“A supermarket? This is your great idea?” Ivy frowned as she followed Kirsten across the parking lot toward the grocery store entrance. If this was what her friend considered a hot time on the town, Ivy might as well have stayed home. Her miniskirt and high heels would be wasted on the losers shopping on a Saturday night.
“You said it yourself. Bars attract low-lifes and weirdos. This is the perfect alternative.” Kirsten grabbed a shopping cart from the line outside the store and headed inside.
Ivy trailed after her like a reluctant child. As they passed through the automatic doors a blast of cold air raised goose bumps on Ivy’s bare arms. She shivered and studied her surroundings. With its wood floors and subdued lighting, the store was classier than she’d expected. Smooth jazz fell softly on her ears while the rich smell of roasted coffee tickled her nostrils.
This might not be such a bad idea after all, Ivy thought. The bar last weekend had been a dismal failure. By the time she and Kirsten arrived, all the suitable men had been taken. The one Ivy had ended up with had turned out to be all hands and no brains. Perhaps she would meet more well-bred prospects here.
Kirsten guided the cart down the aisles, occasionally flinging an item into it. “To attract the right kind of guy, you’ve got to stock the cart properly. Nothing that smacks of children or family. Gourmet cheese, nice bottle of wine, organic veggies. That’s all fine. But, for God’s sake, no sugary cereals or feminine hygiene products.”
“I can’t afford those fancy things. I’ve only had my job a few weeks.”
“They’re just for show. You don’t buy them.”
Ivy shook her head. She’d been out of circulation for too long and had forgotten how to play the game. “Maybe this was a bad idea.” She wheeled about, intending to walk as fast as her stiletto heels would allow her toward the exit.
Kirsten rolled the cart around, blocking Ivy’s retreat. “Just because you’ve had bad luck in the past, doesn’t mean you should give up.” She shoved the cart toward Ivy. “Here. You push for a while. Let’s try the produce section first.”
When they arrived at their destination, Kirsten poked Ivy in the ribs and whispered, “See. What did I tell you?”
The area swarmed with men and women on the prowl. Some tentatively squeezed peaches and pummeled watermelons while others wandered around the produce bins, not bothering to pretend to be shopping. Ivy wondered if they’d all read the same article her friend had on places to meet the perfect mate.
Kirsten wriggled her torso, adjusting her top to maximize cleavage and minimize the amount of breast covered by the skintight fabric. Only one deep breath away from total exposure, she seized the cart and said, “Stay here. I’ll show you how it’s done.” She homed in on a muscular man studying a bewildering display of chili peppers.
When her cart bumped against his, Kirsten feigned surprise and leaned over to inspect the damage. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t break any eggs or anything, did I?”
The man stammered words of reassurance, barely glancing at her face. Before they could get beyond introductions, a woman slammed a bottle of grape juice into the man’s cart. Placing a possessive hand on his arm, she glowered at Kirsten and led him away.
Ivy suppressed a giggle. “That went well.”
“You needn’t look so smug. At least I’m trying. Your turn.”
A moment later, Ivy felt a slight pressure in the small of her back, and she found herself tottering toward a likely candidate while her friend melted into the background. After another woman beat her to the prize, Ivy cursed the interloper under her breath.
She was pretending to be fascinated with a bin of Granny Smith apples when a well-groomed man approached her.
“Excuse me. Can you help me decipher this list?”
Ivy put on her prettiest smile and gestured toward the piece of paper the man had pulled out of his backpack. “May I?” When she caught sight of flowery handwriting, disappointment surged through her. “Wife sent you shopping?” she said a little too brightly.
“Just getting some things for my mother. She’s a bit under the weather.”
Ivy checked the man’s hand for a wedding ring or suspicious tan line. Finding neither, she led him around the produce department and poured on the charm. After they’d found everything on the list, the man extended his hand.
“Thanks for your help. I’m Greg, by the way. Greg Abernathy.”
“Ivy Mar–, um, Cunningham. Ivy Cunningham.”
“Recently divorced, right? Don’t worry. It happens to the best of us. What’s a pretty girl like you doing shopping by yourself on a Saturday night, anyway?”
“Oh, I’m not alone. My girlfriend’s over there.”
The words had no sooner left her lips than Ivy felt their tenuous connection snap.
“It was nice meeting you, Ivy. Maybe we’ll see each other again some time.”
As soon as Greg was out of sight, Kirsten materialized by Ivy’s side. “What happened? He looked interested.”
“Guess he didn’t want damaged goods.”
They trolled the aisles awhile longer, but the fun had gone out of their quest. Giving up for the evening, they abandoned their cart in the frozen food aisle and grabbed a quart of cookie dough ice cream.
At the checkout counter, the cashier winked and asked, “Any luck tonight, ladies?”
Kirsten shook her head. “Guess we’ll have to try the club scene next.”
The playful expression disappeared from the cashier’s face. He leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Haven’t you heard about the Klub Killer?”
“Klub Killer?”
“Some creep is killing women he meets in clubs. Blondes.” He stared pointedly at Ivy’s fair hair. “It’s been all over the news.”
Ivy turned to Kirsten. “Maybe we should cool it for a while.”
“We’ll be okay as long as we stick together. I know another bar we can try,” Kirsten replied.
“I’d avoid them, too, if I were you,” the cashier said. “You’re better off giving this place another shot. It’s become quite the dating scene since this whacko made his appearance.” As he handed them their change, he added, “Stay safe, ladies. Stay safe.”
On her lunch break the following Friday, Ivy returned to the store by herself. During the past week, she’d pored over newspaper accounts of the Klub Killer, determined to take steps to protect herself before her next dip into the dating pool.
She was standing in front of a display of hair color, deciding between Tawny Breeze and Ash Brown, when she felt a presence behind her.
Ivy turned to find a man invading her space. Pressing her back against the display shelf, she breathed a sigh of relief when first she recognized the backpack slung over his shoulder, then the man himself.
Still a little ill at ease, she plastered a smile on her face and said, “Greg! I didn’t expect to see you here. Shopping for your mom again?”
As if sensing her discomfort, Greg took a step back. “For myself this time.” He nodded toward the boxes of dye Ivy clutched in her hands. “You’re not thinking of coloring your hair, are you?”
She glanced down at the cartons she’d momentarily forgotten she was holding. “You don’t think I should?”
“You look good as a blonde. It suits you.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes then, seeming to think better of the action, withdrew his hand. “Sorry.”
Before Ivy could think of anything to say, Greg cleared his throat and said, “More important, what does your girlfriend think? She might be upset if you changed your hair.”
“Girlfriend?”
“From last weekend.”
Ivy wondered why he thought Kirsten’s opinion would matter so much until she realized what he meant. “You thought we were. . .together?”
One look at Greg’s face and she knew she was right. Imagining Kirsten’s response to their pairing brought on a fit of the giggles. At first Ivy thought Greg was going to bolt, but then he smiled and joined in the laughter.
“That’ll teach me to make assumptions,” he said.
“If you’d seen the look on your face. . .”
Greg contemplated his shoes for a moment. “Say, are you doing anything Sunday evening? There’s a new restaurant I’ve been meaning to try. I’d welcome the company.”
“I’d like that.”
After settling the details of the date, Greg headed down the aisle. As he rounded the corner he shouted over his shoulder, “Remember, I like you the way you are.”
Ivy smiled and placed the boxes of hair color back on the shelf.
That evening, after a successful shopping expedition, Ivy and Kirsten treated themselves to dinner at their favorite restaurant.
While Kirsten studied her menu, Ivy carefully draped her shopping bag over the chair next to hers. Too bad her date wasn’t until Sunday, she thought. She itched to see Greg’s reaction to the figure-flattering dress. Ivy tucked her purse under the table and picked up her own menu. “Thanks for buying me that outfit. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
“Wear those red heels of yours with that dress and you’ll knock the guy’s socks off.” Kirsten scrutinized Ivy’s face. “Now, what are we going to do about your hair?”
“I don’t want to change it too much. I think it’s what attracted Greg to me.”
“I promise we won’t do anything drastic. Do you see our waiter anywhere?” Kirsten’s gaze swept the room. “Speak of the devil. Isn’t that Lover Boy over there?”
Ivy peered over her menu in the direction Kirsten had indicated. In a far corner of the restaurant, Greg sat at a table engrossed in conversation with a striking blonde. From her stylish dress to her distinctive jewelry, his dinner companion oozed sophistication and sex appeal. That witch was going to ruin everything, Ivy thought. “It’s Zach all over again.”
“He’s not your ex-boyfriend. You can’t even say he’s cheating on you since you haven’t gone out on a date yet.” Kirsten took a sip of water. “Besides, look at his body language. He’s not really into her.”
Throughout dinner Ivy kept a watchful eye on the couple. By the end of the meal, she’d memorized every line on the face of the woman who had ruined her evening.
***
“Come on in,” Ivy said to Greg as she opened the door to her apartment. The date had gone well, she thought. Throughout dinner Greg had been charming and thoughtful, his only flaw his insistence on carting around that stupid backpack wherever he went. After he offered to walk her to her door, she felt the least she could do was ask him in for a drink.
Ivy dropped her purse on the entryway table and pointed Greg toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you pour us some wine while I freshen up. There’s a nice Chardonnay chilling in the fridge.”
She was finishing up in the bathroom when she heard a muffled cry followed by a loud crash. She darted into the kitchen where she found Greg standing in a pool of Chardonnay. Seemingly oblivious to the mess around him, he stood stock still, gaze riveted on the newspaper Ivy had left on the kitchen table. He pointed at the front page of the paper. “I know her. I had dinner with her the other night.”
After glancing down at the article on the Klub Killer’s latest victim, Ivy turned to face Greg. “Why don’t you sit down while I clean this up?”
After he’d stepped aside, she grabbed a towel off the counter and bent down to mop up the wine, occasionally looking up to check on Greg who was now slumped against the kitchen wall. She’d just retrieved the wine bottle from under the table when he spoke: “You need another towel.”
Ivy sprang to her feet but, before she could stop him, Greg was rummaging around in the kitchen cabinets. He froze for a few seconds then grabbed something out of a drawer and spun around to face her. “Where did you get this?” he said, his voice suddenly hostile.
She looked down at the gold and silver bracelet nestled in the palm of Greg’s outstretched hand. “Got it years ago. I was wondering where that went.” She tried to appear nonchalant, but she could tell Greg didn’t believe her.
“Then why did I see it Friday night on my date’s wrist? She told me her father designed it especially for her.”
“People lie.”
“Yes, they do.” Greg studied Ivy for a moment. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I think I’ll let the police sort it out.” He dug his cell phone out of his pants pocket and flipped it open.
A vision of steel bars and an eight-by-nine cell popped into Ivy’s mind. “I’m not going back!” she cried as she hurled the wine bottle at Greg. It slammed into his wrist, knocking the phone to the ground before he could finish dialing.
He swore at her and grabbed for the phone as it skittered across the vinyl floor. She kicked it out of his reach, then brought the spike heel of her shoe down on one of his fingers.
Greg howled and clutched his injured hand. Ivy staggered, regaining her balance only seconds before the enraged man reached her. As his hands closed around her throat, she jammed her knee into his groin. He relinquished his hold and doubled over in pain. Before he could recover, she grabbed a butcher knife off the kitchen counter and plunged it into his chest.
Once she was sure Greg was no longer a threat, Ivy collapsed onto a nearby chair and pondered her next move. She’d been more careful this time. Other than the jewelry, there was nothing to connect her to the victims–no reason for the police to suspect her or to look into her background. If Greg hadn’t been so nosy, she’d have nothing to worry about.
But he’d gotten in her way, just as Zach’s girlfriend had. That slut had cost Ivy precious years of her life and forced her to start over–new town, new name, new friends. She had no intention of giving up everything again.
When she spotted Greg’s backpack propped against the kitchen door, a plan formed in her mind. Ivy smiled to herself and quickly got to work.
***
KLUB KILLER KAUGHT–A man police believe to be the notorious Klub Killer, responsible for a series of murders over the last few weeks, died Sunday evening when he tried to claim another victim.
The man, identified as 28-year-old Greg Abernathy, was a regular at local clubs and bars where he picked up most of his victims, all blonde women in their twenties. Once he gained a woman’s trust, he accompanied her to her home where he killed her. Afterward, he dyed her hair, a fact withheld by the police until now.
“Rest assured, this man is the Klub Killer. Jewelry belonging to one of the victims and a box of hair color found in the man’s backpack confirm his identity. Only the killer and a handful of people in this department knew about the hair dye,” a police spokesman said.
During a press conference Police Chief Martin Edwards declared, “The Klub Killer’s reign of terror is over. Thanks to a courageous young woman who fought back, other women like her need no longer fear for their safety.”
***
Bio: After a rewarding career in the computer industry, Sybil A. Johnson now concocts mystery fiction from her home in Southern California. Her work has appeared in Mysterical E, Crimson Dagger and Silver Moon Magazine. Sybil is active in Sisters in Crime, currently serving as a board member of the Los Angeles chapter.
