Free The Best American Mystery Stories 2012 by Otto Penzler

“Get in close. You snuggle up to her, you tail her around like she’s been tailing you. That’s not part of the game, she won’t like that at all. You keep
coming
at her.”
    Pat said, “And you keep calling us. Every day.”
    It took practice. All her instincts told her to turn and run the moment she recognized the elegant figure on the street corner ahead of her or heard the too-friendly voice at her elbow. But gradually she learned not only to force herself to respond with equal affability, but to become the one accosting, waving, calling out—even issuing impromptu invitations to join her for tea or coffee. These were never accepted, and the act of proposing them always left her feeling dizzy and sick; but she continued doggedly to “snuggle up” to Olivia Korhonen at every opportunity. Frightened and alone, still she kept coming.
    She had the first inkling that the change in her behavior might be having some effect when Eileen mentioned that Olivia Korhonen had diffidently sounded her out about being partnered with a more skilled player for the Group’s upcoming tournament. Eileen had explained that the teams had already been registered, and that in any case none of them would have taken kindly to being broken up and reassigned. Olivia Korhonen hadn’t raised the subject again, but Eileen had thought Mattie would want to know. Eileen always told people the things she thought they would want to know.
    For her part, Mattie continued to make a point of chattering buoyantly at the bridge table as she misplayed one hand after another, then apologizing endlessly as she trampled through another rubber, leaving ruin in her wake. She announced, laughing, after one particularly disastrous no-trump contract, “I wouldn’t blame Olivia if she wanted to strangle me right now. I’d have it coming!” Their opponents looked embarrassed, and Olivia Korhonen smiled and smoothed her hair.
    But once, when they were in the ladies’ room together, she met Mattie’s eyes in the mirror and said, “I will still kill you. Could you hand me the tissues, please?” Mattie did so. Olivia Korhonen blotted her lipstick and went on, “You are not nearly so bad a player as you pretend, and you have not turned impudently fearless overnight. Little sheep, you are just as much afraid of me as you ever were. Tell me this is not true.”
    She turned then, taking a single step toward Mattie, who recoiled in spite of her determination not to. Olivia Korhonen did not smile in triumph, but yawned daintily and deliberately, like a cat. “Never mind, dear Mattie. It is almost over.” She started for the restroom door.
    â€œYou are not going to kill me,” Mattie said, as she had said once before in her own kitchen. “You’ve killed before, but you are not going to kill me.” Olivia Korhonen did not bother to look back or answer, and a sudden burst of white rage seared through Mattie like fever. She took hold of Olivia Korhonen’s left arm and swung her around to face her, savoring the surprise and momentary confusion in the blue eyes. She said, “I will not let you kill me. Do you understand? I will not let you.”
    Olivia Korhonen did not move in her grip. Mattie finally let her go, actually stumbling back and having to catch herself. Olivia Korhonen said again, “It is almost over. Come, we will go and play that other game.”
    That night Mattie could not sleep. Even after midnight, she felt almost painfully wide awake, unable to imagine ever needing to sleep again. Don had been snoring for two hours when she dressed, went to her car, and drove to the condominium where Olivia Korhonen lived. A light was still on in the living room window of her apartment, and Mattie, parked across the street, could clearly make out the figure of the blond woman moving restlessly back and forth, as though she shared her observer’s restlessness. The