The Burnt Rose {Ongoing}

- Chapter I -

June 14, 2015. The breeze coming from East River's bank was relaxingly cool, but somehow the young lady with the yellow dress was nervous, standing next to her broken down Honda, parked on Madison Street, just where Brooklyn Bridge connects with the Main Land from Manhattan's side.

She would have been even more worried, had she noticed the black Mercury that had made a U-turn fifty meters back and was heading towards her at slow pace. It was 1:00 AM, the right time to be a prey, the perfect timing for a wandering predator.

Six hours later, a maintenance foreman found 24 year old Mariana Cincuetti lying on one of the bridge's catwalks, with a wire around her neck and a burnt red rose embedded in her blond hair.

***

June 28.The lights in Guggenheim's galleries had long been dimmed for the night, but somewhere, in one of the administration offices of the ground floor; Sophia Fox was working as late as usual that Sunday, putting in place the final details of the month's big event: Twenty two of Salvator Dali's masterpieces had been flown from Spain and France and were due to be exhibited starting the first of July.

As she was losing focus, she checked the time and decided to call it a day. It was 11:30 PM. She walked to the back exit, waved to Rob, the old security guy who was on one of his duty tours. He greeted her amicably. If he had known that it was the last time he would see her, maybe he would have rushed and given her a last goodbye kiss on the cheek.

For 26 year old Sophia, tomorrow never came. Early morning, in the parking lot behind the Museum, Rob and one of his night shift colleagues discovered her body in the driver's seat of her Jaguar, with her mobile charger cable loose on her shoulders and the ashes of a burnt rose spread upon her lovely golden hair.

***

"Dear Andrew, do you take Ashley to be your wife, to love and to cherish, to have and to hold, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live? "

The harsh voice of the priest echoed inside Saint Patrick's Cathedral, as the blushing groom was about to shout his 'I DO!' under the eyes of the anxious bride. Before the long awaited answer left his mouth, a high pitched mobile tone resonated through the Cathedral, somewhere between the middle rows. "Nice timing Joe..." murmured a sarcastic voice through her gritted teeth. As everyone turned their heads with a frown, the young woman stood up and excused herself: " Sorry, sorry...", as she tried to get past the seated guests and the decoration ribbons, "Sorry Ashley... Congratulations to you guys! Ha-ha...." She nervously put on a broad smile, while struggling with her high heels to reach the exit.

The wedding ceremony was over for Officer Cara Lance.

***

"She hung up on me!! Where is she?!" yelled a frustrated Joe Petrucci, "Let's go! I'm not gonna wait anymore!" He took a last sip of his hot coffee and headed for the parking lot of the NYPD, his team a step behind. While searching for his car, he was shooting orders to his colleagues "Mark! Call the forensics and the coroner's office! Somebody call Chief and alert him! WHERE IS MY CAR!!...". As he was looking around for his Camaro, his phone rang and he looked at the caller's ID: "Cara, where are you?! Why didn't you pick up your phone?

- Hello to you too Joe, I'm very well, thank you, especially after you dragged me out of my best friend's wedding. I hope you have a good reason on a bright Sunday afternoon.

- He's done it again, isn't it a good enough reason Cara?

- Again?! Where?!

- Meet me down at Waldorf Astoria Hotel immediately! Be discreet, use the back entrance. How long will it take you?

- I'll be there in five minutes.

- It'll take me ten if I find my car. WHERE IS MY CAR!!..."

***

Speeding with her Ford Focus through Fifth Avenue, Cara finally arrived in front of the hotel. She couldn't help consulting the mirror before leaving her car and was pleased with the hairdo and the mascara around her charming blue eyes. Nevertheless, she looked 30, four years older than she really was.

She went around the building and found the back entrance, but as she was trying to pull the door open, a man barged out in such a hurry that he sent her rolling on the ground. "Watch where you're going Blondie!" roared the furious voice while dashing off. Barely catching a glimpse of the man's face, she got up and decided to go without any hesitation in his pursuit. This guy had "SUSPICIOUS" written all over his back.

Though he was light on his feet, Cara managed to keep track of him, barefoot, careful to stay unnoticed. She trailed him into Grand Central Station; down there, she stood in the impressive hall and scanned the scene but with no trace of him anywhere. Had this fellow sensed her presence, and succeeded in jumping on the first leaving train?

The consolation from this 25 minute afternoon hunt was the confirmation that she was in shape and that she had lost at least two pounds.

***

Upset and disappointed, she stepped into the hotel, her formal attire all ruined. As she got out of the revolving door, a police officer stopped her:

-"Sorry Ma'am, only Hotel guests and members of the police are allowed in here.

- Well I happen to be a police officer...

- Sure, and I'm Sherlock Holmes...

- I'm Officer Lance, detective Joe Petrucci's partner; here, let me show you my badge..." she said, frustrated, while looking into her silver clutch bag.

- "She's with us, let her in", interrupted Mark, and then addressing Cara while walking to the elevators, "Where have you been? Joe is waiting for you, he is fuming with anger ... What are you wearing anyway?" chuckled Mark.

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(Monday, December 28th, 2k15).