Chloroform is passé.
Also, Ruben discovered, it burns your face. He used roofies on the girl instead, which presented another set of challenges, but he made it work.
For months, he’d watched Iris play tennis. She'd caught his attention during those early, warm days as the crocuses and daffodils pushed up from the sodden mulch, and he'd monitored her progress through the summer. Her swing grew more powerful, her steps more certain as she dodged and swayed across the court. The legs extending below her tennis skirt, pale and spindly in May, grew tanned and muscular as the weeks passed, her dark blonde hair lightening under the sun's caress. He thought she looked like a photo negative of what she used to be, except for the perpetual tennis whites.
She was spoiled, of course. They all were,
