Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
His saucy, flirtatious repartee, with just the right amount of romance and bite, would have been a welcomed remark if this were an actual date between new lovers. Nevertheless, she understood the nature of the man she was dealing with. This could be mere classic love-bombing. Saying such things too quickly. Latching on to another human quickly. Trying to secure a fast bond. The type of shit narcissistic men do after observing their prey, going in for the kill. Murderers had a higher propensity to be narcissistic, so no stretch of the imagination was needed.
“Over here to your right we have some really lovely Victorian mansions,” Pat explained as they drove on.
“Oh, I bet those houses cost a fortune,” someone blurted out.
“Yeah. Costs a pretty penny to live in this area now. Maybe if I was to get enough tips from you superb, kind folks today, I could buy a single blade of grass from one of their lawns.”
Many people erupted in laughter then settled as he explained the intricate details of one of the houses.
A few more minutes passed, and she felt herself becoming cold. The temperature was definitely dropping. She rubbed her arms over the leather of her jacket. Nikolai lowered his arm that was resting behind her back and wrapped it gently around her shoulder—so unassumingly, but protectively, to shield her from the chill. The gesture filled her with warmth.
“…Alright, folks. We made it to Cape Elizabeth. One of our star attractions is right before your eyes.” The trolley rolled to a stop, jostling forward as the driver put it in park. “Right here is the Portland Head Light. Finished and ready for business in 1791. This light marked the entrance to get into the Portland Harbor. It’s the oldest lighthouse in all of Portland and Maine, period. It’s manned by the U.S. Coast Guard…”
After he was finished with his spiel, he announced that this was an authorized halt, a pitstop for photo-taking. Most of the participants rose from their seats and exited the trolley. She and Nikolai both got up at the same time, her walking closely behind him. As soon as she stood on solid ground, she could smell the sea.
“You want me to take your pic?” he offered, pointing to her phone that she now cradled in her hand. She blinked at him a couple of times… This was all wrong. None of it made sense. He was a fucking suspect and here she was, having a good time. With him.
“Sure.” She managed to utter after giving herself a chastising. I just want to get to the restaurant so I can question this guy and get on with it. I must be rusty. I haven’t actually investigated a case like this in years. Get it together, Porsche. Offering a stiff smile, chin up, she handed him her phone and let him take a few shots.
“Would you like me to take your photo of you, too?” she offered as people began to load back onto the trolley. “We have a couple of seconds to squeeze it in.”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen this stuff my whole life. Got a million pictures over here to remember it by.”
“Oh… well, yes, that makes sense, but I figured like the perfume, you could use this picture as a memory. For our first date.” She tossed on a smile. Time to stop fighting herself and use this situation to her advantage. Besides, this is a great way to establish trust. He was into her, so no sense in letting that fact go to waste. She’d planned to be charming and flirty if need be, anyway. Things were just unfolding in unexpected ways and made her slip off her A game.
“That’s no good, either. How about a picture with the two of us in it? What’s the point if it’s just me, alone?”
Something about the way he said the word ‘alone’ jarred her.
“I think we should just go back to the trolley then,” she said curtly.
He seemed to be steadying up to protest, but she was saved by the bell when the horn blew from the tram, along with the final call for everyone to reboard. They were soon back in their seats.
I can’t take any pictures with him. He could use that to say I befriended him, was cozy with him as we did some sightseeing for pure pleasure. Then that could be stretched to him rejecting my romantic advances, and that’s why I told the police I believe he needs to be further investigated. I’ve seen people get set up before. Not quite like that, but close enough. People believe pictures more than words. I’m doing my damn job—doesn’t matter the tactic. Regardless, a jury may not understand that… and his attorney could even say I did all of this to set him up, then helped the police frame him.