Chapter Eleven

“What’s your name?” I ask her.

“Tory.”

“Nice meeting you. I’m Skylar. This is Larissa,” I gesture towards my friend.

“Hi.”

“So, what’s it been like?” Larissa asks her.

“A part of my life just blacked out.” Tory says as she brushes back her newly black hair. “I’m scared he’ll figure out that I survived, but at the same time, I have no proof that anything happened.”

“You don’t remember anything?” I ask.

“Just waking up in an abandoned building in Potrero. Before that, the last thing I remember was leaving here, after work earlier that day. I was missing for three days.”

I’m mystified. What kind of drug could cause someone to block out all that time? And still survive?

“My break is over,” she says. “Come inside when you’re ready. I’ll have a table saved for you.”

When she’s gone, Larissa and I stare at each other in disbelief. Then her phone buzzes.

“Jim’s on his way,” she says, reading the update.

“Cool.” The outfit I wear walks the line between day and night, which I carefully picked in case this turns out to be a date. “I never heard from Reid.”

Larissa shakes her head. “Not at all?”

“I texted him twice.”

Jim arrives, and we’re all getting hungry, so we go inside. Tosca is so old school it’s new again. I never really spent time here growing up — the resto is so not my parent’s style — but they serve the best martinis, so sometimes I can convince people to swing by.

True to her word, Tory’s reserved us a table. The host seats the three of us at one of the corner cubs, which are really deluxe.

As I slide around the booth, I notice a familiar shadowy figure in the doorway, backlit from the sun. It’s Reid.

I let out a little gasp as he approaches, at which point Larissa looks over and notices him. We all slide a little further into the round booth to make room.

“Hi, Reid!” Larissa welcomes him.

“Hi,” I say, grinning.

“This is Jim,” Larissa continues, and introduces the two guys.”

“Hi, everyone,” Reid says. When he gets close enough, he leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

Larissa opens her menu and glances at me, smiling. Her look reads like an open book, one that says,

Reid is awesome and that I have nothing to worry about.

Tory comes over to take our order, and we start with a round of dirty martinis. While we wait for their delivery, Larissa and the guys chatter to catch up, but I’m feeling overwhelmed. I take in the scene I’ve landed in and wonder if I’m out of my element. All of that changes when the drinks arrive.

The martinis are tiny size, which is lucky for me. I take a sip, and the drink is as good as ever, just as I remember. They’re made with vodka, not gin, which in my opinion, is the only way to make a martini.

“What an eventful party last Saturday,” Larissa comments. “Did you hear any updates?” she asks Reid.

“No,” he says.

“Why did you leave early?” I ask him.

“I had to meet a friend,” he tells us.

“The one who was supposed to come to the party with you?”

“Yeah, Jonathan, that’s him. He had to work, so we just met up later, after.”

The contrast between a beach bonfire bash and the sophisticated setting where Reid and I now find ourselves is glaringly apparent. Even though Reid is wearing the same kind of button-front shirt like Jim, he and his man bun don’t seem at ease.

“There was a tiny report in the news,” I tell the table. “But I was there, and I sense there’s more to the story.”

Jim nods. “The whole story is never reported.”

“People can’t handle the truth,” Larissa agrees.

I take a sip of my drink and ponder. Our table orders family-style, and the food starts to trickle in. Jim chose adventurously, picking crispy pig’s tails and pressed pig ears along with a cheese and meat board. Larissa and I order more typically Italian-American rigatoni pasta and ensalada. Everything’s delicious.

They order more wine, and at the end, Jim insists on picking up the check. Reid protests, but I gratefully accept Jim’s offer for us, because it’s nice to be treated sometimes, and plus, I saw the bill total over Larissa’s shoulder and it made me want to pass out.

No one talks about Lucie’s murder during dinner, but as usual, I can’t get it out of my head. When everyone stands up to leave, I linger by the bar.

“I’m going to order a house coffee and stay for a while,” I tell Larissa.

“I’ll stay with you,” Reid tells me.

“See you guys later,” Larissa smiles as she leaves with Jim. Her smile is a knowing one that assumes Reid and I are going to get cozy.

We order two special coffees, each containing a healthy dose of alcohol. We sit there at the bar, drinking our drinks, waiting for whatever it is to come out. There’s something about Reid tonight that really unsettles me.

Neither of us brings up what happened on the beach. I’m purposely not bringing up my investigation, or my blog, either, and not doing so just feels false. Not being able to talk about what you’re passionate about, with someone who you think you’re crazy about, is brutal.

“You seem surprised to see me earlier.”

“I was.”

I can’t remember what we actually talk about. Between the martini, then the wine and now the fired up coffee, my judgment is off. So, regardless of what my higher common sensibilities may be screaming, when we call a car, I let Reid get in and come home with me.

+++ ++ +++

On the way into work the next day, I feel the opposite of what I imagine I’m supposed to be feeling. It’s a gorgeous, sunny May morning, and the guy I’ve been crazy about forever just spent the night on my Murphy bed. And it feels all wrong.

There was something going on with Reid, all night. He didn’t want to be there with me. Our hookup was mechanical. It was as if he were just checking up on me. And staying really close in doing so.

But a million miles away emotionally, and that’s not what I want in a relationship.

Bartenders, I think exasperatedly. I should know better. And I’m over the man bun, to tell you the truth. Now that everyone, including the Ken doll, is sporting one, I feel like cutting it off while he’s sleeping.

Maybe next time.

Since, I’m planning to go out with Elise after work, I ride my baby down to Post St. As I scoot, my thoughts move to a slightly less upsetting topic — the fact that no one is getting anywhere in solving the murders of Hannah and Lucie. I checked the news online first thing this morning, and even the reporter, Max Devlin, who wrote the only story about Lucie, has moved on to other topics.

When I get to the library, I send Max an email, telling him I want to talk. I also send one to my cousin Emma, asking what developments she and her friends at Cal may have heard about Lucie.

My phone buzzes, and it’s Larissa.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Mira. I pass through the glass doors out to the third floor landing, and slide my hand on the shattered touchscreen to answer Larissa’s call. It barely works.

“Hi,” she says. “I had to call right away because we found a match.”

“Who? What? Where?” I ask anxiously. I slowly descend the spiral staircase, pause between floors two and three and look down.

“The photos match — The ones you took at the party at the science museum, the one from Hannah’s photo roll, and the driver’s profile and dating app pic.”

“So that’s how he’s finding them — dating apps and posing as a car service driver. And who knows how many other ways. This guy is inconsistent.”

“We already checked the apps and the profiles were deleted.”

“Can we contact the companies and ask for user information?”

“I doubt they will give it, without a warrant.”

“You’re probably right.” And I’m not asking Detective Chen to get one. “Okay, thanks for this. I’ll call you later.”

As I stare down the spiral, I feel really out of my depth. Nothing’s clear, not Reid, not the killer. For now, I put the case out of my mind, and return to the reference desk.

At lunch, I take my phone to the nearest store to have it fixed. I’ve lived with the shattered screen long enough.

After I check the phone in at the repair desk, I sit and wait. It’s so busy in the store, bustling with shoppers looking for their latest tech device.

I want to text Elise and see if she can fill me in on all the different dating apps. She’s an expert. Even if she and Dave are still dating, Elise is sure to be still up to speed on the ways to attract men.

It’s idle-handed agony waiting for my phone to be returned. I get up and look down from the second floor, where the repair shop is, over the main area of the store.

And there he is. The guy. I freeze, my senses spiked.

“Ms. Saffron,” the repair tech calls my name.

I spin, and sprint to the counter. I grab my phone, lucky that I prepaid, yell thanks over my shoulder, and hastily descend the stairs to the lower level. I keep an eye on the guy the entire time.

He’s just standing at a display table, messing around with one of the computers. I approach, undeterred that the guy’s profile looks menacingly familiar.

With vindication for Hannah and Lucie on my mind, I’m not sensible enough to be scared. I slide up to the computer beside the guy, and look at him, glancing sideways.

My heart beating, I keep staring. And finally he looks over at me.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

“What’s your name?”

“Hannah,” I say, using a name that could be familiar to him.

“Hi Hannah.”

We stare at each other. He’s turned towards me, hands in the pockets of the black suit pants he wears.

Not many men in San Francisco wear suits, which is why I think I know him.

“You look so familiar,” I tell him. “Have we met before?”

He laughs a little, and a chill runs down my spine.

“I don’t know.”

It’s really him.

“Are you from San Francisco,” I ask.

“No, but I’ve been here for a while.”

“Do you live near here?”

“No.” He looks away. His attention returns to the computer and I pretend to be diverted by the computer on display in front of me, too. The guy’s not interested in me, but I’m determined to try and engage him.
Does he realize I’m the one he pushed into Post St.? Is he still reading my blog? Maybe this isn’t the guy, I think, beginning to doubt myself. This is someone who doesn’t even read my blog, and those are just stories I’ve been telling.

Without another word, he closes out of the web browser he’s using and leaves. The screen reverts to the default desktop used by the store.

I watch through the window as the guy walks west on Post St. I’m tempted to follow, but instinct tells me to check the computer he was using.

Sure enough, when I open the web browser, his search history is still intact. It was him. I change my mind back to being certain. I’m convinced I’ll be able to prove it by what the search history reveals.
I’m totally creeped out that I was this close to him. I’m in shock. I wish I would’ve had a device to tranquilize him or something, a laser taser or zap gun. Do they even exist?

There’s only a half dozen or so URLs in the search history, and I snap a picture of them with my phone. The repaired screen’s so shiny and new. What a coincidence that I came here today to get it fixed.
When I return to work, however, and check the URLs on the computer, none of the web pages coming up make any sense. I take a screen shot of each one, copy the links, and put in all into an email I send to Larissa.

She texts me instantly. Of course, she can’t believe it either. How do you know it was the guy?, she demands.

I don’t, I text back, but he really creeped me out.

A little while later, Elise texts me back about the dating app question, and we make plans to meet in the Mission after work. Am I a hipster now, I wonder? I would never live in the Mission, but have been spending so much time there I should probably get tattoos and wear vintage dresses (which I already do) and funky headgear, telltale signs of a Mission hipster.

The afternoon in the library is peaceful, and I realize Kat hasn’t been in lately, which is probably why it’s been quiet. I wonder where she is?

Then, I start getting all these text notifications on my phone, and when I look at them, I realize Elise signed me up on some dating sites. I hit download on all of them in the app store — at least they’re free — and soon my phone is a flurry of activity.

When I open the apps, I see Elise has created a profile for me in each one, repeating the same bio info and picture. I shake my head. At least the pics are decent. The bio information is wildly inappropriate and hilarious, more about being a sexy librarian and stuff like that. Good God.

Before leaving the library, I brush my teeth and put on some makeup in the bathroom. I’m not going home before going out, so what I’m wearing, black leggings and a black tunic, worn with chunky turquoise jewelry, will have to do. I slip on my leather jacket, a new item, which makes me look kind of badass, actually, and leave.

With my work satchel worn cross-body and adding a helmet, I’m completely mobile, riding swiftly down Market, cutting through SOMA and to the coffeehouse where I’m meeting Elise.

Soon I arrive, and sneak into a spot next to the outdoor parklet. I lock my baby, look up and see Elise wave.

Her job as a realtor at a small, high-end firm means she has to dress up to show houses all day. So, she’s wearing a wrap dress, above the knee, and boots. No coat. Elise always wears heels and needs to take cars everywhere. She’s that kind of high maintenance blonde, who blinds men with her fake platinum locks. Sometimes I wonder why I’m friends with her. But I try to be open-minded about people, and enjoy having a wide variety of personality types as friends. They’re fun character studies. Plus, Elise is sometimes really nice. You can’t blame women for taking power from wherever they can get it.

“Hi, Skye,” she calls out in a sing-song voice. “I got you a coffee.”

“Aw, thanks.” See what I mean? Nice. “So, we’re both sort of dating people, and we’re still going to be actively looking on these apps for new guys?”

“Definitely. And I already found the bait to reel the man in.”

Librarian Detective Blog #11

I’ve always been cagey about dating apps. Is Elise trying to set me up or set a trap for the man? Does she really think we can catch him?

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Chapter Twelve

“Oh wow,” I say. “What is it?”

She briefly maps out the plan, how she’s added details to the dating profiles that might attract the man. “Are you up for this?” Elise asks. “From what you said, I assume anything goes.”

“I just want to be safe,” I tell her about maybe meeting him at the computer store earlier.

“You mean the same man who pushed you into the street?” she asks. “I doubt it was him.”

“Why?”

“That man would have tried to intimidate you in some way, don’t you think? You’re being paranoid.”

She has a point.

“We’ll be fine. We’re doing this as a team.”

“So you’re helping me solve this now?”

“Yeah. I mean, I was there at Red Room the night Hannah disappeared, too.”

“Okay, so now what?” I ask.

“Let’s look through our apps for dating profiles that could match his.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, there’s more, but let’s make some matches with guys first.”

We sit there, silently scrolling.

“Are you seeing anyone that looks like the man?” I ask.

“A few, and I swiped right on them. I got some matches, too.”

“Nothing is happening here,” I say. I’ve been alternately swiping left or right, but haven’t been matched.

“Let me see,” Elise looks at my phone and I lean over to look at her dating profile. She’s wearing a lot of makeup in her pictures.

“Maybe I need to wear more makeup,” I suggest. I never put on much more than a little enhancement. Wearing makeup feels like fake up — it isn’t authentic and I want someone who likes me for who I truly am.

“Makeup can be fun,” Elise agrees to my suggestion. “Guys are crazy for makeup, but they don’t even know it. You get a lot more attention when you’re wearing it.”

“Are you speaking from personal experience?” I joke. That isn’t my type. I like more evolved men. For now, though, social conditioning wins.

“Here.” Elise pulls large makeup bag from her oversize purse. “Let me make you up a little bit more, and we’ll take a new profile pic.”

After spending at least a half hour applying some illuminating base, liquid eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, blush and both lip liner and lipstick, Elise takes some pictures of me with my new face. When I see my transformation, I’m shocked. It’s like I’m a whole different person.

“I’m telling all my matches that we’re going to 20 Spot at 8,” Elise says, naming the hot new wine bar I’ve been dying to try.

“Great.” I keep refreshing the app, to see if any more matches have been made for me. And yes, after I swipe right on several guys, I’m matched. My newly made up profile successfully shares the split screen with the potential date’s pic.

Does wearing makeup really work like this? I wonder about society’s expectations of women, when we’re made up and not being true. Does that mean our culture expects women to be deceitful in all things, because we’re so open to faking it with makeup? If makeup could attract a killer, then I’d rather not wear it.

“Are you telling them to meet us at the wine bar?” Elise wants to know.

“Yeah, I’ve invited a couple guys so far.” I’m still surprised she’s so into helping with the investigation. Maybe she just wants to go out to 20 Spot, though.

“I invited four,” Elise announces. “Finish your coffee,” she orders. “Let’s go.”

20 Spot is 5 blocks deeper into the Mission. Riding down Valencia, puttering and not speeding because Elise is riding illegally on the back of my bike, without a helmet, is great people watching. It’s the hipster part of the neighborhood, quite the scene, a place to see and be seen. Bottomless brunches, tea salons, cafes, Vietnamese, and of course, many, many Mexican restos abound.

The nightlife is the best. Sure, I like going to Reid’s bar, but in the Mission there’s a dizzying variety of dancing, punk rock band bars, loud jukeboxes, martini lounges and craft cocktails.

When we get to the wine bar, it’s slowly filling up for happy hour. There are plenty of tables in the back, but there’s a prime spot in the lounge area, so we settle in a couple of loveseats, saving plenty of space for our guests.

The bar used to be a record store. Keeping with the theme, a wine list the size of a small book is clipped to an old record album.

“Have you been here before?” I ask Elise.

“Yes, Dave and I come here all the time.”

I laugh. “So are you two exclusive? How does he feel about you still being on all the dating apps?”

“I’m doing this for you! And for Hannah.”

I don’t say anything and continue to flip through the massive wine list.

“Besides, didn’t you just see Reid again last night?”

I shrug. “I’m not sure if that’s going to last.”

“See!” she squeals.

The waitress comes over and Elise and I each order a tasting flight of wine. My sampler is from France, and Elise orders the California sparkling.

We recline on the sofas and sip our wine.

“I needed this,” Elise says. “I’ve been looking for freelance design clients and it’s been going nowhere.”

I nod. “It’s only the second week of my job, and I want to transform the entire profession,” I tell her and take another sip.

“There’s so much I want to do,” Elise shares. “We feel such pressure to settle down as soon as possible, but I only want to do that with the right person.”

“Definitely,” I agree. “It’s not only about waiting for the right person, it’s about being as accomplished as we can be, to attract the right kind of person.”

“Yes, but do guys really care about how smart we are? Isn’t it all about how we look, not if we use brains in our jobs?”

I didn’t say anything, but this put how I’m feeling about Reid into harsh perspective. Is he intimidated by my intellectual nerdiness? Based on who each of us are on the inside, we aren’t going anywhere with our relationship.

“Well, you still like living in San Francisco, right?” I ask her, changing the subject. Elise grew up in the Northeast, and it has to be hard to be away from all of your family.

“I do really like it here, but the business is very slow. I’m still checking out design opportunities in New York.”

“Really.” I loved New York from the one time we visited there when I was in high school. “Real estate is huge there, too, right?”

“Yes, even with the tech boom here, New York is so much more expansive. There’s so much more going on.”

“Are you hungry?” I pick up the food menu and take a look.

Before we have a chance to order, however, a guy enters 20 Spot, and looks around curiously. Elise sits up with a start.

“That’s Sean, from the dating app. Sean!” Elise calls out.

“Elise? Oh hey.” he says. He looks surprised to see me.

“This is my friend, Skylar.”

“Hey,” Sean just stands there, his tall frame swaying uncertainly.

“Hi,” I welcome him. He doesn’t look like he wants to be welcomed, though.

Sean looks at Elise, and then back at me. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here.”

“Oh,” Elise says neutrally. “Well, yes, tonight’s turned into a group thing.”

“This isn’t what I expected. I asked you out, and it’s supposed to be just the two of us.”

“Sorry, Sean,” Elise tells him breezily, but from her voice you can tell she’s not really that sorry. “You’re welcome to hang out with us. There are a few more people coming to join, too.”

Sean looks really pissed. “Don’t waste my time, bitch.” And with that violent retort, he storms out of 20 Spot.

“Wow!” Elise exclaims. “That’s one way to weed guys out. Put them to the test of a group date event.”

“Hot damn,” I comment. “Do you think that was the guy, though? Sean seems angry enough to have serial killer tendencies.”

“Nah, he’s just your typical sexually frustrated guy. He’s one of my matches — I’ll block him.”

“Unbelievably believable.” I think of some of the stories I hear about my brother’s bra-tastic friends from UCSB and down the last sample of my wine flight. “Let’s order another round.”

“Definitely.”

We end up ordering a bottle of bubbly. “Sparkling rose is my fave,” Elise sighs, watching rapturously as the wine is poured, bubbles dancing. We clink glasses.

“To being young, single and free,” she toasts.

I laugh, because, in reality, we’re both supposedly dating someone exclusively. But okay.

“Cheers!” I agree.

As we’re drinking the champers, our dates trickle in. Soon we’re surrounded by Jake, Rusty, and Mitch. None of them have a problem with being part of a group date. They all have dark hair and could be the guy.

I talk to Jake, who’s one of my matches. The other two are Elise’s, and if memory serves, we each still have one more coming. I could learn to like this. Is this what it’s like being Elise every day? I’m seriously considering bleaching my hair blonde and committing to makeup. Forget being a cool brunette, guys totally fall for the soft smokescreen of approachability of being blonde.

“I always like going to the library,” Jake tells me. “There’s so much stuff you can check out online now, though.”

“Yes! There is! You totally get it,” I tell him.

“What, do people still think of librarians as old ladies shushing people?”

“Worse — cat-loving, cardigan wearing spinsters. And that’s not who I am! I’m learning how to code.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m taking an online course. A lot of the librarians I know are tech savvy.”

“You’re a librarian?” Rusty squeezes in next to me.

“Yeah. It’s all about databases, websites, and apps now, just like everything else.” I introduce Jake and Rusty. “So, Rusty, what do you love doing?”

He laughs. “Is that a trick question?”

“I love reading,” Jake pipes up. He’s winning, by the way, in the contest of how to impress me. “I love my eReader.”

“Cool,” I say.

“I go down to Santa Cruz all the time,” Rusty shares, slurping a bit of the head of the microbrew from the top of his glass. “I’m way into surfing, big time, and it’s world class there.”

“Nice.”

“Have you ever surfed?” Rusty asks.

“No,” I shake my head. “I’d like to try.”

“I surf at Ocean Beach sometimes,” Jake adds.

“Cool,” I repeat. “I grew up here, so I should learn to surf, right?”

“Definitely,” Rusty says.

Handling two guys at once is hard work. It’s not long before they’re talking over one another, and all I feel I’m doing is running interference. At least it’s still friendly.

Elise is still one-on-one with Mitch. He’s filling her glass to the brim, and when the waitress comes, they order another bottle.

The guys are fine with drinking craft beer, so when the sparkling arrives, it’s only Elise and I having bubbly. I check my phone because Rusty and Jake are still sparring over where the best spots for surfing are, and I need a break. One of my matches sent a text via the mobile dating app to say he isn’t coming. Oh well.

“We’re talking about going dancing after this,” Elise announces, gesturing with her fluted beverage.

“Okay!”

She glances at her phone. “We’re still waiting on Greg. He’s on his way.”

During the time she and I are talking, Mitch joins in Rusty and Jake’s conversation, which has switched to politics. As I appraise each one, instinct tells me that none of these is the man.

“What do you think? About any of these candidates? Or are we considering them suspects?” I ask her.

“I think we should go dancing,” Elise says.

The final dating app match, Greg, joins us, and we order a last round, individual drinks, not entire bottles. By this time, Elise and I have almost downed a half dozen drinks apiece, and I’m really feeling it.
Greg gloms on to Elise and Mitch’s conversation, so we each have two dates. All the guys are into dancing, which surprises me, but I go with it. This entire evening is full of new experiences, and that alchemy doesn’t come often, so when it does, you want to flow with it.

Just two blocks away is Beauty Bar, a club Elise, Larissa and I sometimes go to. On the walk over to BB we cross through the grittiest part of the Mission. Even though I come here plenty to eat tacos, I’m always hyper, hyper vigilant when in the hood after dark. I wheel my baby along with us, so hopefully I can ride her home, if I’m sober enough.

At BB, the deejay is spinning boom funk and salsa, and the place is packed. It’s a Wednesday, I remind myself, and I have to work early tomorrow. Nevermind, because soon we’re on the dance floor, and I’ve lost myself to the music.

There’s something about dancing getting the blood pumping, that really activates the alcohol. Soon I’m more drunk than ever, kind of banging into Rusty and Jake. Elise is dancing with Greg and Mitch, and I wonder fleetingly who the losers of the night are going to be, because I don’t plan on going home with any of these guys.

After a few songs, though, it’s clear who the winners are — Greg leaves and so does Rusty. Mitch and Jake are at the bar, getting drinks for us.

“Water!” I call over to them, planning on sobering up rapidly.

When they come back, though, it’s a water for me and a cocktail for Elise, who’s still drinking. She’s switched from wine to some kind of mixed drink, and is sucking it down like soda.

“How late are you planning on staying?”

“I’m gonna finish this, then dance for a little while,” she slurs.

“Okay, but drink some water, too.” I tell her. “Can you get her a water as well?” I ask Mitch, who nods and goes back to the bar.

Elise finishes her drink, and when the deejay switches to a new song she likes, she squeals and jumps onto the dance floor. I follow with our waters, and after the beats level out, hand her a cup.

“Thanks,” Elise says, but loses her balance and knocks into another girl dancing. The water slips from her hand and spills all over the floor.

“I’ve got to go,” Mitch makes an excuse and takes off.

I don’t blame him.

“Elise,” I say, as I try to steer her away from the scene. “I’m going to call you a car.”

“I want to dance some more!” she shouts, and goes back into the throng.

“Watch her for a second, will you?” I say to Jake. I retreat to the sidelines and log into my car service app. After I’ve requested a ride for Elise, I manage to drag her away from the dance floor.

“I called you a car. It’s going to be here in two minutes.” Elise lives in Lower Pac Heights, so she doesn’t have far to go.

We arrive outside just in time to see the car pull up.

“This is it,” I tell her. “Text and let me know you get home, okay?”

“Okay,” Elise mumbles as she opens the door. She crumples into the back seat, and after a couple tries, manages to shut the door behind her.

“Make sure she gets there safely,” I shout to the driver, whose window is down. Just as the car is starting to merge into traffic, I get a good look at him, and my jaw drops.

It’s the man.

Librarian Detective Blog #12

I just let my friend ride away with a serial killer.

Reader Tease: Readers: What do you think is going on?! What will happen next? Leave a comment below and receive a tip to the next clue.

Also check for clues on PlacingLiterature.com and follow us on Twitter @LibrarianDetect.

Chapter Thirteen

I’m stunned but immediately take action. My scooter is right in front of BB, and there’s a ton of traffic clogging Mission St. I have time to catch up to them.

“I’ve got to go after her,” I tell Jake, who’s standing there expectantly. “She’s in danger. There’s something wrong with that driver.”

“Uh, okay,” Jake says, likely thinking I’m just making an excuse not to go home with him.

I straddle my baby and put on the helmet. With a couple flicks of my wrist, the engine revs, the bike jerks forward from the kickstand, and I’m off. I speed down the street after the car carrying Elise.

My scooter zips along Mission, and I soon spot them a few cars ahead. He’s driving a black Prius, I think.

There’s a flood of nightlife traffic on Mission, which makes it hard to catch up. Circumnavigating the vehicles, I’m getting frustrated, then I see the car turn right onto 20th St.

I gun the engine of my scooter and surge after them. The Prius picks up the pace, too, and I start to panic that I won’t overtake them.

Driving even faster, I whip around the corner of 20th St. and see the car turn onto the side street, Lexington, right near 20 Spot, the wine bar we were at earlier. I grip the accelerator to try and go even faster, but my baby’s hit the limit.

The scooter starts to shake, and a jolt of fear quakes through me. Racing after them, my baby can barely keep up. The front wheel hits a slippery patch on the pavement and whips to one side. Then I lose it, the trail, the thread, and feel myself going down, down, down.

The next thing I know, I’m skidding on the pavement. It hurts like hell, because my entire left side is under the scooter. Thankfully, I stop moving, but my bike continues to skid, then bangs up against the curb near a fire hydrant.

After I see the crash, my head bangs back against the pavement and I pass out. Everything is blackness.

+++ ++ +++

I feel myself going down, down, down, into a spiral. Where am I? I land on a metal step, sit up and realize I’m in the stairwell at the library. It’s all foggy, though.

This can’t be right. I’m in the basement of the Mechanics’ Institute. How did I get here?

I stand and walk up the staircase to the first floor. The lobby is eerily empty, but then, a security guard materializes. When he sees me, he looks at me expectantly.

“Well?” he asks.

I’m really confused now, because he’s not the regular security guard. “Where is everyone?”

“They left.”

“What do you mean? Why? Where did they go?”

“They’ll be back,” he tells me.

I’m confused but decide that this guy can’t help me. I leave the library and look down Post St. I walk left, past the new bar that just opened, towards the cafe we go to sometimes.

On the corner near the bank, I see Elise. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

“It’s okay, Skylar,” she says. “We did everything we could. You did everything you could.”

“What are you talking about?” Elise looks beautiful, glowing, her long blonde hair shimmering in the San Francisco sun.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” she starts to walk away.

“What do you mean?” I’m so confused. “Let’s have coffee. Where do you have to be?”

“You’ll see,” she smiles. Elise wears a peaceful expression that’s soon shaded by the fog rolling in. The fog clouds the street and soon I’m surrounded by it and Elise is gone.

When I next open my eyes and look, up I see stars. The night sky is black with little sparkles, and I hear someone say, “She’s waking up.”

It’s the waitress from the wine bar. She’s kneeling down beside me, and Jake’s there, too.

“What happened? What are you doing here?”

“I followed you from BB,” Jake says.

My head is pounding, but it’s beginning to clear. “Where’s Elise?” I demand, my voice rising with urgency.

“You just wrecked your scooter,” Jake explains. “You blacked out for a few minutes.”

I move my arms and legs and feel an ache down my back. Nothing’s broken. “I have to go after her.”

“You need to go to the emergency room.”

My head is pounding really painfully, but still, I persist. “Elise just got into a car with a serial killer.”

“What?” Jake looks at me like I’m crazy. “Can we leave the scooter here? She’ll pick it up tomorrow. I’ve got to get her to the ER.”

“Sure,” the wine bar waitress says.

I look to the curb and see someone has pulled my baby upright and it’s standing on its own. There’s a huge scrape on the tank and down the side where we skidded.

“Thanks,” I tell her.

Jake has called a car service, and it arrives within minutes. I protest, but he insists on coming with me.

“St. Francis Hospital,” he confirms with the driver. “You have insurance, right?”

“Uh, yes.” Luckily I’m still covered on my parent’s policy, since coverage from my new job hasn’t kicked in yet.

We wait forever at the emergency room before they can see me. I’m so tired, so there’s not much conversation. Jake doesn’t mind sitting there in silence. I check my phone for any updates in the dating app, and text Elise ten times. And nothing.

Now I’m just slumped in the chair, brain glazed over. The medical assistant finally calls my name. Jake has filled them in on what happened, and they’ve ordered a CT scan.

“You don’t have to stay,” I tell Jake. “They say I might have to sleep over.” He asks me to text tomorrow with an update, and I hug him goodbye. “Thank you for coming with.”

Soon after he’s gone, I have the procedure. I feel okay, but confirmation of it will be nice, before I go to the police.

It’s three in the morning by this time, when the nurse ushers me from the treatment room to an observation area.

“You can rest here for a few hours and we’ll run the test again,” she tells me.

This sucks, but I’m exhausted and still a bit disoriented, so I surrender. There are a few other warm bodies in the room, in four or so other beds, but we’re separated by hanging white sheets, so it’s relatively private.

Lying there in the dark, I scroll mindlessly through my phone. There’s nothing to go on. Kept company only by the low glow, I’m empty and cold, so, so, cold.

Elise is gone. Somehow I know it. Still, I don’t want to give up hope. I’ve got to call Detective Chen and tell him everything. Or almost everything.

I wonder if I can make the call from the observation room. I listen for signs of life, but hear only heavy breathing and some snoring. I find the number for the police in my phone call log and dial. When no one answers, I hang up instead of leaving a message on Detective Chen’s office voice mail.

“You can’t talk on the phone in here,” someone nearby says.

“Oh! Sorry,” I whisper. I power off my phone. I should try and get some sleep, but the events of the night still dominate, buzzing in my brain like a chainsaw. My eyes well up with tears and a helpless feeling overtakes me.

As I’m crying myself to sleep, I hear the same voice nearby say, “Dawn will shed a new light on things. it always does.”

+++ ++ +++

When I wake the next morning, the recovery room is empty. I try to sit up and my body is a full bundle of aches and pains from the accident. The phone buzzes, and I look and discover a million notifications on the screen. I’m mystified, because I’ve told no one about Elise going missing.

But none of the notifications are about Elise. They’re from my family, all texting in a thread discussion about our upcoming trip to Europe.

Ignoring the thread for now, I text Larissa. It’s early, I know, but she typically goes into the office at 8 am.

And she texts back immediately.

“Are you sure it was him?” she asks. “I’ll try and call her now.” Then in a few minutes another text pings,

“No answer. Let me look into it.”

I wonder what she has in mind. But before I can inquire, a nurse appears and ushers me into my follow up CT scan.

“You’re fine,” the doctor says, after she reviews my scan. “You’re lucky you were wearing a helmet.”

I hobble uphill to my studio. I’m thankful for coming out of the wipeout without injury, but still frantic about Elise. This time when I dial Detective Chen’s office, someone answers.

“Ms. Saffron, what is it now?” Detective Chen asks.

I ignore his sarcasm. “This is serious, Detective. The killer is posing as a car service driver. One of my friends got into his car and is now missing.”

“How long has she been missing?”

“Since last night. We were out in the Mission and I saw the driver — it was the man. I tried to stop her but couldn’t.” My voice is shaky but I go on. “She’s not answering her phone.”

He asks for all the details, which I give. There’s not much to go on, I admit.

“You know, Ms. Saffron, that we can’t really begin to investigate until a person’s been missing for 48 hours, but I’ll see what I can do.”

I knew he was going to say that. The problem with waiting that long is that, in cases of foul play, the trail quickly goes cold. We hang up, and I text Mira at work to let her know I’ll be running a little late. I’m still in the same clothes as yesterday.

After I shower and change, and scrub off all the layers of makeup, I call a car to take me downtown to the library. After last night, I’m too exhausted to walk, and my baby is broken down in front of the wine bar in the Mission. While I wait, I check the Librarian Detective blog.

I’d skipped writing for the past few days. There’s nothing about meeting Tory on the blog, or seeing the man in the Apple store, or about last night. Even so, I can tell from the analytics on the dashboard that I’m getting some readers, more than 200 a day!

I glance at the comments section, which I have set as needing approval by admin before they post. I scroll through and am shocked. There are three comments from a girlkiller77 that read like death threats.

Chilled to the bone, my hand moves to instinctively delete all the evil comments, but instead pulls back, and pauses. I decide to keep them for evidence. Hopefully Kat can hack into it, and we’ll discover who girlkiller77 is. Could it be the man?

I chose the same car service as last night, because it’s the only car app on my phone. It’s the most popular one in San Francisco right now. Everyone’s using it because of all the promos they run.

When the car arrives, I get in, and I’m in a very bad mood. I barely speak to the driver. Still busy on my phone, I text more of our mutual friends for news of Elise. I’m late for work an entire hour.

I send an electronic smoke signal out to Kat, texting that she is needed, and it’s an Emergency.

As I enter the second floor reference area of MI, I’m still fuming over the mean online comments. That anger blends into worry. I hope Mira and Julie aren’t upset with me. I’ll offer to work late to make up for it.

“Is everything alright?” Mira asks when I get to my desk. I’m going to have to tell her at least some of it.

“I was in an accident on my scooter last night. Had to go to the ER for scans. They kept me overnight and just released me at 8 this morning.”

“Omigod. I’m glad you’re okay. You’re okay, aren’t you?”

“I’m a little achy and shaken. But there’s more.”

Before I can fill her in on Elise’s disappearance, two police officers and Detective Chen are buzzed in through the second floor doors.

“This probably has something to do with it,” I say wryly.

“Ms. Saffron, we would like to have a word with you,” Detective Chen says as he and his backup officers approach the reference desk.

“Good morning, Detective Chen. Did you find my friend Elise yet?” Even with his serious demeanor, the detective looks sharp in his suit. And he’s not wearing a tie, something that says a lot about a man.

“We’re still investigating, which is why we stopped by. I spoke to some witnesses at the clubs you mentioned you were at last night. Several people say Elise was drinking heavily.”

“Yes, but I was with her the entire time. It doesn’t have anything to do with — ”

“People have to take the first step in protecting themselves, Ms. Saffron,” he interrupts. “If this young woman was as intoxicated as people say, she could still be passed out somewhere.”

“I’m your best witness,” I insist. “And I’ve seen this man enough times now to know what he looks like, and that he’s targeting women through dating apps and car services. He was the one who picked Elise up.”

“Okay. We sent someone to her apartment and there was no answer. There’s a possibility she could be there, at home, sleeping it off.” He glances at his deputies, who are unmoved, and look bored, like they’ve heard this all before.

“I don’t think so.” I remember my dream, and think that if she’s sleeping anywhere, it’s somewhere she won’t wake up from. Chilly and panicked, I protest, “Can you please keep investigating?”

“We’re doing everything we can, Ms. Saffron.” Detective Chen and the other officers make their way towards the exit.

“Thank you!” I call after them. “Please let me know if you hear anything!” Then I remember I’m shouting in the library.

“Sorry,” I say, for Mira’s benefit. “But you see what I’m going through, don’t you?” I fill her in on the other half of the events she missed out on, plus the fact that girlkiller77 is trolling my blog. “There has to be something more we can do!” I cry out. I’m feeling desperate.

“Fuck the police!” The high-pitched voice of a certain 11-year old enters the library. “We’ll take care of this on our own,” it says, and lets the world know I’m not alone.

Kat has arrived.

Librarian Detective Blog #13

I survived my wipeout, but am frantic about my friend, who still hasn’t been found. The police won’t tell me anything. It’s time for me to act, finally, decisively.

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Chapter Fourteen

“I don’t feel that’s appropriate language for someone your age,” Mira shushes her.

I laugh, because I don’t care, I’m just glad the kid is here. This is a situation that calls for some serious hacking.

“I just saw them now, the police, as I was coming into the library,” Kat continues, undeterred. “You’re going to trust THEM to find out anything about who’s killing these women? NO.”

“I guess you got my message,” I say. “I’ve spoken to the police twice in the twelve hours now that Elise has been missing and they still haven’t done anything! Or told me about it if they did find out something.”

“I can help! What do you need me to do?” Kat asks. She flings her messenger bag on the nearest table.

“Why aren’t you at school, Kat?” Mira wants to know.

“Good question,” I add.

“No school today. It’s our end-of-year class trip, and I didn’t want to go. So my parents dropped me off here.”

“Perfect timing,” I say. “Some troll left a couple mean comments on the website. Is there a way to find out who they are? Can we track their IP address?”

“Maybe,” Kat replies. She begins unpacking her computer.

“I can help you respond to the trolls,” Mira offers. “We have a policy here at the library that gives guidelines for what to do in case of being the target of online harassment.”

“Really? I’d be so grateful.”

“Let’s get to work,” she suggests.

“Great, let me take care of this gentleman first,” I say, as I help one of our library users with the books he needs to check out. After I finish, I send Kat an email with a few more comments about the blog hack, but then basically give her all my login info for the dating and car service apps and ask if she can investigate. I glance over as she reads the message, and she gives me a thumbs up.

I don’t know why I haven’t thought of this yet, but I use social media to track down Dave, Elise’s boyfriend. I ping him and see if he knows where Elise is. She could have slept over at his place, for all I know.

He responds immediately. He hasn’t seen or heard from her either, and is frantic.

I message him back, asking him to meet me at Reid’s bar after work. Honestly, I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the day. I’m sick with worry.

“So, I just emailed you the online harassment policy,” Mira fills me in. “When we first formed our online community, nasty comments were a huge problem. But we installed some blocking and filtering tools, which are effective.”

“Great, thanks.”

“A great way to shut down trolls is to post a few really choice, sassy, stinging responses. Then just let it go. It sends the message to the world that you are smart enough not to care, and can’t be baited.”

“Thanks, Mira. Is there anything I can help you with?”

She shakes her head. “I have a few projects in the works, that are progressing steadily. But thank you, I can handle them. Just cover the ref desk, as we do.”

“Of course.” Besides a few lingering patrons, the library is quiet that morning. I read over the online harassment policy, and start sketching out a couple of retorts, until Mira leaves for lunch. I’m in the middle of updating the Librarian Detective blog, and notating the locations where I’ve seen the man, when Kat strolls over.

“Haven’t found anything yet,” she tells me.

“Oh, okay, well thanks for trying.”

“I’ll keep hacking around.”

“Cool. So what else have you been up to?”

“This kid at school likes me. But I’m a better coder than he is, and he won’t admit it. I can’t respect someone like that! So I’ve been trying to bust some Craigslist short-term rental scam artists. When I succeed at exposing something that huge, he’ll have to admit I’m badass.”

“Definitely!”

“Don’t worry, I’m still working on the map for your blog, too,” she adds.

“Oh, great! It’s okay, take your time.” I attempt a smile, but any enthusiasm is failing.

“Are you worried about your friend?” Kat asks in a low voice. She’s small for her age as it is, but when she makes herself vulnerable like this, it makes me want to protect all the women in the world even more. So many of us battle a constant fear of being attacked, and most men are oblivious.

“I’m so upset,” I admit. I squeeze my brain, with my hands held to my head, which still hurts from the wipeout, trying to think of more I can do to find Elise. And then it hits me. “I’m going to email a reporter I spoke with earlier this week.”

“You know a reporter?”

“His name is Max. He reported on another abduction, a young woman who was actually found. I emailed a him few days ago but never heard back.”

I look up the number of the newspaper Max writes for, and when Mira returns, duck out for my lunch break. As soon as I get undercover the quiet canopy of the galleria mall across the street from the library, I dial.

“This is Max.”

He sounds harried, but I jump right in with an introduction. “Hi Mr. Devlin, this is Skylar Saffron, a librarian at the Mechanics’ Institute. I emailed you a few days ago about a story you reported on.”

“Okay,” he says, sounding mildly disinterested.

“About a young woman named Tory, who was abducted but later found. I’m calling because another woman was abducted last night, and I think it was the same man who snatched her.”

“Okay. What details do you have?”

I tell him everything I know, including the fact that Detective Chen and his team are on it. “I have a hacker working on the tech side,” I say.

“Really?” Max laughs.

“Yes, and you can read more on my blog, Librarian Detective,” I go on. “I’m very serious about stopping this man, who I think has kidnapped and maybe murdered two, four, or maybe more women.”

“I’ll see what I can find out.” Max mumbles before hanging up.

Well then, I think, as I take the escalator to the pizza parlour and grab a slice of cheese. I try to eat it, but my body remembers I haven’t had anything to eat yet today, and I’m nauseous. Food does nothing for me, and I end up tossing lunch in the garbage as I leave.

That afternoon, in the ever-present quiet of the library, I continue to update my blog. How much to tell and how much to conceal? I reveal that we know the guy is using dating apps and is posing as car service driver. There’s more hidden here, information still in the dark. I push all the fearful noise from my thoughts, but clarity is still elusive.

Before I know it, the day is done. My replacement, Melinda, the evening librarian, rolls in and I blow out. Just like the fog.

I’m exhausted, so I call a car to drive me to the bar. I text Larissa and check to see if she’s coming, too, which she confirms. When the ride share materializes, I notice I’ve been clenching my body in terrified anticipation, but the driver isn’t the man. Of course it’s not the man.

I settle into the back seat with relief and use the time to call the wine bar where my baby is. They inform me that my scooter is safe, and will be waiting for me when I can come get it. I’ll try and go tomorrow.
The car drops me at Reid’s bar, and I enter the darkness. As my eyes adjust, there’s Reid, behind the bar, hanging with that girl, the new bartender Jane.

My brow furrows, because it’s not even that busy for two bartenders. But Reid waves, so I smile and progress automatically in that direction.

“Are you okay?” Jane asks, when I get to the bar. “You look like you got run over.”

Reid smirks a little.

“Yeah, well, I wiped out on my scooter last night, chasing after Elise. We think she was kidnapped.”

“Whaaaattt?” Jane says.

“Can I have a dirty martini, please?” I ask Jane, who nods. I didn’t even think about checking my appearance, and run my hand through my hair self-consciously.

“Sounds like you need it!” she says.

In the meanwhile, Reid’s smirk has turned to shock. “Are you okay?” he asks with concern. “I just thought you had a late night. When I didn’t hear from you after the dinner on Tuesday, I thought you were blowing me off,” he admits.

“Oh. No, I was out with Elise. We were on a mission in The Mission. But something’s gone terribly wrong.” I quickly fill them in.

Jane sets down my drink just as Larissa arrives. I pull out some cash to pay, but Reid brushes my hand away.

“I got it,” he tells me. He looks positively disturbed, and I’m touched that he cares so much about me.

“Hey,” Larissa says, when she makes it to the bar.

“Can you believe this?” I ask her, as I sip the drink, while it rests on the bar, to prevent spillage. I don’t know if it’s because I’m tired or what, but suddenly I’m close to tears. “Get your drink and let’s go sit down.”

I settle in on one of the velvet sofas, and after Larissa places her order, she follows me.

“Detective Chen is useless, I assume,” she states.

“As far as I know.” I see a guy who looks familiar and realize its Dave. I wave him over.

“Get a drink,” I suggest. He looks like he needs one. “So, our friend is missing. I’m getting threats on my blog. And we know of at least two cases of abduction and murder curiously connected to us,” I summarize.

“What’s the thing they all have in common,” Larissa continues to brainstorm aloud.

“This bar?” Dave says, returning with his beverage. “This is where Elise and I met.”

“And where Hannah and the guy had their date,” I add.

“What about Lucie?” Larissa asks.

And then it hits me.

“I know what they have in common!” I exclaim. “Hannah, Lucie, Tory and Elise are all blonde. He likes blondes!”

“Is that a thing?” Dave asks, completely unaware of his own underlying motivation for being attracted to Elise.

“It’s a thing,” Larissa nods.

“So the guy has a blonde fetish? Is that what’s motivating him?” After saying my theory out loud, it sounds a bit ridiculous.

“Men are attracted to blondes because they stand out,” Larissa asserts.

“Elise definitely stands out,” Dave agrees.

“Most of them are fake, by the way, as there’s only four percent natural blondes in the entire world,” Larissa continues.

“Even if the blonde fetish is true, how does it help us find Elise?” I lament. “Let’s keep brainstorming.”

“So we know which leads have gone nowhere — the car service and dating apps — ”

“Kat’s hacking into those,” I interject. “And she’s looking into some harassing comments on my blog, too.”

“Wow, okay. I’ll keep going. The search history from your run-in with someone who looked like the guy at the store didn’t turn up anything.”

“I sent it to a reporter I met, along with much of the other information we know so far.”

“Great. We ran the pictures we have of the man through a big archive of photos with filtering and matching software, and nothing but the car service profile pic came up, which he seems to have since deleted.”

“The car the guy was driving last night was a black Prius,” I add.

“There’s a million of those in San Francisco,” Dave says.

I down what’s left of my drink. I’m tired, and mostly trying to drown out the chance of bursting into tears. “I need to go home,” I say. “I’m exhausted and still recovering. If you think of anything else, let me know.”

“We will,” Larissa stands with me as I get up, and we hug, which is painful to my injuries, sadly.

Again, I order a car through the service. When it arrives, it’s not the man. All the way home, I’m sick with worry, but I’m too tired to think.

As I enter my studio, I look around at the disarray. Did I really leave my apartment so disheveled? I check and make sure the window is locked, and it is. The scene from this morning, when I stopped by to get ready for work, is blur, but it must have looked like this. I’m being paranoid, I tell myself, thinking that anyone could have entered.

I change into my silk nightshirt with the butterfly pattern and sit on the bed. Luckily I have some sustenance on hand — Triscuits and Monterey Jack pepper cheese. After eating, I feel better, but climb under the covers, too tired to even open my laptop, and fall asleep almost instantly.

+++ ++ +++

I wake and feels aches all over. The scooter accident is still reverberating through my body. Luckily, walking to work seems to loosen me up. During the walk, I try calling Elise. No answer.

Mira’s spread the word about my wipeout, and at lunch I hear from Julia, who says I can leave early to relax and recuperate. Of course, I gratefully claim the offer, but have no intention of relaxing. I jump on BART and get off at the 24th Street station.

It’s a little early for the wine bar to be open, so I swing by El Farolito and for one of their famous burritos. After two days of unforced fasting, I’m famished.

While I’m sitting there, I text my parents and say hello. There’s no way in hell I’m telling them about the scooter accident. I’ll go see them this weekend, though. I wonder if they heard any information from the agency about who my Dad is.

I end up eating the entire burrito. I usually only eat half, but I can’t help myself, it tastes so good. Then I go for coffee and spend a couple hours updating the blog, during which I call or text Elise about a million times.

To my dismay, there’s another comment from the same troll, and I send it to Kat.

When I write, I try to be as positive and proactive as possible, following the ethics of solutions journalism. By solving this case, I’m attempting to find the ultimate solution.

So why am I getting attention from trolls? Is it an individual’s attitude that attracts online harassment, or is there a mass of negativity in the general human consciousness that strikes randomly when tapped into? Does pointing out evil and poking it until it hopefully evaporates cause it to backlash at you, until it fades, and dissolves? Or is transmuted?

Either way, I’m shutting this down. At the end of the blog entry, I add a stinging comment: Despite any intimidations from belligerent bullies, we are continuing with this case. No one is allowed to intimidate me. Then I protect myself by completely putting it out of my mind. The troll is mentally blocked.

I’m at the wine bar just as it opens. I wave at the waitress.

She looks at me strangely.

“Hi,” I say. “I’m here to pick up the scooter.”

“Right!” she responds. “I didn’t even recognize you without all the makeup.”

“I usually don’t wear that much makeup,” I protest. “My friend, Elise, the one who’s missing, put it on me.”

She leads me outside to a garage where my scoot is being stored. “Your friend is missing?” she asks. “The one you were here with on Wednesday?”

“Yes,” I confirm. I back my baby off the kickstand and start rolling with it.

“I saw someone hanging around that night, staring at her.”

“You did?” I stop in the middle of the sidewalk and reach for my phone. I scroll to the photos of the guy. “Do you recognize this guy?”

“Yes,” the waitress confirms. “That’s him!”

Librarian Detective Blog #14

Still no sign of Elise. But the guy has been spotted, and not just by me.

Evidence at last. Now there are at least three of us who can identify him.

Where is Elise? This is killing me.

Reader Tease: Readers: What do you think is going on?! What will happen next? Leave a comment below and receive a tip to the next clue.

Also check for clues on PlacingLiterature.com and follow us on Twitter @LibrarianDetect.

Chapter Fifteen

“Was he driving a black Prius?” I ask excitedly.

“I don’t know if he was driving. He was wearing a black suit, though.” She looks thoughtful. “We have security cameras, but they’re not always on. Let me check with the manager.”

Oh my God. I park my baby and sit at one of the outside tables and text Larissa.

She says she’ll meet me here after work. The wine bar starts to get busy, and another waitress appears with a menu. I order a glass of wine and sip it while I wait for Larissa.

It occurs to me that the Apple store might have video footage of the guy, too, from when I saw him there on Wednesday. Without any evidence from his internet search history, there’s nothing to prove, however.

If it even was him, I think, and take another sip of my drink.

“What are we going to do?” I ask Larissa when she arrives. “Elise is still missing!”

“No one’s heard from her — not Dave, or her family. I called them,” she informs me in response to my puzzled look. “They say they’re calling the police.”

“It’s almost been 48 hours,” I say, distracted by a text message. “It’s Reid,” I tell her. “I was so absorbed last night I didn’t even say goodbye to him! He says he wants to meet up.”

When the waitress comes to take Larissa’s order, I ask “Where is the other waitress? She was asking the manager something for me.”

“Oh, you mean Jen? I’ll check.”

“Did you stay late last night?” I ask Larissa.

“No, Dave and I left shortly after you did. He texted me today, saying that he called the police to report

Elise missing as well.”

Jen, the waitress, returns with the report that there’s no security footage from Wednesday night.

“Sorry,” she sympathizes. “I’ll get in touch if anything else comes to light.”

“Thanks,” I tell her. I’m feeling increasingly agitated, and uncomfortably helpless. The wine isn’t helping. I ask for the check.

“It’s okay,” Jen tells us. “This round is on us. I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Thanks!” Larissa says. “By the way, Jim is meeting me here. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not. I don’t think I’m going to stay much longer, though. I have to scoot home.”

“Are you going to be okay on the bike, after your little slide?”

“I think so. No more wine for me, though.”

“Text back and ask Reid to meet you here!”

“I can’t,” I tell her. “I’m too upset.” I can see she understands. I give Larissa a long hug and leave.

Once I’m on my baby, riding up Valencia and onto Market, I’m fine. Biking always makes me feel better. I ride through City Center, and pass City Hall, majestic with its ornate dome, up Larkin through the Tenderloin to Russian Nob.

I park outside my building on Jackson St., and check my phone as I enter home. I see that Reid texted again. I can’t even deal with answering him.

Still full from my burrito, the dinner problem is solved. I open my laptop and check my email, and the website. Jake’s emailed, to ask about Elise. I reply with the update that there is no update, then make plans with Mom and Dad to meet up tomorrow. I fall asleep curled up with my laptop in bed, and toss fitfully all night.

When I wake, there’s still no update on Elise. The aches from the scooter wipeout are almost fully subsided, though. I’m still starving, and since I have nothing appealing at home, hurry and shower. I ride down Polk to a diner and have some eggs and toast.

Kat emails an update. She sends a link to an early prototype of the location mapping app. She asks if I can help with the data. She’ll even teach me some backend coding — Python is really easy, she promises, which I find hard to believe.

Yes, okay, let’s meet up Monday, I type a reply.

After brunch, I continue biking downtown, back to the Mission, where I’m meeting my parents. We’re going to one of our fave places for ice cream.

Tree-lined Valencia is sun-dappled, warm but breezy. Outside the ice cream shop, my parents are sitting on a bench, waiting for me. They must have walked over from Noe, because they have our dog with them on a leash.

I hug Mom and Dad hello and we go inside. We’ve been coming to this shop since I was a kid. So many fancy, new artisinal ice cream places are popping up, but we still come here for the saffron ice cream.

Yes, the same as our last name, and it’s delicious.

We return to the bench, and they start filling me in on the plans for our trip to Europe. We’re going in June, in only a few weeks’ time. They planned stops all along the coast from Spain to Italy, and north through the mountains into wine country. Even with everything going on, I’m excited when I hear the itinerary.

“How’s work?” Dad asks. “Do you think you can get the time off?”

“Work is great. And sure,” I nod.

My phone buzzes just then, and I juggle to see the update, in case someone texts about Elise. But it’s from Tory, the young woman who evaded the man’s devious plot.

She says she received some threatening messages and thinks they are from him.

I’m stunned and I must look it because my parents both stop eating and stare at me in alarm. “What’s going on?” Mom asks.

I’m going to have to tell them something. “There’s been some drama with my friends this week,” I admit. “I was out with my friend Elise on Wednesday and I put her in a cab to get home, and haven’t heard from her since.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and we’ve contacted her building manager, and they haven’t seen her. She’s not there. Her parents just filed a report with the police because it’s been 48 hours since she’s been gone.”

“Is this the girl you know from undergrad?” Dad asks.

I nod. I’m trying to enjoy what’s left of my ice cream but I find I’m eating it automatically, and it’s tasteless.

“Maybe she took off to the beach or mountains for a few days,” Mom suggests hopefully. “And she’s out of range.”

“Maybe,” I say.

“We have some news for you, too,” Mom continues gently.

“Yes?”

“We heard from the sperm bank. Apparently, on the paperwork, the donor indicated that he didn’t want to be contacted.”

I take what’s left of my ice cream and toss it in the trash.

“The agency says they’re going to reach out anyway,” Mom continues.

“Okay,” I say, trying to keep my face neutral, so my expression doesn’t betray my true feelings.

“Do you want to come home with us? We’ll make dinner and watch a movie,” Mom offers.

“As much as I am tempted, I have plans.”

We say our goodbyes and I immediately text Tory. She’s not working tonight so we make a date to meet.

As I ride back up Valencia, I think about getting a coffee at our favorite place, but opt for going home and taking a nap.

Napping is a vain struggle, however. I’m completely unsettled about Elise’s disappearance. I think I’m going crazy trying to solve this mystery. What am I missing?

I give up and get dressed to go meet Tory. Maybe it’s lack of imagination, or my current state of general confusion, but we’re meeting at Reid’s bar. I wish I could think of somewhere new to go.

Even though I shouldn’t care, of course I want to look good. It’s Saturday night in the city. I pull on a black spandex mini dress, with ruched fabric gathered in all the right places. Incongruently, I add dressy sneakers but draw the line at makeup. No more makeup for me, until Elise is found. Before I leave, I spend my time updating the Librarian Detective blog instead.

When I walk into the bar, Tory is sitting by herself on one of the sofas. She looks so uncomfortable.

“Hi,” I say, as I approach. “Can I get you anything?”

“Hi, okay, yes. A vodka martini?”

Jane’s at the bar, and I greet her with friendliness. She makes the best vodka martinis.

I return to Tory with our cocktails, and manage not to spill, which is a feat. I’m feeling pretty steady, really. I’ve rebounded, determined to help recover my friend and find the guy.

“Thank you.” Tory glances around the bar. “You know, I’ve been here before.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s one of my favorite spots.”

“No, I mean, I think this is where I met the guy who kidnapped me. We had our date here.”

I’m stunned. I take a sip of my drink. “Is anything else coming back to you?”

“No. Here, let me show you the emails I received.” She pulls them up on her phone.

I read them. The threats are pretty typical. They call her the b-word, the c-word, and say she’s going to get what she deserves. I sigh.

“Can you forward them to me? I’ll have my tech team check them out.”

Tory nods.

I’m distracted because I see Reid emerge from the back and materialize behind the bar. “I recently received some threats on my blog. It happens all the time. Try not to worry about it — it’s likely just random.”

Tory notices that I’m staring at Reid. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“He almost was. We’ve been seeing each other for a couple weeks, but something’s not right.” Reid spots me and waves. I freeze like a singer in the spotlight. He’s coming over.

“Hi Skylar. Any news about Elise?” Reid asks.

“No,” I shake my head. “Nothing.” I hope he can see how upset I am. Sometimes men aren’t used to using their intuition and can be insensitive, though.

“I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes,” I reply, a little surprised by Reid’s empathy, but definitely going to take advantage of it. “I need your help with this investigation.”

“How?” he wants to know.

Reid’s puzzled look isn’t cute. He’s shown absolutely zero interest in helping find justice for these women. I’m ready to break up with him, and this is the test. If he helps us, I’ll give him another chance.

“Ask around. See if anyone knows anything. Are the regulars talking about the rape and murder of a customer of this bar, or is everyone fine with it being forgotten?”

Reid lets out a deep sigh. “Tommy doesn’t want to attract attention. It could hurt business.”

“Try and do it discreetly,” I suggest gently.

“I’ll try. Do you two want another round?”

“Tory?” I prompt, and she nods. “Tory, this is Reid — Reid, Tory.”

“Hi,” Reid says. “You look so familiar.”

“Tory works at Tosca. Where we just had dinner, remember?”

“Yeah, sure.” Reid just stands there, staring at Tory. “Great, two more vodka martinis, coming up.”

“Interesting,” Tory comments, once Reid is gone. “I don’t remember seeing him with you last week, but he seems familiar to me as well.”

“Maybe you were in here before.”

When Reid returns with our drinks I ask him the same.

“Yeah, you’ve been here before,” he looks puzzled. “I don’t know how long ago. Maybe sometime last year.” He glances back at the bar, where there’s a crush of people to wait on. “I’ll be back.”

“When was your disappearance, again?” I ask Tory.

“Late February. I woke up in the warehouse on February 25.”

We sit there, and Tory tells me everything else she can remember. It’s incredibly intense and soon our glasses are empty.

“Do you want another one?” I ask her.

“I can’t. I’ve got to get home.” I wait while she calls a car service, and when her ride arrives, I go outside to make sure she gets in safely. I’m relieved to see that the driver is a woman.

“I’ll reach out when I know more about the email trolls,” I tell her. “Be safe.”

I go back inside the bar to settle my bill, but when I ask Jane about the tab, she tells me not to worry about it. “Reid took care of it.”

“Great, thank you. Where is he?”

“He’s on break.”

I leave, looking for Reid, sort of, as I wait for my car service. I get in my ride, glad I wore the spandex dress. It worked.

Also, Tory and Reid were familiar to each other because she’d been at the bar before. Right? I’m tired as I arrive home, and start to second-guess myself. They could think they know each other from the restaurant. Small detail, anyway, right?

I sleep in the next morning, and then lazily make my way to a local cafe. It’s Sunday and Russian Nob is bustling.

Even with all the crowds, I manage to score a seat outside at the cafe in my nabe. Instead of bringing my laptop, I just brought a pen and paper. I want to look at the app that Kat sent and make notes on functionality.

I look at the link on my phone and am initially impressed. The app is just a web app for now, part of the Librarian Detective website, but it looks good. It maps out all the crime scenes. Kat must be reading my blog.

She’s got it all covered — the bar, the computer store, the street outside the library, the science museum in the park, the bars in the Mission, even Baker Beach.

I see all the coordinates, mapping each location, and also the location of Elise’s phone. While pondering, I have an epiphany. I think I know where Elise is. Where he’s keeping her.

I text Kat, cluing her in on my idea, and pointing out the spot. I ask her what she thinks.

Maybe, she texts back. I can see why you would make that deduction.

Deduction, I think, amused. You’ve got to love brainy eleven year olds.

I’m calling Detective Chen, I reply.

I dial, not holding out much hope that Detective Chen will be available on a Sunday. And I’m surprised when he answers.

“Ms. Saffron,” he addresses me seriously. “I was just going to call you.”

“I think I found Elise! I know where she is!” I blurt out.

“We do, too. We found your friend, Ms. Saffron. We found her body early this morning.”

Librarian Detective Blog #15

Rage. So much rage.

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