She sits there looking so cool, so elegant and beautiful. All signs of the grieving widow have disappeared. She’d played the part to perfection, fooling everyone but me; never me, how could she.

I watched anticipating the moment our eyes would meet. I loved the look of recognition and fear that clouded those lovely hazel eyes.

A face fit for an angel, I alone knew what a black heart it concealed.

Two years ago I hadn’t even heard of Leslie Ryan Chelsea, but I found her lovely face staring up from a newspaper where I was doing research on a piece about Cat Burglaries. It was in London England, and I was working on my latest detective book. Her loveliness caught my attention than I forgot her, caught up in my work.

Little did I know just a short three months later she’d be brought to my attention again, with such force.

In the last nine months I’d gotten to know this woman better than I knew myself. I knew all her schemes and plans. By using the tools I used to research my books, I’d found out just the kind of cold-hearted bitch she was.

I remember how she’d looked in widows black, the men had been buzzing around her like bees, at the funeral, offering her compassion and protection.

I thought of what I could have said to her, something like, “Hello Leslie, widow-hood becomes you.” What would she have done? Screamed, fainted or just have ran away in fear.

No, I hadn’t dared to speak to her then.

The Minister’s words were very moving, I saw her reach beneath her veil to dab at her eyes with a lace hanky. I wanted to say, “Bravo Leslie, nice touch.”

As if she had felt unfriendly eyes on her, she searched the crowd of mourners. Some perversity caused me to let her catch a glimpse of me. I saw her body stiffen, but I didn’t give her time to be sure of what she saw.

In the last nine months, I’d been following her everywhere, even across two continents. Now she was back in New York, her favorite hunting ground. It would end here, one way or another but it would soon be over.

I remembered the first time she’d gotten a good view of my face; it was in the streets of Paris. She’d looked like she’d seen a ghost as of course she had. I let her think what she would. She dropped her packages and as several men scrambled to assist her, I disappeared into the crowd.

I manage to turn up again where she was eating in a swank French restaurant. The owner thought the food was what made her become ill.

After I managed to turn up in the same places as she, a few more times; she fled in panic to Germany.

I always found her though, no matter where she hid. I never once spoke to her; I only looked at her with sad, familiar eyes.

Once in Holland in her hotel lobby, she screamed at me, “What do you want of me?” I walked past her like I didn’t see her as she fainted dead away.

In Amsterdam she hired a medium, which I found very amusing. A few thousand dollars and the medium told her just what I wanted her to hear.

I really wasn’t surprised when she tried to lose me, then caught a ship back to the States.

Now I wait and I watch, everything depends on how well my  plans have been laid. I knew the money had run out and she’d have to hunt again. I’d wired from the ship making my arrangements, everything, hopefully was in place.

Tonight if all is ready, and my friend has the stage set. Tonight she will learn that she is not the only one who can play a part. A confrontation is at hand, I don’t know exactly when, but I know it will be tonight.

The bribes are in place, locks left open, and now I sit in the darkness of her hotel room, I feel the pain of memories, coming back to point blame.

To kill time I take several folded news paper clippings from my inside jacket pocket. Using my pin  light I read them, though each is like a knife in my heart.

The first is the one I’d read two years ago. It said: The sixth burglary in two months, baffle the London police. Mrs. Nathan Gilbert the Third, said he’d went right for her diamonds as if he knew where to find them.

The second clipping was a short one, only showing a couple on their wedding day. I stared at the face, a mirror image of my own, and felt the tears fill my eyes. They’d looked so happy. The caption simply read: After A whirlwind courtship. Alexander Chelsea will be

Marrying, Leslie Gilbert, this Sunday among family and friends. Proving that romance isn’t dead in the Big Apple.

The third clipping made me feel sad, guilty and angry, it read: Mrs. Chelsea found her husband of three weeks lying in a pool of blood. Hearing noises, she’d gotten up and stumbled over her husband’s body in the dark. Even in her shocked condition, upon hearing noises in the den, she valiantly, armed only with sewing sheers accosted the robber, stabbing him in the back, then shoving him through the large window, where he fell six floors, to his death.

I stared at the picture, it wasn’t one of Leslie’s best, but I noticed she’d let the camera catch a glimpse of breast and thigh as her robe had been accidentally left gapping open.

The last clipping made me curse silently. It was a fallow up story, one I’d omitted to read two years ago. It showed Leslie in much the same pose. Mrs. Gilbert grieves for the lost of her husband, but even in her weakened condition, she, upon finding the intruder still in the house, had the presence of mind to take her husband’s gun from the drawer and shoot the robber while he searched for her jewelry.

I’d blamed myself because when Alex had sent me the wedding clipping, the picture and name had sent out warning signals but I’d been close to a dead line for my latest book and I had ignored the signals.

I put the clippings back in my pocket, it was to late for Alex, but maybe I could save some other poor sucker. Tonight I’d make up for my mistake, I owed my brother that much.

I moved back into the shadows as I heard a key in the lock. A light came on, I heard voices. “The bar’s over there Edward, help yourself.”

A man’s voice said, “What will you have, dear?’

I heard her say softly, making my skin crawl. “I’ll just have wine, I don’t handle stronger stuff, well.”

I waited for them to get comfortable on the sofa. I peered out, as I watched he began to nuzzle her neck. Enough of that; I didn’t want them to get too comfortable.

I stepped out where I could be seen, before they started enjoying themselves.

I saw her body stiffen and her eyes widen, barely whispering she ask, “What do you want?”

Edward, mumbled against her neck, “What is it Darling, am I going to fast?” I smiled thinking, nice touch Edward.

She pulled away from him and pointed at me, “He’s right there. Don’t you see him?” Edward looked blankly towards where I was standing, “See, who?” He looked towards the window. “Is there someone at the window?”

Leslie jumped up, shaking off Edward’s hands, “You can’t be here. Your dead.” I said very softly to disguise a difference of voice. “You should know, as you killed me.”

Edward had stood up, “Whom are you talking to? Who’s there?”

“My husband, Alex,” She shuddered, “But he’s dead.”

“Why have you been following me?” She demanded, “What do you want?”

“The truth,” I whispered, “Only the truth.”

Sinking back onto the sofa and covering her face with her hands, “Okay, what do you want me to say?”

“Tell about Gilbert.” I said.

“I needed money, so I looked for a place that was having a rash of burglaries. Then I looked in the financial pages for a rich unattached man. One without ex-wives or children to horn in on his money.”

After she began to talk it was like a floodgate opening, she couldn’t seem to stop.

“I have always found it easy to attract the opposite sex, and Gilbert and Chelsea were no different from the rest.”  She patted her blonde hair.

“Once the wedding had taken place, I got them to sign over everything to me. This wasn’t hard either; they, so wanted to prove their affection.”

She kept glancing my way as she talked. “I’d then pick up a young man at a bar. The young ones were easier to convince, that I loved them. I’d tell them I’d run away with them if they’d help me steal my jewels. Of course my husband would come home and catch them in the act. The first time I tried to get the young man to shoot my husband, he chickened and bailed out on me. I had to shoot him myself, but this left me frightened, that they’d catch my young friend and he’d confess my part in the plot. Lucky for me, they caught the real cat burglar at about that time, letting me off the hook.”

She looked towards Edward, for understanding, but he was not giving out any.

“So with Mr. Gilbert, I planned it differently. I bought me a gun that couldn’t be traced, and hid it in my bedroom. I made sure my young man wore gloves. The young man, I think his name was George, Was surprised to find my husband at home. He was even more surprised when I pulled a gun out and shot my husband between the eyes. I told him that we still needed the jewels, and while he got out my jewelry box, I took my husbands gun out of the bedside table and shot him in the back.”

She looked towards me, “All I did was fake a faint and wait for the police.”

She looked towards me, “You were just as easy and finding a pasty wasn't hard at all. After I shot him,” she was speaking to Edward. “I stabbed my young man with my sewing sheers and while he was in shock I shoved him through the window.”

Edward asks quietly, “Who were the other men you did this too?” She shrugged, “Only one other, Jonathan Faulkner, he was a German business tycoon.”

“And me,” He inquired, “Were you planning the same with me?” She only stared towards me.

“Do you have enough?” I said stepping out of the shadows. “Edward nodded standing up. “I think so Drew.” He fastened the cuffs around her wrists. Her eyes looked glazed, “You’re a cop?” She questioned Edward; he nodded.

“Drew?” she turned back to me. “Drew? Your Alex’s brother?”

I said, “That’s right.”

She said in a shaky voice, “He never told me you were twins.”

"I Know." I said. "I counted on it."