The Seventh Victim by Mary Burton Page A

attacked Lara last in Seattle for a reason. He’d likely been dreaming about killing her long before he wrapped his hands around her neck. He had an obsession with her.
    The Seattle Strangler, who, many had come to believe, was either dead or in prison, was back.
    “Keep playing your game, pal.”
     
     
    Danni hadn’t expected to like college. When her high school counselor had suggested she try the college art class she’d thought the woman was mental. High school sucked so why would she want to take on more schoolwork? But the counselor had pushed and knowing the class would keep her away from home more often, she said yes.
    And then the unexpected happened. She’d been pleasantly surprised. The two-day-a-week class plus lab wasn’t totally lame and her teacher, Lara Church, was pretty cool. When she was on the university campus, life didn’t totally suck.
    She hefted the tray of dirty dishes, pushed it in the industrial dishwasher of the River Diner, and hit start. As she reached for the strings of her apron, her boss called out from the kitchen door.
    “You’re gonna be late for class,” Mack said.
    Mack Rivers had offered her the job in February when she’d tried to pay for a coffee with spare pennies and had come up short. Mack liked to talk about high school and his days on the gridiron, and he wasn’t so fond of the college crowd. Spoiled. Ungrateful. He used those adjectives plus a host of others all the time. His life had peaked during high school, and the once-muscled, lean body of a high school receiver had turned doughy and a little ugly.
    She glanced up at the large clock positioned above the stainless steel sinks. Five forty-five. Class started in fifteen minutes. “I’ve still got the glasses to run through. And we’re shorthanded since Gretchen . . . left.”
    He wiped his hand on his white apron. “I’ll do the glasses. Don’t be late for class.”
    “You sure? I can be a little late.” She didn’t want to lose this job. She’d be eighteen soon. Her father would stop paying child support and there’d be no reason for her mother and stepfather to keep her around.
    He nudged her away from the dishwasher. “Go or you are fired.”
    She grinned as she untied her apron and hung it up. “You’re the best.”
    Chuckling, he loaded glasses into the next tray to go into the dishwasher. “That’s what I keep telling everyone.”
    “I’ll be back tomorrow right after school.”
    “Can’t wait.”
    Danni grabbed her backpack from Mack’s office, hoisted it on her shoulder, and hurried across campus toward the brick building that housed the art department. She’d not stopped to analyze why she liked the class. Likely it had more to do with its unstructured nature. Adjunct Professor Lara Church expected her students to work hard, but she had no desire to babysit. Art was subjective, she’d say, but it was also time-consuming and hard. If you put the work into her class, you’d do well. If not, your grade would suffer.
    Lara’s speech had hardly put the fear of God in Danni. She’d seen enough shit in her life not to be intimidated by Lara Church. But in Lara she’d seen another wounded soul whom she happened to like.
    The photography classroom was large with long, wide windows that allowed lots of sunlight. It was furnished with ten big wooden worktables that each could seat four students. There were twenty-five students in the class, which often meant she could claim an entire table for herself. She liked working alone. Other than a couple of other kids, most were jerk-offs. Jocks, cheerleaders, deadheads looking for that easy A from the school’s greenest professor.
    So far, most of the kids were just getting by and would be hard-pressed to finish their portfolios in the next week and a half. Danni had had to pawn several bracelets to get the money for her digital camera, but she’d more than gotten her money’s worth. She’d snapped thousands of pictures over the semester and