeau Kidd was never convicted of any crime,” the spokesman said. “But we don’t know what we’re looking at just yet. Be assured that we have every law enforcement agency in the state on guard, and if circumstances warrant, the FBI will be called in, as well.”
    Christina started when her dinner was set before her and looked up. Their waitress was a pretty girl with golden eyes, freckles and carrot-red hair. Her slight accent said she was Irish but had been in the States for a while.
    â€œThey aren’t saying it on TV,” the girl murmured with a shiver, “but some cops come in here all the time, and they talk. Freddy MacGregor was just in, and he said that girl was a brunette, but she had red streaks in her hair.”
    Christina felt a sensation of dread come creeping over her.
    â€œI’m dying my hair black,” the waitress announced, staring at the television. Then she cleared her throat. “More iced tea?” she asked cheerfully.
    Christina hoped to find out more about the murder, but the station was no longer broadcasting live from the highway. They’d