Sense of Evil
“The girl behind the counter—he couldn’t figure out how on earth they could be called “sales associates” when they worked in a coffee shop—was only too happy to fill him in on the latest details while she prepared his latte.
Gory details.
“And you know the worst part?” she demanded as she put a lid on the cup.
“Somebody died?” he suggested.
She blinked, then said anxiously, “Well, yeah, but I heard she’d been dead for months.”
Caleb resisted the impulse to ask what the hell difference that made. Instead, he said, “And the worst part is?”
“She was brunette,” Sally Anne, sales associate for the coffee shop and a brunette herself, whispered.
“Ah.”
“So none of us is safe. He’s not just going after blondes now, he’s—he’s going after the rest of us.”
Caleb paid for his coffee and said with ruthless sympathy, “If I were you, I’d leave town.”
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