A beautiful young woman paced irritably between pale marble angels that lined the stone walkway. Many had been worn down by life leaving little more than the shape of an angel. Any faces that remained were frozen in grief. Crows perched on them, watching.

“Miss Scarlet?”

Dressed in all black, as if in mourning, a slightly older woman walked into view. Spitefully, Miss Scarlet dubbed her Mrs. White.

“Why do you call me that?”

“Don’t play games with me. We labor under a number of secrets you and I.”

Miss Scarlet raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

Mrs. White pulled on the cuff of one sable lined glove. “You are a call girl. You have destroyed relationships with little regard to the consequences beyond payment.” Her face took on a look of profound pain. “Several suicides can be traced back to you.”

Silence reigned while the two women regarded each other.

Finally, Miss Scarlet asked, “And your secrets?”

“I’m the one that murders you.”

Six shots sounded in the graveyard scattering the crows… for a time.