"She was ... beautiful," Bryan said. He stared into distance, seeing Leeta in memory again. His voice softened. "I've never met anyone like her."
"She's a witch!" Joyce said abruptly, an unnatural sharpness in her tone. "A vampire—a ghoul. What she's done is horrible, Terry. Someone should put a stop to her."
"She isn't a monster," Bryan returned in swift defense. "Not depraved or vicious. I don't quite understand it, but I feel there's a good reason for what she has been doing."
"She's a murderess, Terry!"
"According to our standards, yes. But I don't think she realizes she has been causing harm."
"That's generous of you," Joyce said. Her mockery held bitterness. "But your lady Bluebeard has to be kept from doing any more killing, Terry. Aren't you going to try to do something about it?"
He nodded grimly. "I'm going to keep watching the park. If she shows up again—and I think she will—I'll make an attempt to talk to her, reason with her. I have an idea about how it can be done."
"That's fine, Terry. I'm glad I don't have to do anything drastic to make an honest man of you."
He stared at her. "What do you mean by that?"
"This is a serious business, Terry. Men have died—and more men might die. If you don't do something about it, then somebody else will have to." She reached for her purse and rose abruptly. "I'll be running along. See you around."