Tinderella

I did not choose the name, but I understood why it stuck.

I had to handle the case because no one else was available, and I really thought this would all be “open and shut”, as they say. But no, that wasn’t going to happen, not right away. Whenever I try and imagine what my week was going to be like, I end up with so many curve balls that I should reconsider my old dream of being a baseball player.

But anyway, it was an interesting case.

It was a murder. Two sisters were killed after a third missing sister ended up with what she referred to in her emails as “the perfect date”. Her profile page, under “GlassSlipper69”, had all of the information I needed to know about her, but I was glad to have access to the account she tried to keep private.

Seriously, I really don’t get it. Why do so many bright and interesting women end up on these pages trying to find a guy who is probably not worth swiping right on? It still seems silly to me to have to explain to people that the best way to meet is to put down the phone, go out to a bar, café, laundromat (believe me, they work) or any other social event and just start talking to them. That’s how I met my Rosie, and I don’t see her taking too kindly to all this “digital dating” (her phrase; still works).

But maybe I’m old fashioned…

What a case.

So, here are the details: two bodies found in a house where this family had been holed up since it was announced that the “Tinder Killer” was at large and looking for single women. The godmother, a Ms. Corson, was not much help, but she was also clearly not a suspect. Her hysterical reaction and alibi – a day trip to a spa that she had planned to visit for several months – was solid enough for me, as were the footage and clues found in the place. She offered me tea, and I noticed the shakes in her hand and the tears that were very real. What almost threw me off was her reaction when I got to the missing one and asked about her:

“That little monster! I am convinced that she is behind all of this.”

I felt a little uncomfortable under the chandelier, holding a fine china cup in my hands, so I asked her to clarify.

“If she had only been as plain as the others, she would not have caused this entire ruckus. I blame her. I blame her for all of this...”

So, the tears poured. I made my notes, and noted that there was no love lost there.

And let me be very honest about something that is giving my brain an itch: those sisters were not what anyone would call a catch. Yeah, they had their profiles (don’t have to include their real names yet), and they seemed determined to find someone, but you would have been tempted to keep swiping left on all of them. Physical beauty is not the only thing that matters. I know that, but staring at all of those duck-faced, over-painted, pneumatically-impossible bodies was not enough for me to take a second look. And their interests?

Just sad.

Shopping, makeup, clothes (using brand names is not a good look, ladies), drinks, food, vacations in places they could only afford with their family’s money… yeah, I could read them like a book. Maybe they annoyed the killer to death?

Terrible joke, I know.

And what about the last one? Well…

College graduate; volunteer with the elderly and various other charities; a winner of a citizenship award from her local city; amateur athlete (tennis and ice hockey – nice). She also had an interest in books, movies, art galleries, museums, travel and cooking.

Nice.

And yes, I will say it: she was beautiful, much more beautiful than Ms. Corson (how were they even related?). She seemed to glow on the page and I did almost catch myself wanting to go back online to see if I had a Tinder account (sorry, Rosie).

But I was also concerned about something.

She was missing; the others were dead.

Was she my prime suspect?

The idea seemed ridiculous, but Ms. Corson had let slip something that was again making my brain itch.

“We treated that girl better than anyone deserves to be treated who did not meet our standards.”

I was pretending to enjoy the now tepid tea she served, but that caught my attention.

“Your standards, ma’am?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling and nearly purring with the thought in her head. “An adoptive stepchild who was not raised in this environment could not possibly know what the etiquette required of her would be. She simply needed to be in the right hands for a little while and she would have been perfectly suited to our…standards.”

The drink was cold, and so was I.

“Ma’am, you…took it upon yourself to…train her?”

“Like an inbred dog!” She snapped.

And that is what made my itch get worse.

Motives were bubbling up in my skull: abuse; jealousy (well, that probably came from the stepsisters and Ms. C.); greed (did she have her own money?); simple revenge...

No, the pieces were not fitting together. But there was some sort of shape to it.

The only good thing about this case is that I had some help from their account manager (and I mean the person who handled the computer technology in their mansion…or mansions – so much wealth on the books to check). “FairyGodmother666” was not a name I would have picked, but it seemed to suit her. Older lady with a lot of charm and one of those faces that gives nothing away except warmth and your mother’s apple pie recipe.

Our Zoom chat was very interesting.

“Yes, I remember her. She was quite a busy bee, that one.”

Again, something needed to be scratched.

“You say you remember her. You must have a lot of people on your platform, Miss.”

It was a sweet laugh, and her information was what I needed the most to settle things.

“Young man, my job requires me to only police certain parts of the page. There are many of us working to make sure that the online dating scene is safe. I started off with those ancient UNIAC machines, y’know.”

She took a sip of what I guessed was chamomile tea and continued.

“But she was special. She could not be ignored. The amount of traffic on her page…”

“It was heavy?”

“It was ridiculous! Men and boys could not get enough of her. I’m sure that there were a certain number of women, too. Not for me to judge. But she was the one receiving all that interest. She gave very little of it. Until this whole thing with the ‘Tinder Killer’ – they need to change that name – started to appear in the press and made my job harder. No wonder she’s no longer online.”

“You did not hear back from her?”

“Not one word. And I could tell when they were active, y’know.”

I thanked her, clicked off, and let the scratching begin.

It must be…but…

I had a phone call to make.

“You got something?”

Rosie could always tell when I was in the hot spot of a case.

“A missing woman and two dead bodies. All in the middle of trying to figure out who the ‘Tinder Killer’ is.”

Her laugh danced in my ear.

“That’s still on? I thought that it was all finished up and…hey, wait. You said a missing woman with a social media account is involved in a murder.”

“Right?” What was she up to?

Slight pause, and then she went on.

“You haven’t looked at the news recently?”

“No, what…?”

“Check your feed. You might be surprised.”

And she hung up on me.

Yeah, that’s my Rosie. The only girl I ever loved and the only one smart enough not to go online for a date (or so she said).

From the news and what photos I could find, the case was over:

Young Woman Found in Prime Suspect Case:

Reuters – a young woman was discovered hiding in a pumpkin patch with several rodents, a torn dress, knives and bloodstains near the home of Mr. M. Prince of Fritzlandia. Police noted that she was at first mumbling and incoherent when discovered, but eventually said the following: ‘I’m never going to be treated like that again. It was all me. Just me. They were too ugly for him. All of them. He wanted me. Just me’. The unnamed woman is now a ‘person of interest’ in the recent double homicide case of the Carson family and other crimes.

*

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