Read Online Killing Spree by Kevin O'Brien - Free Book Online Page A

that very afternoon. The receipt was in her purse. The salesperson said she came in there alone.”
    “Well, maybe this ‘Zorro’ killer sent her there to buy the outfit,” Gillian argued.
    “The cops think the coincidence of the costumes is probably what brought them together at the bar that night. The taxi driver and several witnesses in the bar said it looked like a pickup situation.” Ruth glanced across the table at Gillian’s plate. “You’re not eating. Huh, rabbit food. Lord, they have the best crepes in the world here, and you order salad. No wonder you’re so skinny.”
    Gillian obligingly took a bite of her salad, then put down her fork. “Then it’s just a coincidence that I knew Jennifer—and that this ‘Zorro’ stabbing is straight out of The Mark of Death? You don’t think this guy was at all influenced by the stabbing scene in my novel?”
    Ruth shifted in her chair. “I don’t mean to put you down, hon, but no. Sales-wise, that book didn’t exactly make Stephen King nervous. A thriller, whether it’s a book or a movie, has to be a hit before it spawns any real-life imitators. And a ‘hit’ The Mark of Death was not. I had to explain to my cop friend who you were and what the book was about, and he still didn’t see a connection. Sorry, hon.”
    Gillian didn’t say anything. She just picked at her salad.
    “This happened on the other side of the country. You barely knew Jennifer Whatever-her-last-name-is. She took a class from you, one lousy semester—what—two years ago? Her being in a coma right now has nothing to do with you or your books.”
    “Still, isn’t it a bit bizarre someone pretending to be my agent would send me that clipping?”
    Her mouth twisting to one side, Ruth seemed to mull over the question for a moment. “When your agent left this voice message today, had she asked around at the agency to see if anyone else there might have sent you the article?”
    “She didn’t say,” Gillian muttered.
    “Well, check with her. I bet somebody at the agency sent it to you—an assistant, or a sub-rights person. You get notes and memos from other people at that agency, don’t you?”
    Sighing, Gillian nodded. “Maybe you’re right.” She turned to stare out the window of the café. A couple of raindrops hit the pane.
    Ruth shoved her plate aside. “Lord, you should see yourself. You asked for my connections and my expertise on this. So I’m telling you, you’re not in any way responsible for that stabbing in New York. You should be relieved. Instead, you look like your pet squirrel just died.”
    “There’s something else,” Gillian admitted. “I got a very unsettling, anonymous e-mail last night from someone claiming to have located Barry.”
    Ruth frowned. “Exactly what did it say?”
    “It said, ‘Gillian, I found your husband.’ When I tried to respond, it bounced back to me marked ‘invalid address.’”
    Ruth sipped her Coke. “Could be a crank.”
    Gillian shrugged. “When I read that message, I didn’t know whether to be scared or happy or sad—or what.”
    “You already know how I feel about the Barry situation,” Ruth said. “You should divorce him on grounds of desertion and have a long-overdue fling or two—or seven. But you don’t want to hear that. You still care about him, even though the rat ran out on you and your son. Honey, you’ve been in a holding pattern for two years. Move on already.”
    Gillian rubbed the back of her neck. “You’re right, Ruth. I don’t want to hear it. Let’s not talk about this anymore, okay?”
    “Tactless Ruth strikes again,” her friend muttered. “Listen, if you get another one of those e-mails, let me know. Maybe I can dig up somebody over at the East Precinct who’s a computer expert. It’s worth a shot.”
    “Thanks, Ruth,” she replied quietly.
    As she stepped outside with her friend, Gillian thought about how everything happening now seemed reminiscent of two years ago, when Barry