“In the next hour, we’re going to look at the right places to find a perfect match,” purred Trent. “It’s like The Donald says — location, location, location — and you’d be amazed at how many people get it wrong.
“Are you looking for a disco diva? Don’t try to score at the Natural History Museum. Got a clandestine office romance going? Don’t take her to the boss’s country club for dinner. Looking for hot, delicious, no-commitment sex? Don’t cruise church groups! Remember rule number seven.”
Granger activated the power pointer and the audience chanted along.
“When looking for a love location, destination is destiny.”
“I’m going to puke,” Matteo groaned in my ear.
“Just don’t do it on me,” I warned him.
“We’re going to take a twenty-minute break before part two of this seminar begins,” Trent announced. “Don’t forget to take a brochure, and I suggest all you latecomers chat up a few of the early birds to catch up on what you missed — and you might even make a connection…”
The stage went dark and the audience rose and stretched, murmuring among themselves.
“Let’s go,” said Matt, grabbing my hand. He practically dragged me down the aisle, rudely pushing his way through the crowd as we moved against the flow of traffic. I apologized to the folks my ex shoved aside, until the way to the stage was finally clear.
“Matt, what’s gotten into you?”
Matteo’s face was set in harsh lines as he surged forward.
“Quiet,” he said. “Just getting into character.”
One of the stage hands moved to block our path, but he was just a slender college kid with a backward baseball cap. Matteo pushed right past him and charged onto the stage. Trent and Granger were sitting there, fiddling with the power pointer. Matt walked right up to them and roared in a suitably angry and combative voice.
“My underage daughter registered with your site and has dated a number of middle-aged men. Some of her friends did the same thing. She’s just a teenager! She’s in junior high for God’s sake! I want to know the names of the men she and her friends have gone out with or I’m going to the police.”
Granger shrank back fearfully as Matteo’s tanned and muscular form stood over him, fists clenched, a vein throbbing in his temple.
Trent, on the other hand, remained cool. I watched him glance out at the auditorium, where heads turned and necks craned to hear more.
Frankly, I had to hand it to Trent. Matteo was always a pretty intimidating presence, but when he was angry, he was a force of nature — a lot of men would have become sniveling idiots in the face of Matt’s fury, calling for security or running. But Trent didn’t.
He faced Matteo and, with a forced smile, gamely tried to handle him, and the situation, professionally. “Listen, calm down, Mr. — ?”
“Allegro.”
“Mr. Allegro, this isn’t the time or place. Come to my office Monday and — ”
“My daughter and her friends are out on dates right now. By Monday I’ll have you arrested for facilitating the corruption of a minor!” yelled Matteo.
More heads turned. People who had started wandering toward the auditorium’s exit doors for a smoke or restroom break suddenly decided to loiter in the aisle, eavesdropping.
“Come with me,” said Trent, leading Matteo and me to a small waiting room behind the stage. On his way out, Trent ordered Granger to fetch one of the laptops from the registration desk.
Pay dirt!
We sat down in steel folding chairs while Trent apologized repeatedly.
“We’ve never had this happen before,” he said. “We’re proud of our screening process and will cooperate with you and your wife in any way we can.”
Granger arrived with Low-neckline Girl in tow. She carried the black laptop like a serving tray. I tried not to remember Torquemada’s offerings.
“Our entire database can be accessed by this wireless remote system,” Trent began. He keyed in a password and looked up at Matteo.
“So what do you need to know?”
Matt gestured to me. “My wife will tell you.”
“Let’s start with my daughter’s best friend, Valerie Lathem,” I lied. “She was sharing names with my daughter, we understand.”
Trent typed in Valerie’s name.
“This account isn’t very active. Valerie hasn’t visited our site since October. She made a total of six dates through our registry.”
“Who?” I’d already pulled out a small notepad and had my pencil poised.
“Jack Wormser, Parnell Jefferson, Raymond Silverman, Dr. Anthony Fazio, Julio Jones, and Brooks Newman.”
Brooks Newman? I thought. That was interesting.
“Nobody named Bowman?” Matteo asked.
Trent shook his head.
Of course, Bruce wasn’t going to be there — I knew that. Valerie had met Bruce through her job, not through this site.
“Our daughter’s other friend is Inga Berg,” I quickly continued.
Trent’s fingers flew across the keyboard.
“Ms. Berg has been busy…very busy. There are dozens of dates here since August.” He looked up at Matt. “Here’s the name you mentioned, though: Bowman. Bruce Bowman of Leroy Street in the Village. He definitely dated Inga.”
“We’re looking for the names of the men she last — uh, most recently dated,” I said. “The last two weeks you have on file for her should do.”
“Inga’s account hasn’t been active lately, either. Her latest hook-ups were Bowman, and also Eric Snyder, Ivan Petravich, Gerome Walker, Raj Vaswani, and Brooks Newman.”
I blinked. Brooks Newman. Mr. No Way. Mr. Three Days Vegan. Mr. Meat No More Lingerie Show. Mr. Serial Seducer with a Peter Pan Syndrome.
Yes, I could believe he was a serial killer of women, too.
Newman’s attitude toward the opposite sex was close to misogyny — although if you asked him, Brooks would probably proclaim that he absolutely adored women, for their bodies, anyway.
“Mr. Newman is one of the men who’s been leaving messages for our daughter,” I lied. “Any other hook-ups on file for him?”
Trent glanced at the screen.
“Nothing in the last ten days…guess he’s been busy at work. But Mr. Newman has put two client profiles in his personal basket — that’s a cyber space for members to store the profiles of people they are interested in hooking up with in the future.”
“Who are they?” I asked.
“Ms. Sahara McNeil, and Ms. Joy Allegro, that’s your daughter, right?”
The confirmation that Brooks had put Sahara in his basket was less of an impact on me than the mention of my daughter’s name. I closed my eyes. “Oh, my god, Joy!”
Suddenly, a number of unconnected facts linked up in my brain to form a blood-red flag. It waved in front of me now in dire warning.
“Come with me!” I cried, grabbing Matteo’s hand.
“But — ”
“Come on!”
Matteo got up, leaving Granger and Trent totally confused.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Trent demanded.
“You’ll…you’ll hear from our lawyer,” Matteo cried, still in character, as I dragged him away.
I practically ran down the aisle, past the registration desk, and outside. Matteo hurried to catch up to me.
“Clare, what’s the matter?”
I ran down the block, until I reached the boarded-up building.
“Oh god,” I cried when I looked again at the Meat No More poster.
“Clare, talk to me!” Matt demanded.
“It’s Brooks Newman!” I cried. “He’s the one who’s been killing these women. I’m sure of it now. He dated Valerie, he dated Inga, and he’d obviously hooked up with Sahara at Cappuccino Connection night — her on-line profile in his web basket just confirms his interest in her…And now he’s after Joy.”
“Don’t worry,” said Matteo. “He’ll never get near our daughter.”
“She’s with him right now!”
“What?”
“The poster.” I slapped the board. “This is advertising the Meat No More Lingerie Show, it’s at the Puck Building tonight — it’s starting right now!”