“It’s me, Don,” said Zoe as she tore out the front door of the building praying the masked couple on the bench hadn’t left. Looking across the street, she saw they were still there but were now both standing. Waiting for the traffic to pass so she could cross the street, she FaceTimed Sean again.

“How far away are you now?” she yelled into the phone, her eyes fixed on the masked couple.

“Three blocks,” said Sean, breathing hard as he ran.

“Hurry, Sean!”

“Hey, dial it down, Miss Marple, I’m running as fast as I can.”

“They’re moving southeast now,” shouted Zoe as she sprinted across Central Park West. “They’re heading into the middle of the park. I’m going to follow them. When you get to my building, walk directly across the street into the park and head southeast. Call me and I’ll direct you to wherever I am.”

As Zoe got closer to the couple, she slowed down. The man and woman appeared to be walking leisurely, almost strolling which allowed time for Sean to catch up. Ten minutes later, with Zoe directing him, Sean caught up to her.

“I thought my lungs were going to burst,” he said, bending over, trying to catch his breath. “It’s not easy running in a mask. Where are they?”

Zoe tipped her chin up to the right. “Over there where the path splits?”

Sean followed her gaze. “The guy with the green mask and the woman with the brown hair in a ponytail and pink mask?”

“Not them, further to the right. The man has on a New York Rangers mask.”

Sean looked at her in total deadpan. “Why would you think I know what the NY Rangers’ colors are?”

“Blue, white and red, you’re welcome. Do you see the masked man standing next to the woman in the navy mask?”

“I see them. How do you want to play this?”

“Let’s tail them. The woman said in her text that she was going home,” said Zoe. “We’ll follow them to their building, find out their address, copy down their name from the mailbox and go right to the police. We’ll be heroes. We might even get our pictures in the newspaper or be interviewed on CNN. Wouldn’t that be so cool? Except I have not had a haircut in months. Isn’t that just my luck. I finally get on prime time and my hair is a total disaster. I wonder if I could get a hair appointment?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” said Sean, making a face. “Someone is going to be murdered and you’re worried about your hair?”

“I haven’t had a haircut in months.”

“Neither has anyone else. Can we get back to our case?”