Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [91]
After all, what would she say? Hey, Dee, that new boyfriend of yours is a real killer. He chuckled a little.
Ah, always the cutup. Always the clown.
No, she’s not going to say anything. Not yet, anyway. She’s going to think about it for a while. She’s not going to want to hurt Dolores.
Which would, of course, work to his advantage.
He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, idly noting the other shops in the small shopping center. A dry cleaner was next to the Cut N Curl on the right, and a children’s clothing store on the left. There was a card shop, a shoe repair shop, and a vitamin shop. A dentist’s office stood at one end and an Italian restaurant at the other. Vince noted three streetlamps, one on each end of the parking lot, one in the middle. The back lot itself was narrow, just two rows deep with just enough space for the shop owners and their employees. Customer parking was provided around front.
It would be pretty dark back here at night, he was beginning to think. Very little action and very little light.
His fingers continued to tap against the wheel, while the wheels in his head began to turn a little faster.
It occurred to him that by the time the Cut N Curl closed up at night, there’d probably be no one else around except for that restaurant down at the end, as they’d be doing a night business. These other places, he noted, would have their traffic during the day. Bet they were all closed up nice and tight by nine P.M. at the latest.
Except for the restaurant.
Satisfied that he had it all under control again, he backed the car out of the lot and drove home. He had a few hours to kill between now and the time he’d pick Dolores up for dinner.
He hoped she liked Italian.
“So all this time you haven’t even tried this place for dinner? Four stores down from your shop and you haven’t even been in?” Vince rested his arms on the Formica table and gazed at his love, who sat opposite him in the booth.
“We’ve done takeout for lunch a coupla times, but we don’t get a lot of time to eat, you know?” Dolores skimmed the menu.
“Guess that’s how you two keep your girlish figures.” He grinned.
“Oh, you.” She rolled her eyes.
“See anything that looks good to you?” he asked.
“I see a lot that looks good. What are you going to have?”
“Well, I really want those mussels, but the last few times I ate them, I got so sick.”
“If they make you sick, why do you keep eating them?”
“ ‘Cause I love them. And ’cause I keep thinking, ‘This time, maybe they won’t make me sick.’ ” He shrugged. “There’s just nothing in the world like a big dish of mussels in red sauce and a bowl of pasta. A little salad, a little wine . . .”
He smiled.
“I just talked myself into it.” He hailed the waiter and after a discussion of the specials, placed their orders.
“Vinnie, are you sure? What if they make you sick?” Dolores asked after the waiter hurried off to the kitchen.
“So I throw up a little—begging your pardon—and then I’ll feel fine again.” He gave her that boyish grin thing again.
Dolores shook her head. “You’re crazy.”
“Crazy about you.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “Hey, I see you’re wearing the necklace I gave you.”
She touched it with her fingers. “I haven’t taken it off since you gave it to me, Vinnie.”
“Aw, that’s really sweet, Dolores. My grandma would be pleased.”
“Everyone admires it,” she said.
“You been showing it off?”
“Sure. Just to people in the shop who notice it, you know.”
“Sure.” Shit. Shit. Shit.
“I don’t flaunt it, though.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to do that.” He played with her fingers for a minute, then said, “You know, I just thought of something. I meant to get that insured for you. You know, in case it gets lost or stolen. It being a valuable piece and all.”
“You think it’s all right that I’m wearing it?”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t wear it out until I get in touch with the insurance guy. I called him last week but he was out of the office.” He pretended to think it through. “Might not be a bad idea. Just until we get the insurance.