Shop and Let Die (24 page)

He shrugged. “I live
nowhere. My ex lives in my house. What does it tell
you?”

“
That you probably are the
kind of guy who thinks your wife is hot even if she
doesn’t.”

He picked up his glass of
wine and without looking me in the eye, said, “You’re hot. Even
though you don’t look like your picture.”

My natural instinct was to
argue, to claim the fake boobs had thrown off his judgment. But I
didn’t. I was not Molly. I was Serena. “So my ex says.”

He heard the doubt in
my—Serena’s—voice. “But you don’t believe him. My wife didn’t
believe me, either.”

No. I didn’t believe that
I was beautiful. I thought he needed a stronger prescription for
his glasses. “I believe my ex
believes
I’m beautiful. Maybe you
didn’t sound sincere.”

He grumbled, “Maybe she
couldn’t hear sincere if it climbed into her ear and
shouted.”

“
Maybe.” Serena continued
the thought, though Molly would never have dared. “And maybe you
can’t either.”

He spread his hands, to
ward off the truth most likely. “So what it comes down to is that
we’re two people who fooled ourselves into thinking this time it
would be different.”

“
Right.” String him along,
I thought. Though what I really wanted to do was leave. Run. Not
from a serial killer, but from a man who was putting all his
unhappiness out there on the table.

Examining that unhappiness
with me, he reminded me how easy it was to be bitter about the
flaws in a relationship. I said, simply, “Change is hard, for all
of us. But I think it is possible.”

He waved his hand at my
words, as if they were pesky gnats. “That’s a lie.”

I shook my head. “No. I
believe it. I really do. I’m trying to change. To be better — ” I
broke off, suddenly acutely aware that James Connery was listening
to everything I was saying.

My abrupt silence must
have alerted him, because his voice whispered in my ear, “Good
girl, Molly, keep stringing him along. You’re doing
great.”

Suddenly I remembered,
that was what this man had talked about, in our email exchange.
Wanting to be with someone who would value the truth, who would be
honest. I’d agreed with him a little too much, I guess. I thought
it would feel great to hear the unvarnished truth. But his truth
was bitter and it wasn’t doing him any good.

I couldn’t wait for Deb’s
call this time, and I kept checking the time on my phone, as
discreetly as I could. Richard’s unhappiness was suffocating. No
matter how much I protested that it was possible for two people to
be happily married, flaws and all, he disagreed just as vehemently.
But was his bitterness enough to turn him into a serial
killer?

Desperate to end this
evening, I asked him point blank, “Was she a shopper? Is that what
she did wrong?”

He blinked. “A
shopper?”

“
You know. A woman who is
always going to the mall, spending all your money, buying stuff she
doesn’t need.” I led him on deliberately, hoping if he
was
the serial killer,
that he’d just confess it to me right then and there.

He shook his head. “No.
She was worse. A couponer. A saver. I couldn’t spend a dime without
justifying it in her budget.” He flung his napkin onto the table.
“I make enough money to buy anything I want, but no, she didn’t
want to waste money on luxuries.”

I shrugged. “Sounds like
you didn’t have the same spending style. I read about that
somewhere. Spenders and savers can get on each other’s
nerves.”

“
Nerves. Got that right.
She got on every last one of mine. I was glad to give her half my
money to see the back of her. Now I can afford to buy a new car if
I want. Let her save all of her money, let me spend
mine.”

“
What kind of car did you
buy?” I asked, thinking Connery could use that info to trace the
guy down.

“
What?” He looked
baffled.

“
You said you could afford
to buy a new car now that you’ve left her.”

“
Oh. No. I didn’t buy one.
I just
could
. If
I
wanted
to. And
then I could drive it by her house when she was outside mowing her
own lawn.” He added nastily, “Because a lawn service is a
luxury
, even when you
have more money than you can ever spend tucked safely in the
bank.”

When Deb’s call came, he
didn’t even offer to walk me to my car. He just sat at the table
nursing another glass of wine. “Go. It wasn’t going to work out
anyway. You wouldn’t know the truth from a hole in the
ground.”

How did you say goodnight
to a serial killer suspect on a fake date that was probably the
worst date ever in the history of dating? “Thanks. I had a nice
time. I hope you find a way to get past your bitterness and find
someone who makes you happy.”

He stared at me
accusingly. “I thought you were different. You were so nice in your
emails. But you’re just like my ex. Fake nice until you have a guy
completely fooled.”

A suspicion leaped into my
mind from nowhere. “Is your ex on this service?”

“
What if she is? She’s not
paying for it. Probably got an offer for a free month and wanted to
find some new guy like me to make miserable.” His anger indicated
I’d probably hit the bullseye with that one.

And maybe, if he didn’t
follow me and try to kill me, I’d uncovered the reason he was on
multiple dating sites under different names. He was cyber stalking
his coupon-loving, penny-pinching ex.

I stood up, aware of
Connery listening in. I asked bluntly. “I’d like it if you’d walk
me to my car. There is a serial killer stalking the
mall.”

He didn’t even think about
it. “You’re safe. The guy targets shoppers. You weren’t shopping
for anything but another guy to make miserable.”

“
Better than trying to
make the same woman miserable, under different names,” I said
sharply. And then realized I wasn’t supposed to know about his
aliases.

True heartbreak peeked out
from behind his anger. “I wouldn’t make her miserable if she would
just listen to reason.”

I left him to his wallowing, glad I wouldn’t have
to drive around the mall and pretend to leave again, before having
drinks with Serial Killer Candidate #3.

“
What are you doing?”
Connery buzzed in my ear, when I started browsing in a high end
furniture store I liked to stop in and window shop, fantasizing
about being able to afford nice furniture.

I spoke low, so I didn’t
attract stares. “I’m waiting to open Door #3.”

“
Go to your car, Molly.
Richard may follow you.”

“
Oh. Duh.” I went to my
car.

Richard did not follow
me.

As I closed and locked the
car door, my can of pepper spray clutched in one hand, I said to
the unseen listeners, “I’m guessing Richard was not our guy. I
think he’s still got it bad for his ex, and that’s the reason for
all his aliases.”

Connery’s answer in my ear
made me jump a bit in the dark parking lot, “Martie’s on it. I
think you may be right. There’s one woman on all the services that
he keeps trying to hook up with. Probably the ex. The other women
he’s dated are still alive and have, so far, all reported having as
wonderful an evening as Serena.”

“
Wonderful. Right.” I
stopped talking, though, as just then a group of teens came
jostling out of the mall, on the lookout for parents who were
arriving to pick them up.

“
According to Martie, he
isn’t getting any second dates,” he added. Connery’s helpful voice
helped me find a safe path to the bar where I was supposed to meet
Suspect #3. Neither one of us wanted Serena to run across Richard
again.

The power of the boobs was
strong within me, and I had to fend off free drinks and phone
number requests every few minutes.

“
My date is late, but I
already have one so I don’t need another,” I said, finally, to one
guy who just wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“
I think we have a no
show,” Connery confirmed. “But let’s give it a little while longer.
Martie’s trying to track him down.”

Date #3 did not show up. I
waited at the bar until 10, listening to James Connery buzz in my
ear as he assessed every guy who tried to buy Serena a drink. Half
were “losers,” a quarter were “players” and a few — very few — were
“too bad you’re a married woman, Molly.”

Finally, he said, “Time to
wrap up, Molly. Martie’s tracked #3 down. He’s in Vegas, newly
married to someone he met for coffee at noon. Wait there. Deb will
walk you to your car.”

Deb showed up so quickly,
I assumed she’d been waiting very nearby.

“
The least he could have
done was email me and cancel our date,” I said, annoyed at having
to sit at the bar for hours, when I could have been home in my
pajamas watching TV with Seth. “How are we going to know if he was
the serial killer?”

“
He’s not. Turns out
Martie heard from his mother as soon as she found out he’d eloped
to Vegas. He informed Mommy Dearest that he’d bought her a new
house, by way of the movers who arrived to move her lock, stock,
and mom jeans, before he gets home with his new bride.”

I thought about it for a
minute. “He was a suspect because he lived with his
mother?”

Connery laughed in my ear.
“Bingo. Told you you have the knack, Molly.”

“
We didn’t get him.” I
said into the dark and silent car.

Deb escorted me back to
the station, where Martie unwired me and repossessed her bra, and
the two rolls of toilet paper.

“
You did everything you
could, Molly,” Deb said, sensing my mood.

“
Tell that to his next
victim,” I answered. “Tell that to Lanie.”

I hadn’t wanted to do this
job. But now that I’d done it, and failed to uncover the serial
killer, I wished I had succeeded.

CHAPTER
NINETEEN

Cake Walk, Cake Stalk

Seth and I didn’t talk about the failed attempt
to catch the serial killer. We kept to our regular schedule, and
tried not to listen to the news.

Something inside me had
changed, though, thanks to three suspects who all seemed to be
innocent of the crime of serial killer.

Hammond had made me
realize that I had become afraid to go after what I wanted, unless
it also happened to be what Seth, Ryan, or Anna also wanted. I
suspected this was what Dierdre had been trying to tell me, in her
surgically concise way.

Richard had made me see
that bitterness could blind me to the good things in my life. The
last thing I wanted to be was divorced and dating with giant chips
of resentment on both shoulders, longing only for my ex to turn
into the perfect soulmate.

And Suspect #3, whose name
I had forgotten already, had made me see that change is much easier
when it is change you want. And when you have enough money to hire
someone to make it happen while you’re in Vegas on your
honeymoon.

Seth did notice the
changes in me, and when he asked, I didn’t mention the dating
insights. Instead, I told him what Dierdre had told me.

And then I asked him, “Why
do you want the Assistant Dean job so much?”

He looked surprised that I
would ask. “It will be a lot more money. Then maybe you could get a
part-time job instead of a full-time one, so you’d have more
flexibility.”

And then he’d kissed me
and said, “Thank you for asking. I’m worried I’m letting you down.
I want you to know I have your back.”

“
And I want you to know I
have yours. If you want the job, I’m going to do everything Dierdre
tells me to do to help you get it.”

He nuzzled my neck. “I
hope she tells you to buy a few more of those bras.”

I laughed. “She did tell
me to hire a maid.”

He looked up, frowning. “A
maid? Molly—”

I laughed. “At least
before we have a party.”

“
A party?” He looked
distressed.

I asked, “You want the
job?”

He nodded, not quite as
vigorously as I’d expected.

“
Then Dierdre says we have
to host the people who matter in the community.”

He steeled himself to the
idea. “Okay, then. Maybe we can hire the kids to help us
clean.”

I did not argue. I would.
But not until I had some more ammunition from Dierdre to help me
make my case. “And you’ll be happy to know she agrees that I need a
job I can talk about in public.”

He held out his fist for a
fist bump. I bumped.

Change is hard. Except
when, sometimes, it isn’t.

The FBI had moved on to
new ways to find the serial killer. Serena was officially retired.
Fortunately, Sue was very happy with my above-and-beyond-call
performance and did not hold it against me that I had managed to
attract the FBI to my dating persona.