About This Book
"I have this silly little game I play, sometimes," she said into the silence. "When I hear someone call a woman by name and I know that it's the name of a butterfly, I try to match something about her to the butterfly. Most of the time, the woman and the butterfly have nothing in common, but sometimes, they do. Maybe it's the color of her eyes, or her hair, or the way she moves. Two days later, they spoke their last, tender goodbyes and he held her hand as death beckoned her. As she slipped away, she whispered the words that were to haunt him for the rest of his life. "I hope there are butterflies in heaven." Standing in the shadow of the huge live oak, he watched the girl who would be his next victim. She was perfect, absolutely perfect. His breathing quickened with anticipation as he caught sight of the van parked across the field with its logo sparkling in the sunlight. Butterfly Cosmetics. What clearer sign could he ask for? The girl's laughter caught his attention, and he leaned forward excitedly as an even clearer, more miraculous sign, a sign proving she was the one, met his eyes.
