One for sorrow,
Two for joy,
Three for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five for silver,
Six for gold,
Seven for a secret, never to be told.
Eight for a wish,
Nine for a kiss,
Ten for a bird, you must not miss.
The Lipstick Strangler, the moniker I’d given the killer, using a nursery rhyme as inspiration for murder, one line for every dead body, was out there somewhere, circling me. Trouble was, I couldn’t be certain when he would make his next move, only that he would. I just knew I had to stop him before the deadly countdown reached ten — Ten for a Bird.
Tina Proffitt 