Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [108]
“I’m ready. Amanda, you’re still staying with Sean’s sister?”
“Yes,” she laughed ruefully. “I am never alone, Evan, never fear. I haven’t been alone for five minutes since Marian died.”
“Getting to you, is it?” Evan paused to study her face, his hand on her shoulder.
“A little.” She smiled. “It’s okay, though. I don’t really mind. And it sure as hell beats the alternative.”
The house was strangely dark and quiet when Vince came back downstairs, humming “Sweet Home Alabama” and dying to dig into the Chinese. He flipped on the lamp nearest the stairs and went in the direction of the kitchen.
“Dolores?” he called as he walked through the dining room and into the kitchen.
The basement door stood ajar. He leaned through it and yelled, “Dee! You down there?”
When there was no answer, he looked out through the back door window and realized that her car was not in the drive.
“Idiot. Can’t find her way to the Chinese restaurant and back by herself,” he muttered as he rustled through the stack of take-out menus on the counter.
He dialed the number for Ming Gardens. “Yeah, I’m calling to see if an order has been picked up yet. Called in about thirty minutes ago. Name is Hall.”
He waited while the take-out bags were checked.
“No order for Hall.”
“Oh. Well, maybe she put it under Daniels. Look and see if there’s something there for Daniels.”
More rustling in the background.
“No order for Hall, no order for Daniels. You want to place an order?”
“Maybe she just picked it up. Dolores, you know Dolores Hall. Blond lady . . . comes in a lot.”
“Yes, yes. I know Miss Hall. She’s not here.”
“But has she been there?”
“No. You want to place an order?”
He hung up without responding.
She must be on her way back. Well, she’d better have a damned good reason why it took her so long to go a couple of blocks and back. He was starving.
He’d spent the day wasting time walking around the mall about thirty miles away. It had bored him near to death, but he had to maintain the pretext that his construction company was busy and that he had lots of work lined up. How else could he explain all the money he spent if he didn’t work?
He had also made a quick stop to check out his stash of cash, as he did once every two weeks or so. You couldn’t be too careful.
He made a pot of coffee and drank a cup as he paced back and forth. This was getting ridiculous. Where could the stupid cow be?
Soon the quiet was beginning to get to him. He went into the living room and turned on the TV, then hesitated before sitting down on the sofa. It never failed—the minute Vince got comfortable, the damned cat showed up and tried sitting on his lap. He tolerated it when Dolores was around, but wasn’t above giving it a good kick when she wasn’t.
Where was that damned cat, anyway?
“Cujo, you furry pain in the ass, where the hell are you?”
He went back into the kitchen, figuring if he dropped some cat treats into the bowl, the cat would come running, like it always did. Piggy cat.
He opened the pantry door.
No cat treats.
He looked down at the floor.
No cat bowl.
“What the fuck?” he muttered.
The unthinkable occurred to him. Vince raced back through the house and up the steps.
He flung open the closet door in the bedroom, but the suitcase that had stood there just a few days earlier was gone. He opened drawers to see if he could tell if anything was missing, but jeez, the woman had so many clothes.
He opened the top drawer and searched under her underwear for the box in which she kept the pendant. Nothing.
He slammed the drawer shut.
Son of a bitch. Dolores, you son of a bitch. He knocked a lamp off the end of the dresser.
He went back down the stairs, trying to put it all together. Had she been so crushed by Connie’s death that she just had to run away? Could that be it? But she would have said something, wouldn’t she?
Wouldn’t she?
Or was there something else . . . some other reason why she might want to leave without him knowing she was going?
Vinnie took a deep breath