Selma shook her head. “Nothing serious since her sophomore year when Zach broke up with her. Zachary Armstrong. He was her high-school boyfriend. It was a big deal at the time. Zach and Zoe, the two Zs. But the breakup hit her pretty hard. Took her a while to come to terms with the fact that he’s a jerk. Lately she seemed to have gotten over him.”

“Maybe there was someone who wasn’t a serious boyfriend?” Brianna sat on the other stool at the counter. “A new guy.”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “The girls were shutting me out, growing up, so I wouldn’t be the first on their lists to tell about a new relationship.” Blinking against tears, she gripped her cup and finally took a swig. “I’m trying to reconstruct what happened, but it’s all a haze. Their two best friends say that Zoe and Chloe had dinner with them around seven, then planned to meet at a bar down on Decatur, the Hootin’ Owl, later, but my girls never showed. So the friends weren’t all that worried. They thought they’d hook up again back in Baton Rouge at that bar near campus. The Watering Hole. Their friends closed the place down, but my girls never showed.” She glanced up at Brianna, her expression somber. “The twins would never have done this intentionally.”

“And when was the last time anyone heard from either girl?”

“Around eight forty-five, when Zoe texted her friend that she’d see her at the Hootin’ Owl.” She swiped at her tears. “That would indicate that they stopped partying before nine p.m. I don’t believe that. Do you?”

“It doesn’t seem likely,” Brianna admitted as dread replaced the hope in her heart.

“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s got all the ingredients for disaster, especially if the 21 Killer is out there, like you said.”

Brianna did not want to admit that her friend was making perfect sense. “Maybe they’ll turn up,” she said.

Biting back a sob, Selma shook her head. “The thing I don’t understand is why he would strike here? I mean, he committed all those murders in Southern California, right? Why would he come here? Why New Orleans?”

“That’s a good question,” Brianna said, tamping down the rage she fought daily when she thought of 21. Rather than meet Selma’s gaze again, Brianna climbed from her stool and walked to the far counter. She placed her cup inside the microwave and punched in thirty seconds to reheat her coffee. As she counted down with the timer, a plan began to form in her brain. If Selma’s fears proved to be founded, it was time to get tough. Really tough.