Page 36 of Matchmaking for Psychopaths

Aidan. He knew what my clients were, what my job was.

But I couldn’t give his name up, because Aidan knew too much about me.

He could tell the police my parents’ identity, and if it was Aidan who killed Noah and delivered pieces of him to my house, he could point the finger in my direction.

There was also the question of what else I’d said the night that Aidan and I met.

No, I couldn’t mention Aidan’s name in such a setting.

“No,” I said firmly. “I have no idea who might’ve done such a thing.”

I stared into the eyes of the officer across from me as I spoke.

Police officers had gotten much smaller since my parents’ arrest. They’d seemed impossibly large then.

My father had fought against the cuffs, and there was a moment—the tiniest of seconds—when I thought that he might get away.

It took three men to wrestle him to the ground.

I knew that if I ever spoke to him again he would call it an unfair fight, but I never did speak to him again.

Later, I looked up some clips from his trial online, but I could watch for only several seconds before turning them off.

I was afraid that, somehow, my father would climb through the computer screen and come back to life.

I didn’t want to be responsible for that—to be the person who uttered Bloody Mary three times in front of a mirror and then was shocked when she appeared.

Thankfully, my father was dead and I was a grown-up.

“Are we done? I just really need to use the restroom,” I told the officers.

I tried to say it like Nicole would. As a small child, I’d been obsessed with The Wizard of Oz .

The man behind the curtain amplified his voice to make himself sound larger than life, and that was how he gained his power.

Women did the opposite. They made themselves sound small and stupid to pull the wool over men’s eyes.

“Just let us know if you see Paul again,” the officers said. “We’re worried that his actions are escalating, that he’s spiraling out of control.”

Serena let everyone go home, something that was previously unheard-of so close to Valentine’s Day.

“Take a self-care day and come back Monday, ready to work,” she said.

I didn’t follow her instructions. The time for self-care was over. I needed to start practicing self-preservation. Yes, Noah was dead. Yes, I was wounded, but it wasn’t fatal. I needed to buy a needle and stitch myself shut.

I closed myself in my office as a cleaning crew descended upon the lobby. Their job wasn’t as simple as just scrubbing surfaces. They had to rip up the carpet, repaint the wall. Serena put a sign on the door that read Temporarily closed for remodeling . Businesses were as apt to lie as people.

“I guess this is as good of a reason as any to update things,” I heard Serena say through my closed door.

I texted Rebecca.

Have you heard from Paul?

The conversation with the police had made it clear that he was their primary suspect. They didn’t realize how many psychopaths were in play. I wanted it to be him, because that would be an easy answer. I knew that it wouldn’t be, for the same reason.

No. I blocked his number. I think he’s gotten the message by now. Did something happen?

Yeah, I’ll tell you the next time I see you.

I wasn’t prepared to discuss the dismembered mannequins with Rebecca yet. I wouldn’t be until I had more answers.

I searched for any updates about Noah. That the limbs at Better Love were fake offered only a bit of comfort, because it had brought the police into my periphery.

They had released me from their questioning that morning, but what would happen when they realized that there was a real body involved?

I couldn’t go to prison. Prison was where my father had been murdered.

Worse, it was where my mother was still kept.

She’s drawing you to her, a voice in my brain suggested.

It wasn’t the most far-out suggestion. My mother would go to any lengths to get what she wanted.

What if she decided she wanted me? It seemed possible that after two decades behind bars she’d learned to strip the shadow off her skin and let it haunt the earth.

I thought of the comment I heard her make shortly before the heart’s arrival: I hear it’s cold there.

I’d let it go as a statement about the prison, but what if she knew where I was?

I’d been na?ve to ever consider myself safe.

During the time that I’d been with Rebecca, online conversation about Noah’s absence had increased.

In addition to posts from medical residents, one of the local media outlets had run an article requesting that people step forward if they knew anything about his whereabouts.

People I’d never heard of in the three years that Noah and I were together were posting on his social media pages comments like I know you’ll be found.

The world needs you! For my sake, I hoped he never would be.

Alarmingly, two of his former colleagues had sent me text messages.

Do you need anything?

Tell us what we can do to help. I hope that Noah is going to come home safe.

I wasn’t sure how they’d gotten my number.

I replied with a quick “thanks” to each of them, and then continued reading all the comments, hoping for something that would give me a sure answer as to who had slaughtered my former fiancé.

It was difficult to read the effusive praise of a man who’d hurt me so deeply, first by leaving me for my best friend, and then by dying—though the second event wasn’t his fault.

I got lost in the scrolling. Thumps and screeches came from the lobby as the cleaning crew worked as quickly as possible to cover up what had happened there.

When things grew quiet, I glanced at the clock and realized that it was past five.

I needed to go home, as unappealing as that sounded.

At least the body parts that showed up at work were made of plastic.

I was gathering the will to stand when I heard a murmur of voices coming from down the hall.

The sound startled me, as I’d assumed I was alone.

As quietly as I could, I opened my office door and tiptoed toward the voices.

I’d been trained in such movement when, as a child, I crept out of my room in order to watch my parents woo the women before they murdered them.

It was impossible to predict exactly what skills would come in handy in adulthood.

As I made my way toward Serena’s office, it became clear that the speakers were Nicole and Serena. How long had Nicole been there? I’d assumed that she’d gone home like everyone else.

“There’s something wrong with her,” Nicole said. “I know you don’t want to see it, but she’s messed up.”

I hated that I assumed that I was the “she” in question. It was a luxury to hear such things and assume they were about someone else. My assumption was confirmed as Nicole continued to talk.

“I saw online that her fiancé is missing. Did you know that?” Nicole asked.

Oh no. She knew.

“Noah? He’s missing?”

“Yes. He’s been gone a week, and she hasn’t mentioned anything to us. Don’t you think that’s weird?”

“Alexandra has always been an extremely private person, as is her right,” Serena replied.

“But what if she did something to him? Or what if one of her clients did? Did you know that I saw her with one in public the other day? They were drinking coffee. It could’ve been a date.

She’s dangerous. You can’t seriously be considering her as the next director.

You need to take care of this situation before it’s too late. ”

Serena was silent a long time. I wished I could see her face. I wanted to turn into air itself so that I could inhabit the room completely.

“Those are very serious accusations that you’re making, Nicole.

I’m going to be generous and ignore your suggestion that Alexandra might have hurt her fiancé in some way.

Regarding the director position, I haven’t made any decisions yet.

Things are still in flux at the moment. I will let you know when I have more information.

In the meantime, I expect you to be respectful to all the matchmakers at Better Love. ”

Nicole let out a huff of air so loud that I could hear it from the hallway. I crept back to my office before either she or Serena noticed me.

In some ways, Nicole’s attempt to point the finger in my direction made sense.

Nicole was a mean girl in high school. Just because she hadn’t gone to my high school didn’t mean that she couldn’t sense the things that I’d hidden inside myself.

That was a mean girl’s power. No matter how a person dressed, who they were engaged to, or what they did, a mean girl could sense nonconformity.

She’d seen it in me the first time that we met.

I’d dismissed it because I’d believed that she didn’t have the power to hurt me.

I had bigger things to worry about, a wedding to plan.

I’d been so stupid. Not only was she trying to get me fired, my position eliminated, but she was trying to implicate me in Noah’s disappearance.

A quick thought: Could it have been her?

No. She wouldn’t get her hands dirty like that.

She didn’t need to. My life was filthy enough on its own.

I desperately wanted to talk to Rebecca.

It had been so nice to let someone into my world, if only a small part of it.

If I was the earth, I’d allowed her to land on the moon.

However, I couldn’t tell her everything, because her father had been murdered and my parents were murderers .

That would be like befriending Bambi and admitting to him that my parents liked to go deer hunting for fun.

There was only one person I could talk to, and coincidentally, that one person was my number one suspect. I picked up my phone and started to dial.