Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [35]
Prince Vinnie, that’s me, Vince chuckled as he got into the shower. Oh, yeah. I’m a real prince of a guy. . . .
The way he saw it, soon enough he’d be moving in with Dolores and setting up house for a while. He liked having a home, being part of a domestic scene. He hated this rented room thing. He wanted a nice hot home-cooked meal every night, wanted a woman in his bed, wanted . . . well, wanted all of the comforts of home.
However temporary that might be.
Dolores, being Dolores, would never ask him where he’d been or where he was going. If he told her he had a meeting for work at night, she’d believe him. If he told her he’d been working a sixteen-hour day, she’d believe him—a virtue under these circumstances. If he told her the truth, of course, he’d have to kill her. And he’d hate to do that. She really was a nice lady.
Of course, if it ever came down to her or him, he would have to be the one to survive. There was no question about that. But it wasn’t likely to happen. He was going to play this one really, really smart. No one would ever be able to connect the killer of a couple of antiques dealers with Vince Giordano—er, Vinnie Daniels, that is. He’d changed his look, he’d changed his name. He’d even gotten a new social security number, thanks to the real Vincent Daniels, who’d died at age two and who was buried in the cemetery behind the old Methodist church three streets down. He watched all the cop shows. He knew how to change his identity.
And when his victims were found, why, he’d sit right there at the bar in the Dew Drop and shake his head, just like everyone else would be doing, and wonder aloud who could do such horrible things and talk about being worried that there was so much crime in a town just miles from here.
Whistling, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He felt better than he had in a long time. Focused. Powerful. He had the cops totally stumped, and he loved it. They had no clue as to who had put the bullet in Derek England’s brain. He’d committed cold-blooded murder and gotten away with it. Again.
One down, two to go.
He turned on the small radio and hummed along as he shaved before the small mirror above the sink, thinking back on how easy it had been to kill Derek. Just one bam! and it was done. He’d felt oddly disappointed. There’d been no challenge and therefore no real sense of satisfaction. Of course, he had experience with using a handgun to kill. But those deaths, well, they had been different. There had been passion. Purpose. Those deaths had meant something to him on a deeply personal level. Maybe that was what was missing now. That personal touch . . .
He pushed the past aside as easily as he pushed the newspaper from the chair to the floor.
It occurred to him then to wonder if he should shoot Marian, too. But then there would be a quick connect-the-dots, and then it would be murder—he chuckled aloud at the pun—to get close enough to Amanda for him to TCB.
Perhaps the victim should determine the method.
He liked the sound of that.
Meanwhile, he could think about Amanda and the chaos he’d set loose in her life. He’d felt a thrill just getting close to her earlier in the day. Just hearing her voice had excited him. He had been more than just a little pissed off that she’d blown him off the way she had. After all, he’d only been trying to help. Who did she think she was, anyway, to dismiss him like that?
He’d show her, soon enough, who was who.
Marian first, of course. Maybe he’d go into her shop one day soon, maybe even buy a little something for Dolores. Maybe even flirt a bit with middle-aged Marian, make her day before he killed her. Let her die with a smile on her face.
As if, he thought with a smirk, his good mood returning.
He dressed quickly and ran down the steps. Dolores was waiting.
CHAPTER
NINE
Sean studied the report that had been faxed to him from the county detectives and left on his desk by Eddie Shanahan, the night