1

Carlotta Fitzhugh was a radiant girl with amber hair and a dazzling smile that added to the fact that she looked her best when she was truly, absolutely happy. When downcast her features were just as beautiful, but her brilliant gaze was as lonely and dismal as a gaslight turned down in a gloomy attic. Sometimes her mind was just that: a dusty, must-smelling attic of secret thoughts hidden away in vast treasury. She worked afternoons from four to six as a florist, and on days such as this late September evening, she felt out of place among the cheery sprays of petunias and roses glowing in the sunlight.

What a dull existence. What a sleepy afternoon...

Carlotta had been thinking this when she arrived, but to her surprise she came across a pot of red roses that had been moved to the countertop where she normally stood. A tiny note was attached to one of the stems. Carlotta looked about to see if the flowers had been left behind by a coworker or customer, but no one was in sight. She was always first to show up. Someone had deliberately left her those flowers.

Cautiously she fingered the note, and to her surprise it slipped easily off the stem. It was a gum wrapper, and someone had written on the inside in pencilled words: Wondering if you’d mind dinner tonight, 6:30 at the Italian Diner. Zeke Pellin.

Carlotta stared at the note. She tried to remember if she knew anyone named Zeke Pellin, and suddenly it came to her. She had seen a young man about her age in the flower shop on occasion. Once he had bought a single white rose. He had spoken to Carlotta a bit, and after that he would come in and out, pretending to admire the flowers--while Carlotta pretended to go about her cashier business. But from time to time they would glance up and their eyes would meet for a half second. Zeke had deep, dark eyes that Carlotta couldn’t help but admire. Now she remembered seeing him only the day before.

“So Zeke’s your name, is it?” she whispered to the silence, clutching the note. Then she laughed. She laughed, and she cried. No one at all, no one had ever admired her, moreover asked her to dinner. This day, of all days! thought Carlotta. When she went home to her apartment that night, she couldn’t stop herself from laughing again.

2

It was the end of October, 6:30 on a rainy evening, and a line was waiting in the Italian Diner that flooded out the door that busy night. Zeke and Carlotta were laughing as they tried to crowd under the awning.

“Do you remember our first day together...”

It was a month since that first date. Zeke had taken her there as a kind of anniversary, and for reasons of his own yet untold. He looked grave. He ran a hand through his brown curly hair and gazed at Carlotta when they were seated. “Carlotta, I want to tell you something,” he said. “I mean--I’ve been meaning to tell you something--a few things, actually.”

“What is it, Zeke?”

“I...” Zeke’s oceanic brown eyes searched restlessly. “I love you, Carlotta. Don’t ever think you owe me anything because I say that. But I don’t want to hide anything from you. You’ve always been so honest.”

“Zeke, I love you, too...”

“Wait--just wait, please.” Zeke’s head sank into his hands for a moment. “I never told you why I ever came into your flower shop,” he began quietly. “It was because my mother had died. I came to buy a white rose for her funeral; they were her favorites. And you know I live alone with my stepfather. I hate it, being there. I hate being left behind. It’s not even like a home to me anymore. Roger loved my mother, that’s why he married her--I guess it never occurred to him that he might be left with me. Now he doesn’t say a word unless he’s telling me to do something. Or if I bring up my mother, he’ll shout, or throw things around. Or go after me with something. It’s gotten bad, you see...”

“Zeke, I had no idea. You need to get help. You can’t just let him--”

“Shh,” Zeke hushed her. A waiter came and they placed their orders. Then Zeke continued.

“I haven’t got a future back there with him. I thought, Carlotta, maybe you and I could have our own future...you know, outside of the city.”

“What are you saying?” She knew very well what he was saying.

Zeke looked down, embarrassed. “You don’t have to. I...what I’m saying...”

He shoved a hand in his pocket, slipped something in Carlotta’s hand, and caught her gaze. “Carlotta, please marry me.”

Carlotta opened her hand and looked down mesmerized at the diamond ring.

“It was my mother’s engagement ring. I couldn’t afford a new one--”

“Zeke!” Carlotta laughed and leaned over the table to kiss him. There in the Italian Diner where they had shared their first date, their first love, they felt they could fly away together--however ridiculous the prospect was.

A confused waiter came across Carlotta and Zeke stretched over the table. “Ma’am, may I find you a better seat?”

3

Carlotta opened the door to Room 902 on the tenth floor of her apartment complex. Soon, she thought, I will live in a house, a real house, with my dear husband Zeke.

“Husband,” she breathed. Zeke would be married to her. They would be secretly wed, and they would start their new life together. Carlotta hummed, smiling to herself as she strolled toward her bedroom.

Here comes the bride... She twirled a rose that Zeke had given to her, the ring shimmering on her finger. She pictured him smiling at her, his beautiful eyes shining. She would pass her hand behind his head, they would kiss as he slid on the wedding band. Then nothing could stop them. No more shabby apartments, no Roger after her love. “He’ll never hurt you again,” she had promised Zeke...

She stopped stiff, and her trembling hands let go of the rose. It fluttered silently toward the apartment floor, coming to rest in the palm of a gentle bronzy hand.

Zeke’s...

He lay fallen on the kitchen floor, his face wrung as if in pain. He was completely still.

“Zeke,” Carlotta cried. “Zeke!” She dropped to his side, shook him, felt his heart. Then she rocked back and crushed her knuckles to her mouth. A spot of blood had spread on Zeke’s shirt.

4

Detective Joan Meriot watched insensitively as Zeke’s body was carried from the apartment. Carlotta was hiding her face.

“Murder,” the detective said simply to an inquiring officer. “Obviously a knife wound. It doesn’t take a detective to see that, officer. What we’ll have to look into is who the murderer was. Miss Fitzhugh is all we have for a witness so far.” She said the last statement with a regretful tone.

She turned to Carlotta and cleared her throat. “Miss Fitzhugh. Can you help me, and talk right now?”

Carlotta let out a fitful sob.

“It will be most helpful,” Detective Meriot went on. “Do you want to know what happened to your friend?”

With a sniff into her handkerchief Carlotta looked up at the detective. “He was going to be my husband, Detective. He was much more than a friend.” Meriot’s gaze did not falter. Carlotta sighed. “If I can do anything to help you figure this out, I will.”

“That’s the spirit. We’ll soon get to the bottom of this.” She produced a yellow notepad. “Now. His closest relation?”

“His stepfather. First name’s Roger, that’s all I know.” Carlotta brushed away a tear. “I don’t see why he hasn’t arrived here. But then...” Her voice faded.

Joan Meriot’s expression grew no less sincere. “But then what, Miss Fitzhugh?”

“He...I’ve a mind Zeke’s stepfather abused him quite a lot. I don’t know how often.” She told the detective everything Zeke had told her, willing herself not to cry harder.

“Do you know of any other friends, acquaintances Mr. Pellin had? Anyone he held grudges against, or they against him?”

“No. He was always alone...”

“Do you think he informed his stepfather of your intended marriage?”

Carlotta stared at the detective with questioning eyes. “I don’t see why he would. It was to be a secret. He--oh...”

“Yes?” Detective Meriot waited patiently, knowing that the young woman would eventually answer. At this rate, she thought, our mystery may be solved quite fast.

“Detective, do you really think--do you think it was Roger? It’s so terrible--how could he--”

“Nothing’s certain yet,” said Meriot firmly. “Go on.”

“I was only just thinking...he could have found out.” She fingered her diamond ring, and lifted her hand so Meriot could see. “This ring. Zeke said it was his mother’s engagement ring. He couldn’t afford to buy me one, you see. Roger loved Zeke’s mother--do you think he found it was missing, and then...?” A chill shattered her nerves. “Do you think he’ll come looking for it?”

“Now, like I said, nothing is certain.” The detective studied Carlotta. “There’s no proof yet that the ring had anything to do with it. Your apartment should undergo further investigation.”

“I’ll be getting a hotel room.” I wouldn’t stay here, either way.

“Good. You’d best lock up, too.” Meriot looked her stonily in the eye. “I don’t want to say it, Miss Fitzhugh, but there is a possibility that it wasn’t murder that killed Zeke Pellin.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Suicide, Miss Fitzhugh. I’ll ask you to give all that we have discussed some thought, if it doesn’t trouble you too much. I’ll get back to you when I have a lead, if you wish.”

“Please.”

“Very well. I’m truly sorry, Miss Fitzhugh. You keep safe tonight.”

That night Carlotta was trying her hardest not to give some thought to Zeke’s death. All that she had contained during her inquisition with the detective came spilling out when she was alone in her hotel room.

If it doesn’t trouble you too much?! Carlotta’s mind roared furiously. Suicide, Miss Fitzhugh. Suicide. I’m only suggesting that your husband-to-be killed himself, if it doesn’t trouble you too much. Please give it some thought, Miss Fitzhugh! Please give some thought to the outlandish idea that Mr. Pellin was so reluctant to marry you that he killed himself! Please, Miss Fitzhugh, give it some thought--Carlotta’s breath broke into frustrated, choking sobs. Replay everything in your mind, Miss Fitzhugh. Please give his death some thought so I’ll have a lead.

“No!” Carlotta screamed into the emptiness.

You’d best lock up. Oh, but don’t worry, we don’t know just yet who the murderer is. We don’t know if he’s still prowling around the city streets, so you’ll be perfectly safe. You’d best lock up, Miss Fitzhugh. Perfectly safe--even though Zeke’s body turned up in your locked apartment!

Carlotta screamed. She bolted the doors and threw herself onto the bed, screaming until she drowned out the terrifying voice and drove it away. Then she crawled beneath the cheap sheets and cried into her pillow until it was soaked with her tears.

She did not give any thought to Zeke’s murder, or suicide, that night. Her dreams were invaded with painful, piercing visions of happiness that she and Zeke could have shared, in their new life together that would never come.

5

The next morning Carlotta was awakened by a quiet creak in the silence. She looked down the narrow hallway. The hinged flap of the letter slot in her door was swinging back and forth, and something lay on the carpet nearby.

Carlotta crept to the edge of the hall. Made certain the door was latched, and silently picked up the note.

A gum wrapper, words in pencil.

She read:

Where is my Carlotta?

6

“Miss Fitzhugh?” The voice on the opposite end of the reciever was familiar. Carlotta had been disrupted from her weeping and thinking by a telephone call. The clear ring in the silence had at first startled her, and now she was not sure whether she was relieved or depressed to hear Detective Meriot’s voice.

“Yes.”

“Some news I’ve picked up, I thought I might inform you. We did tests for some of the clues left behind--DNA tests.”

“Well? What did you find?”

“It did not match Roger’s DNA. Nor Mr. Pellin’s. It certainly wasn’t suicide.

“What? Then both our ideas were wrong?”

“Your ideas, Miss Fitzhugh. Apparently Mr. Pellin neglected to tell you about something. Perhaps a deal with an untrustworthy friend? I don’t know yet. But someone else killed him.”

“Do you know who it is? Did it have anything to do with me?”

“I can say nothing more now than what I’ve already told you. When I can, I will.”

A click, a dial tone. And so Carlotta waited. She did not mention the note. They would find the killer soon enough.

7

As soon as Joan Meriot replaced the phone in its cradle she felt something hit the back of her neck, like a bee sting. Suddenly her vision was splotched with clouds of inky black. She fell, but the numbing sensation came sooner. The last things she heard were footsteps, and a shaking voice...

“Where is my Carlotta?”

8

I’m going back, thought Carlotta as she settled the strap of her purse on her shoulder. I can’t bear this unknowing solitude any longer--something’s going on that Detective Meriot hasn’t told me about. She left the hotel.

Walking along the sidewalk she passed by a few houses with trim yards. One old woman stood watering her flowers, and gaped at Carlotta as she walked by.

“You’re Carlotta Fitzhugh,” the woman gasped.

“Wha--yes, that’s me.”

“Terribly sorry, ma’am. Awful bad, what happened with your lover and everything. Terribly sorry.”

Perfectly splendid, thought Carlotta. Now I’ve got people pitying me. I’m already a spectacle.

She reached the apartment complex, took back her key, and took the lift to the familiar tenth floor. She sighed, stepping off into the hall way. The key turned in the doorknob. The door to Room 902 opened.

Silence. The room was dark, except for the sunlight that dimly sifted through the dust motes out of a single window. Her old furniture had been moved about during the investigation, and her own apartment looked almost foreign to her.

“Detective Meriot?” Carlotta whispered. “Detective--”

She stopped. Someone was pacing slowly, darkly, from the kitchen.

The man must have been in his fifties. He had a limp. In one hand he grasped a kitchen knife.

“Where are you, Carlotta?” he moaned.

Carlotta plastered herself against the doorframe. The man apparently did not see her. He paced the kitchen once more, then collapsed in a chair facing opposite from Carlotta.

“You’ll come back, you always do,” the man said, his voice gruff and haunting in the stillness. “You have come back. I knew you would, Carlotta.” He said this with chilling tenderness.

But he was not speaking to her. Some demented vision must have stood before him as his voice drawled on...

“You must feel much safer now, my sweet, with the investigator gone. Don’t worry, dear. She’s not coming back. She might have found out about our secret, but no longer.

“At last, we are alone together again. I missed those days when we were alone. Do you remember, Carlotta, the days we spent alone? You were always so tired, so sad, coming home from work. But I was there to comfort you--I always have been; you were just a little distracted.

“You were unhappy, I could tell. You tried to hide it, with that smile of yours, but I knew. I’ve known you long enough to see right through you. He was troubling you, wasn’t he, that young scamp? You couldn’t trust him, so I--I got him out of the way.”

Carlotta swallowed hard. She reached softly into her purse, searching for her mobile phone.

“Here comes the bride...”

The man was standing up. He threw the kitchen knife, and it lodged itself in the wall with frightening speed.

“All mine, Carlotta...” He took a step, paused. “I know, I know you don’t like it when I leave. Ah, but cheer up. Tomorrow, we marry...”

Carlotta shivered. Then panic struck her, and she stumbled, backing out the door.

The man turned around abruptly, like a dog startled by some distant whistle. His mad eyes fixed themselves on the half-open door.

A dead silence. Carlotta stood holding her breath in the quiet hallway.

“Carlotta!” she heard the muffled voice, growing, rising, “Carlotta, wait!”

She ran to the lift, hit the down switch. There was a wait. She punched the switch again, and spun around to see the man limping out of the room.

“Carlotta!”

Carlotta screamed. She leaned hopelessly against the lift door, as if she would back down further, through the hard metal.

The man was nearly upon her.

“Carlotta, come back to me...”

His shaking hands were inches from her.

Suddenly Carlotta fell. The lift door slid open, and she found herself safe in someone’s strong arms. In front of her, in the same hands that held her, a gun was aimed at the man, who slowly raised his hands in the air.

“Step onto the lift, sir. Not another move for the lady.”

Carlotta looked up at the calm face of a young police officer. He glanced down at her, smiled vaguely, and guided the old man onto the lift. The doors shut behind them.

9

“You needn’t worry any longer, ma’am. It’s a good thing you dialed us up on your phone when you did.” The young officer stepped out of the cold white room in the police station and stood by Carlotta. “It’s an odd, rare case, this, but the man’s going where he belongs. An insanity plea will be in store, mark my words.”

The officer guided her outside, and upon Carlotta’s request he explained the unexplainable to her while walking her to her street.

“He lived in the complex across from yours. Conveniently, the window of your room looked directly across to his--not so convenient for you, I’m afraid. He watched you every day after you got home from work, and it seems that all that watching got him infatuated.”

Carlotta must have looked ashamed, since the officer quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, Miss. He got into his own imaginary life; he would talk to you, he said. Said you were ‘cheating’ when you were with Mr. Pellin.”

“So he’s responsible for the murders,” Carlotta mused quietly.

“Yes.”

“I can’t say I feel sorry for him. I’d rather not know anymore about what went on in his mind. Thank you, officer.”

The young man tipped his cap. “You can call me Jake.”

Carlotta smiled. “Yes. Thank you, Jake.”

Jake searched for something to say. “Will you be keeping up with your job, then?”

“I’m not sure I could go back to it...after all this. Perhaps I’ll move to the other side of town, and set up my own flower shop.” She turned to him. “This is my street.”

“Oh, yes. Ah...” Jake shuffled his feet. “Would you mind dinner sometime?”

Carlotta smiled sadly. “Thank you for the offer, Jake, but for tonight I’ll be going to dinner alone. It will have been our honeymoon--mine and Zeke’s.”

Jake smiled back. “Right, then. Good day, Carlotta.”

The officer ambled back toward the police station. Carlotta looked back over her shoulder as she reached the entrance to the hotel. For now she would work on peace again. But she would never confine herself to that dismal attic in her mind, never again. She looked back at Jake.

Maybe, she thought.