What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. ” “Why shouldn’t I go?” “It isn’t a suitable place; it isn’t a suitable gathering. He will not provide for the daughter. ” She looked down at the flowers, still in shock, and gently laid them over her arm like a Miss America candidate practicing a crowning ceremony at a pajama party. I was afraid that I might be called upon as a witness. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. This was good. This queer father of hers had given her everything but his arms. But if I painted her as I'd like to, the natives would instantly distrust me; and I'd have to build up confidence all over again. "I'm come to say good bye to you, and to assure you of my safety before I leave this place.
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