Shop and Let Die (23 page)

Adventure. Nope, I wanted
to steer clear of that one, with federal agents listening in. I
felt guilty enough as it was. I had led this man on. I should have
broken it off with him. Then he wouldn’t be suspected by the FBI of
being a serial killer.

“
I prefer fiction.” I
steered us to the mystery section. “Suspense. Have you ever
read
Silence of the
Lambs
?”

The voice in my ear
buzzed. “Too obvious. Pull back a bit, Molly, or you’ll spook
him.”

Hammond did not seem
spooked to me. There was a light in his eyes. “I prefer the
classics. Christie’s Poirot, or Marple.” He enjoyed engaging in
this discussion, as he had enjoyed engaging in our email
discussions.

I suddenly understood why
they wanted me, and not an FBI agent. Hammond was testing me. He
had paid attention to what I said in my email. Close
attention.

“
Oh, Miss Marple. I love
her. Although, I could never look at small towns the same way after
reading those books.”

He nodded. “Exactly.
Christie had a way of getting at the dark heart of the simplest and
most innocuous villager, didn’t she?”

“
I think people are better
than that, don’t you?”

“
No.” He said
thoughtfully. “No. I think they may be worse.”

I leaned in, pretending
that his comment had fascinated me instead of scared me silly.
“Really? Then let’s leave the books for a bit and let me hear more
about your life over coffee.”

James Connery buzzed,
“Good girl, Molly. Keep him talking.”

I did keep him talking,
about his work, his travels, his reasons for thinking people were
darker than they seemed, right up until my cell phone
rang.

I jumped, and glanced at
the screen. It was Deb. I looked at Hammond apologetically. I had
been enjoying the conversation so much that I had almost forgotten
why I was here, dressed as Serena and wired to the teeth. “I have
to take this.”

I spoke loudly into the
phone. “Hello?”

Deb said sharply, “Time to
say bye-bye.”

“
Really?” I put on a
disappointed tone. “Must I?”

Deb hung up.

I talked into the dead
phone, “Very well. If I must.”

Hammond watched me
carefully. “Work?”

That was as good an excuse
as any, I thought. “How did you know?”

“
I’ve been there
myself.”

I smiled, again
apologetically. “This was fun. We should do it again.”

“
We don’t need to end it
quite yet.” He stood up. “Let me see you to your car.”

“
Don’t bother,” I said
quickly, instinctively.

James Connery buzzed in my
year. “Let him walk you, Molly. He may make a move.”

“
We are at the mall, you
know,” Hammond said, a little too silkily for my liking. “I
promised to keep you safe from the serial killer, didn’t
I?”

“
That’s right,” I smiled
as brightly as I could, trying to pretend I was really Serena, on a
real date, with no idea this man was suspected of being a serial
killer. “Thank you. I’m not too far away.”

I may have walked a bit
faster than normal, hoping to get whatever was about to happen — or
not happen — over with. Most of me didn’t really think that Hammond
was a serial killer. I’d liked him, at least I’d liked his
emails.

I’d probably have liked
him at the coffee shop if I wasn’t trying to get him to strangle me
at the end of our date.

I stopped by my car,
abruptly, suddenly unsure what to do. How long should I wait to see
if he made a move. And what kind of move should I be expecting? A
knife in my ribs? His hands around my throat?

Should I just open the car
door and get in and drive away. Should I park in another part of
the parking lot? Would he notice?

“
This was fun,” I said
again.

“
Until next time,” he
said, leaning in for a kiss, or for the kill. I couldn’t
tell.

I opened the car door and
jumped in. He held the door so I couldn’t close it. I tried not to
squeak in alarm.

He leaned in. “Serena. I
suspect you may be the one. I hope you don’t think that’s too
forward of me.”

“
No. I feel the same way,”
I lied, suddenly horrified to be leading the poor man on. Unless he
was a serial killer about to kidnap me.

He handed me his cell
phone, “I’m glad. Why don’t you give me your number.”

Great. I looked at his
screen, and fumbled with the phone. “I’m not great with smart
phones,” I confessed, truthfully enough.

James Connery’s voice
buzzed in helpfully, “Give him a fake number, Molly.”

I typed in the number of
Pat’s, our favorite pizza joint. I had the number
memorized.

Handing the phone back, I
joked, “I hope you’re not one of those guys who gets a woman’s
number and then doesn’t call.”

“
I’ll call.” He tucked the
phone into his shirt pocket. “I think I know you well enough from
our correspondence to know you’re not the type of woman to give a
guy a fake number.”

Correspondence. How
gentlemanly a phrase. Too bad he was completely wrong.

I waited another beat,
just to see if he was going to pull out a knife now, at the last
minute. But he just closed the door and stood watching as I drove
away.

“
Damn! Thought for sure he
was going to grab you!” my ear buzzed. “On to #2. Drive out of the
mall area and we’ll make sure Hammond is clear before you come
back.”

Shaking, I did as he
asked, without comment.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

Dating is the New Therapy

The hostess informed me that Date #2 was already
at the restaurant when I arrived. I’d been hoping to sneak into the
ladies room and get my equilibrium back after my encounter with
Hammond.

James Connery helpfully
buzzed, “Suspect #2 is Richard Smalley. Investment banker who is on
at least twenty dating sites under several different
names.”

I vaguely remembered an
investment banker. He was one of the ones who broke the rules, and
had asked for a meeting before we’d corresponded for two
weeks.

The hostess led me to the
table and I slid in across from a man about 40, who had a shaved
head to hide his receding hairline. He was dressed in a suit and
tie, which made me feel a bit underdressed.

“
You don’t look like your
picture,” he greeted me.

I resisted checking to see
if the wig was askew. I looked him up and down. No way was he 38.
More like mid-40s. And no way did he hit the gym every day.
“Neither do you.”

He grinned. “True. Two
peas in a pod, then.”

I tried to relax and grin
back, as I desperately tried to remember more about him from his
profile. “Pod buddies.”

The waitress took our
order. I ordered light, only an appetizer salad, not wanting the
guy to pay through the nose for a fake date. Unless he was a serial
killer.

“
So what rules have you
broken, besides not looking like your picture?”

“
None.” I couldn’t meet
his eyes, as I guiltily, and silently, ticked off all the rules I
had broken, and was at the moment breaking with him.

“
Let me guess.” He sighed
heavily. “You’re married?”

“
What makes you say that?”
I demurred.

He reached out and trapped
my left hand in both of his. His finger touched the faint white
line where my wedding band usually sat.

My memory was sucked into
the vortex of a black hole. I just stared at him.

The mic buzzed in my ear
and I tried not to jump. “Keep him talking. Find out where he
lives. We can’t run that info down. Guy’s got too many
aliases.”

Hastily, I improvised.
“Separated, but I didn’t want to say so on the site. You won’t tell
them, will you?”

He laughed. “No. I’m
breaking the rules, too.” He let go of my hand, and I thought the
interrogation was finally over. And then he asked, “Were you
separated before or after you started talking to me?”

Smart guy. I wasn’t sure
which was a better answer for Serena, but he said he was a
rule-breaker, so I decided to have Serena break another. “After. I
know it was against the rules, but I did it anyway.”

“
Rules are for suckers,”
he said dismissively. “Seductive, isn’t it? The idea that there’s a
perfect person out there?”

I thought about how to pry
out the information James Connery wanted. “Isn’t there? You found
someone you thought was perfect once, didn’t you?”

“
Tell me,” he leaned
forward and I couldn’t help thinking of the face-eating horror film
guy. But all this guy did was say, “Didn’t you think that about
your husband, until you had to pick up after him, clean his hair
out of the sink, and listen to his sorry excuses for not
succeeding?”

Yes. But that would end
the conversation, and I had three people listening in, hellbent on
me prolonging the talk as long as I could without getting a knife
between the ribs.

I channeled Serena’s
confidence in going for what she wanted. “I don’t believe in
perfect. I, just believe in someone perfect for me, which is why
I’m trying to find someone better for me than my ex.”

“
Smart. How about
supportive? I think you listed that as one of your must haves for a
soulmate.” He sneered as he said soulmate.

I didn’t like this guy at
all, so I decided that Serena wouldn’t either. And if Serena didn’t
like him, she wasn’t going to waste time being nice to him. “What’s
wrong with supportive?”

“
It’s a crock.”

“
A crock,” I said
unkindly, “haven’t heard that term in years.”

His eyes narrowed at the
gibe about his age. “Yeah well. It is.”

“
What’s so hard about
being supportive? You should have each other’s backs in a
relationship.” I tried to pay attention to the suspect, but my mind
kept wandering to Seth. How long had it been since I had really had
his back?

It had taken Dierdre to
get me to think about the most important question of all when it
came to Seth and his desire to be Assistant Dean. Why did he want
it?

I still hadn’t asked him.
I thought I knew, but would it have hurt me to ask him? If I
survived this evening, I would definitely ask him.

“
Wasn’t it more about him
having your back than you having his?”

“
I don’t think so. A
relationship should be 50-50. You both have each others’
backs.”

“
Really? Tell the truth.
You didn’t want a failure husband did you?” The bitterness was
unmistakeable.

“
My ex was not a failure,”
I said, suddenly needing to defend fake Serena’s fake ex. “He just
didn’t get me.” I said coldly.

“
Didn’t get you? Did you
get him?” He threw his napkin on the table. “You’re all alike. I’m
out of here.”

I took a deep breath, and
changed my tone, knowing that James Connery would not be pleased if
Suspect #2 took himself off before dinner. “I’m sorry. The subject
is still a bit sensitive. Did your ex tell you that you failed her
in some way?”

He picked up his napkin
again, and wrung it between strong fingers. “In every way. I’m only
perfect on-line. Just like everyone else.” He reached into his
pocket.

I tensed, sure he was
about to pull out a knife and force me to leave the restaurant with
him.

The microphone in my ear
crackled to life, “Be careful.” It wasn’t until then that I
realized I wasn’t only wired for sound, but also for video. It
should have reassured me, but somehow, it did not.

All he did was take out a
pen. A nice pen, gold and platinum. I think, based on all the
jewelry shops I’d been doing recently. “Let’s see if we’re wasting
our time here. Write down the top three values you want in a
guy.”

If I weren’t on the job, I
would have ended it there. But I was on a job. Delay him, I
thought. And maybe delay me. What should I write down that would
really set off a serial killer? “You first.”

He smiled and quickly
wrote three words on the little square napkin under his water
glass, which he hid from me as he handed me the pen. “You
next.”

I took the pen. It was
warm from his grip. Was I touching the pen of a serial killer? Or
just an unhappy man? And really, what separated any of us from such
things?

I put the pen to my napkin
and wrote without thinking too much; Kind, Loyal,
Honest.

I handed him back the pen
and held up my napkin. “Switch.”

He’d written: Loving.
Loyal. Hot.

“
Hot?”

He smiled and shrugged.
“The secret is that men think way more women are hot than women
do.”

I thought about how Seth
didn’t seem to mind my extra poundage. How he always said I was
beautiful. “Some men. Where do you live? That will tell me if
you’re one of those guys.”