Washington, D. C.

Someone was following her. Gwen glanced in her rearview mirror as she pulled into the tiny four-slot parking lot behind Mr. Lee’s Market World. She had circled the block three times and so did the black SUV. Only now she didn’t see it. Was it possible she was being paranoid?

The SUV’s tinted windshield had been too dark to see the driver, although during the left turn at the last intersection she had gotten enough of a glimpse to know it was a man’s silhouette. Traffic was crazy on a Saturday evening and it was a holiday weekend at that. Finding a parking spot in this neighborhood of small shops with a few clapboard houses tucked in between sometimes took three and four times around the block. That’s probably all it was—someone trying to find a parking space. And yet, she stayed in her car, waiting, checking the mirrors and watching along the street, giving him plenty of time to catch up with her.

The killer had no reason to be following her. He had to know by now that his threat—albeit subtle—had kept her in line. She had done everything he had demanded, played along with his evil game of scavenger hunt. Why would he think she’d suddenly run to the police with his latest puzzle piece? Although this one was different from the rest. In the past he had sent her instructions, maps, information—even a cell phone—all for the purpose of directing her, leading her to find his victims. She believed it was to show her what he had done, what he was capable of doing. But why send a single earring? She couldn’t help wondering if this latest victim was still alive. If that was true, was this a cruel taunt? Or was he giving her a chance to stop him?

Gwen twisted around, searching up and down the side streets in both directions. No black SUV with dark tinted windows. This was ridiculous. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She was allowing him to screw with her mind and he wasn’t even here.

She glanced down at the manila envelope sitting on the passenger seat, now encased in plastic. Next to it was the water glass she had offered Rubin Nash, also in plastic. Before she left her office she had phoned Benny Hassert at Hassert Independent Labs. She had decided to drop off the items on her way home. Benny had agreed to put them on his priority list, no questions asked. After all, she was a longtime client. He was used to her bringing him anything, from human saliva for DNA testing to soil samples. He had no idea if this was for an FBI case she had been independently contracted to help on. He hadn’t asked. He didn’t care. He would simply have the results for her on Monday. And then she would know whether or not the fingerprints on the envelope with the earring matched those on the water glass and whether or not Rubin Nash was the killer.

And if it was Nash, she’d have something solid, something substantial. There would be enough of a reason to believe he posed a serious threat to do harm. And she would have just cause to give everything to Maggie, to disregard any and all patient/doctor confidentiality. The police would have enough to make an arrest. He couldn’t possibly hurt her father or any other woman ever again once he had been arrested and became their prime suspect.

Maybe it sounded a bit arrogant to think she could catch Rubin Nash so easily. Had she suspected him sooner, she could have already put an end to his killing spree. And maybe, just maybe, if the earring’s owner was still alive, she could save her.

Gwen checked both sides of the street again and finally decided the SUV must have found a parking space somewhere else. She must have been wrong about it. She convinced herself that she needed some rest. A good night’s sleep would be a nice change, and once inside Mr. Lee’s World Market she started to browse the wine aisle, looking for a choice chardonnay.

The scents of ginger, garlic and fresh-baked bread worked its magic, soothing her frayed nerves. Each aisle was a sort of aromatherapy. She didn’t need a degree in psychology to know that she sought comfort in food, not just eating it, but preparing and sharing a meal. She had her mom to thank for that. Her Italian mother had always insisted mealtimes were to be joyful and enjoyable. Arguments were never allowed around the dinner table and everyone, including guests, participated in the preparations. Almost every important conversation she had ever had with her parents happened during this time. It was while stuffing a batch of cannoli that she convinced her father she should leave New York City to go to college. Her mother had been her silent advocate, not realizing at the time that Gwen would never return home to live and work alongside her father.

It wasn’t until Gwen had her doctorate that she realized what an education in mediation and negotiation her mother’s mealtimes were. Once in a while she’d recommend to her own patients—especially those who respected rituals—to share a meal as an excuse to reach out to someone they otherwise had difficulty talking to.

“Hey, Doc, how you today?” Mr. Lee nodded and waved at her from behind the meat-and-cheese counter as he sliced what looked like a chunk of corned beef.

“I’m in dire need of some buffalo mozzarella,” she told him.

“Yes, yes, I have plenty. And I give you some garlic butter, too. I just made. Fresh. Lots of garlic, the way you like it.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Gwen smiled at him, thinking how wonderful, indeed, it was to have a man know exactly what she liked and needed. Never mind that he was eighty-one, five inches shorter than her and had a jealous wife who accused him of flirting with all his redheaded female customers.

He shuffled to the back room as he always did, as if getting her mozzarella and garlic butter came from his private stash instead of from what he kept out front. What he kept out front looked equally delicious and fresh, but what came from the back he put in special containers made of hard plastic. It was almost like taking food home from a relative or friend and feeling the need to return the container.

She glanced around the store again as she waited, looking for anything else that might help make her feel better, that might ease the tension. That’s when she saw a woman turn and duck into the next aisle.

“Dena?” she called, but stayed put, not wanting to embarrass the young woman or herself if it wasn’t her assistant.

It took longer than it should have for Dena to come back around the corner and when she did, her pale cheeks were flushed as though she had been caught somewhere she shouldn’t be.

“Hi, Dr. Patterson. I thought that was you.” She flipped her unruly dark hair out of eyes as if it may have been the reason she hadn’t been able to recognize her boss.

“I didn’t know you shopped here,” Gwen said, noticing that Dena’s handbasket was filled with a variety of cheeses, a bottle of wine and some Bavarian chocolates, an assortment one might choose for a romantic evening. But as far as Gwen could tell, it looked as though Dena was alone. Or perhaps not? There was a slight glance over her shoulder.

“I remember you raving about it,” Dena said. Then as if she felt the need to explain, she added in almost a whisper, “I just started dating someone new.”

“You’ve come to the right place.” Gwen found herself glancing around, hoping for a glimpse, which only seemed to make Dena flinch.

“Yeah, I know. It’s great. I’m sort of in a hurry though.” And she started to back away. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Have a great weekend,” she said, but Dena had already escaped around the same corner.

Was she that uncomfortable sharing a piece of her private life with her boss? But then, Gwen knew she had contributed to the discomfort. She had purposely not encouraged any kind of personal relationship with her assistant, never so much as confiding any special hangouts, habits or even where she lived.

Dena was free to shop wherever she wanted. So why would she bother to lie about Gwen telling her about Mr. Lee’s World?