Liv was obsessed with crime novels. She read them day and night, devouring Agatha Christie in the evenings, and eating up Sir Arthur Conan Doyle with her her lunch. This love had been instilled in her when she was young, when she used to watch old crime movies with her dad. Murder on the Orient Express. Death on the Nile. He’d sit and watch her as she tried to figure out exactly what was going on, deducing, putting things together, muddling it all through. Occasionally, she’d get a hint. However, he always wanted to see what she could do on her own. And now, at the age of twenty-three, she could figure out anything and solve any murder. It was boring.

Books under her arm, Liv walked past public library. Usually, she’d stop there to either return or take out books that she’d read a hundred times. But instead of waltzing through the doors, she merely stopped at a news stand to pick up a morning paper.

“A Killer on the Loose!”

She smiled to herself as she tossed the thing into the trash, going on her way.