Free The Christine Murders by Regina Fagan Page A

lavish gift for someone you hardly know, Mr. Wilkerson.”
    When he spoke again, she noticed a subtle change. He sounded less secure now. “Didn’t you like them, Christine? I see you as a woman who would enjoy roses; most women do love roses. And really, I saw no harm in sending you such a gift.”
    Was it possible he was just a guy with a crush who didn’t know better?
    “The roses are more than beautiful,” she answered. “But don’t you understand that you don’t send roses in Waterford crystal to a woman you don’t even know. And I certainly don’t feel very comfortable about accepting such an expensive gift like this from you. I don’t know you, Luther. We met only once on a flight I was working.”
    He laughed softly. “Oh, but I told you, I feel as if I’ve known you forever. Please, give me a chance, Christine. I intended this gift to be a token of my feelings for you, for what we might have ahead of us. Please don’t take offense. I’m a man who enjoys giving lavish gifts, and you are a woman who deserves beautiful things.”
    Christine sat down, wondering how to get out of this. “Luther, I thank you for thinking so much of me. It was kind of you, more than kind. I don’t mean to sound harsh. But I told you the other day I am not looking to start a relationship with you, or with anyone right now. There is nothing ahead for us. I’m sorry if anything I may have said or done gave you another impression of me. I appreciate your kindness, and the roses are gorgeous. But can we end this now, please?”
    It was a long time before he spoke again. “It’s like before, isn’t it?”
    Now what was he saying? “Before? Before what? What are you talking about?”
    “Don’t you remember? The rejection . . . it’s starting again . . . I don’t like being hurt, can’t you understand that?” Then, very silently, he disconnected the call.
    The apartment was dark now, shadowy. Christine shivered, feeling suddenly queasy. It was cold, too. The fog had hardly lifted today, leaving the city locked in autumn gloom. She walked through the rooms, switching on lights to chase away the early dusk. She turned on the heat, welcoming the onrush of warm air. This was the worst part of the year, she always thought, when autumn began its descent into winter. The days would darken early, and the chill of the winter fog could be penetrating.
    She looked at the flowers. She didn’t know what to do with them. She didn’t want reminders of Luther here, yet part of her felt sorry for him. Maybe Bill was right. He was a lovesick man with a crush on her, and from what he’d said, she had obviously reminded him of someone in his past. He’d said something before about that. What was it? “Don’t do this to me again.” But the whole situation was creepy. There was something terribly eerie about him, and he had certainly unnerved her. Maybe he was crazy. Should she report him to the police? But for what, sending her expensive roses in a crystal vase?
    She picked one perfect pink rose from the enormous bouquet and drank in the scent. They were lovely. How had she gotten herself involved in this mess? Turbulence and one spilled cup of coffee!
    She’d met all kinds of men in her work. There had even been a Saudi prince one time who had asked her to join his harem. Maybe Luther was just one more harmless nutty guy with a crush on her. It happened all the time to flight attendants. Men looked at “stewardesses” in their fancy uniforms and saw only glamour and romance, women who could fulfill all their dreams. Perhaps she was reading more into this than she should.
    She should just accept and enjoy this beautiful gift as what it was, something lovely from an admirer. One day she and Bill would be laughing themselves silly over the whole situation.
    She decided to relax, make something to eat, and stop worrying about Luther Ross-Wilkerson. There was nothing to fear really. He was odd, but he owned a respectable and well-known