I’d wanted my life to change, but in no way had I wanted that change to include coming near a serial killer. That, I knew, was a bad idea. I just had to figure out how to convince James Connery, and Deb, that it was. Everyone stopped and stared at me when I walked into the police headquarters. I realized I was dressed for a cocktail party, not a visit to my local police. Deb scowled at the gaping guys, and grabbed my arm to lead me back into a small airless room with a big metal table and four chairs. James Connery was there. Deb sat in the chair beside him, leaving me all alone on the perp side of the table. I tried to joke. “Am I under suspicion of being the Shopping Mall Killer?” Neither of them laughed. Deb looked worried, and shook her head at me to signal that I should not make jokes. “No. Mrs. Harbison. Molly. I realize it may seem unorthodox, but we have reason to believe that your mystery shop at the millionaire dating service may have caught the attention of the Shopping Mall Killer.”
