The Dead Place [antikvár]

No one thinks of death on a sunny day. The sky was the rich, translucent blue of the Caribbean Sea, and Lily Slocum looked up into its warmth and closed her eyes for a moment, thinking how great it would be to go to the beach. She was four blocks from the university and six blocks from home and the messenger bag filled with textbooks was digging into her shoulder and rubbing against her hip. She didn't notice the car idling at the stop sign up ahead. She couldn't see the driver looking in the rearview mirror and even if she could, she wouldn't have thought it meant anything more than an admiring glancé from a stranger. Lily Slocum will be described as pretty. Reporters will list the description her roommate gave the police: white, médium height, wheat-blond hair worn long and pulled back in a ponytail, brown eyes. Last seen walking just past midday on Bates Street, brown T-shirt and tan shorts, orange messenger bag slung over her right shoulder, green flip-flops slapping the concrete under her feet.