Sharon Oldham checked her figure in the full-length mirror. It had taken half an hour and damn near eight head-to-toe changes to find the right outfit. The winner, a sexy skirt and blouse combo, had been a gift from her ex-husband. He had been a real prick, but he knew how to shop for clothes. The outfit flattered her in every way, but she had nearly forgotten it was in the closet. She hadn’t had any reason to go out for dinner since the divorce.

                She checked her makeup and made a kissy face, immediately laughing at herself.

                “You’re a nutter, darlin’,” she told her reflection. “You’re acting like this is a real date.”

                The fact was that it was not a real date. John Herbert, an old friend of her first husband, had simply called to see if she was free for dinner. She hadn’t seen John in nearly a decade—since her husband’s funeral, she realized—and thought it would be a safe and fun way for a newly divorced gal to spend an evening.

                She slipped the usual assortment of rings onto her fingers but left her cigarettes behind on the vanity. She had quit smoking once, several years earlier, but the stress of divorce had brought her nicotine demons to the surface. She spritzed a bit of perfume into the air and then walked through the resulting mist.

                After making her way downstairs, she briefly perused the bookcase in the den. She wanted to have a few titles fresh in her memory. Small talk had never been her strong suit, but a literary bluff or white lie here or there could work wonders.

                The doorbell sent her scrambling for her wrap. By the time it rang a second time, she was on an intercept course for her handbag, which she had left atop a stack of bills on the coffee table. Before the bell could ring a third time, she had thrown open the door.

                If she would have taken a moment to look through the door’s security peephole, she would’ve noticed that the man on the other side of the door was not her old friend, John, but a rather large and, as it so happens, violently insane man with a pickaxe.

                She should’ve realized that safety always comes first. Still, I think she got the point.