Another chapter in the Christmas Slaying Serial
“You never asked me my name, you know,” the brunette said, now calm and sitting at the table, smoking another of his cigarettes, said. “Or told me yours.”
“Well, it’s Beatrice.”
“It’s not really Beatrice.”
Dzinski nodded. They sat there in the quiet a few minutes, watching the smoke rise from the ashtray to the ceiling.
“I have to run to my place,” he said. “Pick up some things.”
“What?” she said.
“I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” he said.
She tucked a strand of hair, wet from tears, behind her ear, tapped the ash from her cigarette and looked up at him.
“I thought this was your place?”
“No, this place was my mother’s,” Dzinski said.
“I’ll be right back,” Dzinski said.