darling--dearest--dead started following you
Was that...Beatrice? Had to be. A face like hers wasn't very easily repeated.
Olaf felt like he should've been angry to see her alive, but he wasn't so sure she was even there. She could've been a ghost for all he knew. The way she was looking at him was vacant and meaningless, like accidentally meeting the gaze of a complete stranger on the bus. Her eyes were without anger or fear or hate or even the slightest glimmer of recognition of the man who had murdered her (or at least tried to). For a moment Olaf thought maybe it wasn't her after all, then something occurred to him, and his shiny blue eyes flickered with malicious excitement.
She doesn't remember me. He thought, grinning internally. She doesn't suspect a thing.
"Good evening, miss." Olaf said, smiling and extending one hand towards her. "My name is Count Olaf, how do you do?"