Dahlia's Dark Admirer

By Justina Luther

Dahlia Orson has never considered herself one to stop traffic. She keeps her head down, works hard, and cares deeply for those she loves. She's never been one to draw attention when she walks into a room or to be whispered about in a crowd. Imagine her surprise, when one day letters from a secret admirer begin to arrive.

The pretty words on paper stir her heart and make her dream of a tall, dark, and mysterious stranger. That is, until they begin to coincide with disappearances in the local news.

Just who is this dark stranger Dahlia has inspired, and will she be his next target?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crazy Ink
• Release date: Aug 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201846701

Book preview

Chapter One

7:00 a.m. June 1, Marrion, Montana

Tears sting Dahlia Orson’s eyes, and she blinks to clear her vision in the bright morning light. Her grandfather beams at her, and she swallows past the lump in her throat. What did you say?

Dahlia Cecile. He gives her a gap-toothed grin while she swipes at her tears.

Grandpa, do you know who I am?

He scoffs. Of course, I know who you are. You are my Dahlia. My little flower with the perfect black petals. He reaches quaking fingers to stroke her hair.

Bending, she wraps her arms around him, squeezing tight.

He chuckles and pats her arm. Why would you think I wouldn’t know that?

Her heart squeezes. He hasn’t remembered me in a month, but I can’t tell him that. Oh, no reason. She kisses his temple.

Are you here to spend the day with me? It gets lonely here. His eyes flit from one pale wall of his small bedroom to the other. Wherever here is.

She runs her fingers through what hair he has left. You’re at home, Grandpa.

Home? His eyes widen.

Yes.

He wags his head, his jowls wobbling. No, that can’t be right. This can’t be my home. I’ve never seen this place before.

She rubs soothing circles into his back while his voice quakes, tears misting the dark eyes she’d inherited. It’s home, Grandpa. You get a little turned around sometimes, but you’ll remember soon enough.

I will? He cocks his head while Dahlia bobs her own.

You will. Don’t worry. Things come and go, but it’ll come back. Her attention shifts to the clock on the wall, and her eyes widen, her pulse spiking. I have to go. I’m late for work!

Oh, but... his voice trails after her when she turns on her heels to sprint into the hallway.

Grabbing her coat off the banister, she leaps down the stairs two at a time, rushing for the front door.

Dahlia! Mom calls after her. Where are you going in such a hurry?

I’m going to be late for work!

You haven’t had a bite to eat.

It’s okay, Mom. I’ll grab a bagel on the way.

You will not—

Bye! The door slams behind her, and she shrugs into her coat, taking the front steps in one leap and jogging until she meets the sidewalk. She digs her keys out of her coat pocket and hurries around the front of her sedan. Unlocking the door, she slips behind the wheel. Come on, baby girl, you can do this." She twists the key, and the engine sputters to life. Thank goodness. Clicking her seat belt into place, she yanks the wheel and turns the car onto the street. Hurrying down the empty road, she bounces her legs and turns onto the main drag to merge into traffic.

My boss is going to kill me if I’m late again! Her phone buzzes in her purse from the passenger seat. She rolls her eyes. Why did I have to agree to bring Mom that stupid photo album? I should have dropped it off after work. It rings again. She’s the one who always told me not to pick up my phone when I’m driving. And yet, here we are. When it finally stops ringing, she puffs out her cheeks and releases a slow breath. It took you long enough to get the message. She drums her thumbs on the wheel through one light and then another as the town passes by. Suburban homes slowly morph into the string of strip malls where the Klein Mart Discount Department Store sign stands proudly.

She pulls her car into one of the staff parking spots at the far end of the lot, switches off the engine, and grabs her purse. Opening the door, she slips into the quickly warming morning. Okay...you can do this. It’s just a few hours, and then you’ve earned another paycheck. Her belly knots. A sweltering breeze ruffles her hair, and she hugs her waist. So what if you hate your job? It keeps your bills paid. You’re of service to others. That matters. Even if you don’t feel like it does. Shutting her eyes, she takes a deep breath until something crashes into the backs of her knees, and she stumbles forward with a yelp. She catches herself on the hood of a car while her pulse thunders in her ears. She looks over her shoulder to find a teenaged girl who glances up from her phone with a giggle. Dahlia stares, slack jawed, until the girl pulls into a nearby spot and hops out of her sedan without a word.

Did she even see me? Her eyes widen when she catches sight of her watch and bolts toward the glass doors of the store. When she yanks one open, the air conditioning blasts her to raise goose bumps along her arms while elevator music plays from the speakers overhead. Her kitten heels click along the tiled floors with each step she takes along the main aisle. She nods in passing to her chatting coworkers, and their conversation doesn’t skip a beat. Morning! When they don’t respond, she ducks her head. Nothing unusual about that.

She opens the door tucked into the back wall and slips into the hallway leading to the breakroom. Keying her code into the time clock, she winces when a red light flashes beside her name. I was five minutes late! Cut me some slack, would you? Going to her locker, she spins her code into the dial and tosses her purse inside.

Come on, Dahlia. With a slow, deep breath, she taps her foot. You can do this. Puffing out her cheeks, she spins on her heels to head out onto the sales floor and slips between rounders to get to the ladies department. With any luck, I can hide in the fitting room for most of the day.

A scream erupts from the other side of the department, and she jolts, her eyes going wide. She hops to see above a tall rounder, finding nothing as she picks her way toward the fitting rooms.

You have no right! Brandi screams, swinging her arm wide while Ms. Jean flinches away. Deep lines rim Ms. Jean’s mouth while the younger woman takes a step toward her.

Dahlia’s eyes widen as she freezes.

I only meant to help, the silver haired woman says.

The blonde balls her fists and takes a half step forward. "You think you’re good enough to help me? Who are you? Huh? Nobody. You have no authority over me!"

The longer you take on your smoke breaks, the longer it takes all of us to get done for the day. That’s all I meant to say.

You’re not my boss, my mother, or my God. Stay out of my face and keep your mouth shut. No one wants to hear your dried-up opinions, boomer.

When Brandi storms off, Dahlia hurries forward to wrap an arm around Ms. Jean’s shoulders. Are you okay?

The woman blinks at her for a moment. I’m—

How dare you? A woman with graying red hair screeches as she flies from the fitting room. You have no idea what it takes for an older person to survive paycheck to paycheck!

Her mouth snaps shut, and she exchanges a glance with Ms. Jean. Ma’am, I didn’t.

Yes, you did! I heard every word you said. She jabs a finger an inch from Dahlia’s nose.

She raises both palms and rocks onto her heels. I apologize for what you overheard, ma’am—

"You mean for what you said!" Spittle flies with each shake of her head, and Dahlia snaps her mouth shut. Saying yes, ma’am and no, ma’am as she’s able. Her coworker stares at the woman.

Any time you want to jump in here would be great! When the customer shifts her attention to Ms. Jean, Dahlia widens her eyes at her. Help!

Ms. Jean gives a wag of her head and snakes an arm around the woman’s shoulders.

I want to speak to your manager, the woman says.

Ms. Jean leads her off toward the manager’s office, and Dahlia takes a shaking breath.

What on Earth was that? She swallows the sand on her tongue, sweat beading her temples while she scans the area around her.

Ma’am?

Her head snaps toward an older man, trailing after the pair with a photo of a long white dress raised in his grasp.

She digs her nails into her palm. Can I help you, sir?

He pauses to stare at her for a moment.

Do you need anything, sir?

He rubs the back of his neck. I’m sorry, but would you happen to be able to help me find shoes to match this dress?

She opens her mouth for a moment, only to snap it shut once more with a bob of her head. Her pulse hammers against her ribs. She takes a slow, deep breath. In through your nose and out through your mouth. She beams at him. Of course! May I ask what this is for?

It’s for my daughter’s wedding. It’s in a few days, but she has to work. Her dog got hold of the first pair she picked out. I couldn’t stand to see my little girl panicking, so I offered to pick her up another pair.

Wow, it must be nice to be cared about that much. That’s sweet of you. Inclining her head, she gestures toward the shoe department in the back right corner of the building. Right this way, sir.

Say, what’s your name? If my daughter needs anything else, or has questions about the shoes, I’d love to know who to send her to.

She grins. Dahlia.

He tucks his chin to his chest. Alright, I’ll remember that. It’s like the flower. I’m usually terrible with names.

She giggles. I’m alright with names; it’s faces I forget for some reason.

***

10:00 a.m. June 1, Marrion, Montana

Austin Green bounces his leg and glances around his cluttered apartment. Come on... He clears his throat, and his attention snaps back to the computer screen. A cursor blinks in the message box of the open email with his article attached. It’s like it’s daring me to defend what I wrote... It’s a great piece. People need to know about how many dogs are going missing. Heat creeps up the back of his neck while his finger hovers over the enter key. Come on. You didn’t quit your job to pursue your dream just to freeze now... Yeah, but are people going to care about missing dogs? Everyone starts somewhere. He sinks his teeth into the tip of his tongue and hits enter. The email flashes off the screen a moment later.

He laces his fingers behind his head and leans into his chair. I did it! I submitted a news article! His voice echoes off the walls while he pumps his fist in the air. He glances around the empty room. What now? He clears his throat while his chest aches, and a pit opens in his gut. The realization wraps him like a blanket of ice. Pushing away from the desk, he stands, pacing the length of the room. This is normal, right? You finish one story... and then you what? His mind blanks. Going to the window, he peers onto the street below his apartment.

A stray cat wanders the empty sidewalk. You... He drums his fingers on the glass pane. His computer dings with an email, and he goes back to his chair, plopping into it and running his fingers through his blonde curls. In his inbox, he finds an alert for another news article. You go onto the next story. He snaps his fingers. Of course, yeah, I knew that, he mutters beneath his breath. Leaning, he grabs the radio scanner he bought the day before and flips the power switch. Static fills the air, and he shifts the knob one way and then the other until a voice breaks through the crackle.

Unidentified female remains reported at the corner of Main and Third. Remains appear to be that of a Caucasian woman between the ages of 25 and 30. The caller who reported it is currently staying with the body. I need a unit to respond.

He sits a bit straighter in his chair. The radio clicks.

"Unit