Dead Certain (19 page)

“How did you manage to stay out of jail?” She continued to stroke his hair.

“God only knows. I wonder sometimes if things might have been different for me if Greer and I had stayed together.”

“She said she had wonderful parents.”

“I’m sure they were. Look at Greer, at the person she is.”

“You really love her, don’t you?” Amanda smiled. “Whether you wanted to or not, you really love her.”

“It’s kind of hard not to. She just sort of wraps herself around you. You saw how she welcomed you here, how she was with Ramona.”

“You’re afraid you’ll have to share Greer with Ramona.”

“Am not.”

Amanda laughed out loud and he laughed with her.

“I just don’t know how to deal with . . .” He struggled for words.

“Having people in your life that you could care about.”

“Yes.”

“Because if you care about them, maybe they’ll leave you.”

“Something like that. Maybe.”

“On the other hand, it could turn out to be very good. Just like knowing Greer has been a very good thing.”

“After so many years of being alone, of not really having anyone I cared all that much about, my life is starting to feel a bit crowded right now.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I don’t know. It seems that the more people in your life, the more complicated your life becomes.”

“Well, then, here’s something else to think about. Things are about to become even more complicated.”

She leaned down and kissed his mouth softly, first one side, then the other.

“Consider me part of that crowd who wants in,” she whispered, then kissed him again, hungrily.

Sean pulled her against his chest, his mouth meeting hers, his tongue teasing the inside of her lips until she thought she was going to implode with the heat.

“This is a complication I can handle,” he whispered into her ear.

“That’s good, because I’ve decided to stick around for a while.”

He slid his hands up and down her back, needing her warmth and her softness. Needing more of her mouth, more of her sighs, more of her hands on him. He shifted her so that she was facing him and drew her down and into him as closely as he could, caressing her until her head was swimming, her body adrift in sensation. His lips moved across her throat, a steady line of kisses that moved ever downward. She leaned her head back, exposing her neck, urging him to take more.

They barely heard his cell phone when it rang.

“Shit,” he grumbled, then reached into his pocket, his mouth still on her skin.

“Yeah,” Amanda sighed.

He leaned his head back against the chair and studied her face while he listened to the caller. “All right. I’m on my way.” He turned off the phone. “I, ah, have to go.”

“I figured as much.” She pulled away and slowly stood up, her legs slightly numb.

“There’s been an accident out on Harkins Road.”

She nodded. “You’re the chief of police. I understand.”

“There’s a cruiser parked outside. I’m not leaving you unguarded. The house is being watched.”

“I know.” She buttoned his shirt and straightened his collar. “You’re a bit disheveled.”

“Hold that thought . . .” He smiled and kissed her before heading out the door.

“I’ll be here,” she said as he went through it, then she moved to the window to watch him hurry down the drive to his car. “I’m not going anywhere.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY

“Vinnie, what are you doing here?” An obviously pleased Dolores smiled at him in the mirror, then turned to touch his arm, her eyes alive with pleasure at his unexpected arrival at her shop.

“I missed seeing you yesterday,” he said, returning the smile, “so I thought I’d stop in and check out this little business of yours.”

His glance traveled the room, one end to the other, assessing his surroundings. There were six stations, each with a nice work counter, large wall mirror, and the obligatory swivel chair. All very standard, even to the black-and-white patterned linoleum on the floor. The walls were painted a pale pastel pink, the furniture in the dryer section black vinyl, and the receptionist area a high counter with a phone, appointment book, and small stack of business cards. Photos of pretty women with elaborate hairstyles and makeup lined the walls.

“Nice, babe. Very, very nice.” He nodded his approval.

“Thanks. We’re really proud of it, me and Connie.” She beamed. “We worked real hard for a long time to get this place together. Right now it’s just the two of us, but we’re hoping to hire someone to do manicures part-time for the holidays. And eventually we’d like to have a receptionist. We’re doing our own phone work and bookings for the time being. But we have big dreams, Vinnie.”

“And there is no doubt in my mind that you’ll make all those dreams come true.” He patted her on the back affectionately, then winked at the woman upon whose head Dolores was applying some sort of goop. “Talented as you and Connie are, you know you’re going to be a big success here.”

“That’s sweet of you to say.” Dolores turned back to her client and resumed spreading the light-colored stuff on top of her head. “I can talk but I have to keep going here. We don’t want Mrs. Olinski’s hair to be two different colors now, do we?”

“Might be interesting.” Mrs. Olinski shrugged good-naturedly.

“I won’t keep you. I just thought I’d stop in and see if you would be free for lunch later.”

“Oh, I’d love to, but I am booked straight through till seven again tonight.” Dolores made an exaggeratedly sad face.

“Well, then, how ’bout dinner?”

“It’s my night to clean up. We take turns, me and Connie. She closed last night,” Dolores explained.

“You need to leave early for something, Dolores?” Connie came into the shop, a plastic bag in one hand, a folded newspaper under her arm. Seeing Vince in the shop, she slowed her pace. “Oh, hi, Vinnie.”

“Connie.” He nodded, sensing something in her face, her manner, that brought all his senses to life. “How are you?”

“Good. I’m good.” She walked past him and took a bottle of soda from the bag and deposited it on the counter next to where Dolores was working. “They didn’t have Diet Pepsi. I had to get you Diet Dr Pepper.”

“That’s fine, Con. Thanks.” Dolores continued to work, oblivious to the faint trace of tension. “Ellie Cohen called. She’s running fifteen minutes late.”

“That’s okay. Gives me a minute to put my feet up.” She went back to the reception area and sat down. She took the top off a bottle of water and downed a long drink before setting it on the counter and opening the newspaper.

She called back to Dolores. “Dee, what were you saying about closing?”

“Just that you closed last night so it’s my turn to close tonight.”

“I could close if you needed to do something.” Connie opened the appointment book and studied the entries. “I’m going to be here late anyway. Your last is at seven, just a cut. My last is at seven-thirty, but it’s a double process and a cut. You’ll be done by seven-thirty. I’ll be lucky to get out of here by nine-thirty.” She turned to look back at Dolores. “No point in you hanging around until I’m finished.”

“Are you sure? I could close for you tomorrow and the next night, then.”

“That works.” Connie nodded, toying thoughtfully with one corner of the newspaper.

“Looks like I’ll be free for dinner after all,” Dolores told Vince. “Want to pick me up at home?”

“Sure. Eight-fifteen good?” he asked.

“Perfect.” She nodded. “See you then.”

“See you then.” With one more wink for the elderly Mrs. Olinski, Vince started toward the front of the shop.

He slowed his step as he reached the desk. At his approach, Connie folded the paper quickly and stuffed it into a nearby trash can.

“Have a nice day, Connie,” he said as he passed by.

“You, too, Vinnie,” she said without looking at him.

“So, Dolores, that’s your new beau?” Mrs. Olinski asked after Vinnie left the shop.

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dolores nodded. “He’s my new guy.”

“He seems very nice.”

“Oh, he’s wonderful. And a perfect gentleman.” Dolores rolled her eyes in pleasure. “An absolute doll.”

“Dee, you wearing that necklace Vinnie gave you?” Connie leaned over the back of the chair at the next station.

“Of course I’m wearing the necklace. I never take it off.” Her fingers reached to touch it, then she recalled the plastic gloves covered with hair dye and stopped.

“Where’d he say he got that again?” Connie’s eyes narrowed.

“It belonged to his grandmother.”

“And he gave it to you. Just like that.”

“Just like that.” Dolores grinned. “He said he’d been waiting for the right girl to give it to. Am I lucky or what?”

“I guess.”

“Your young man gave you a family heirloom?” A curious Mrs. Olinski looked up at Dolores.

“Yes.” She raised her chin. “Can you see it?”

Mrs. Olinski leaned closer as Dolores leaned over to show off the V formed by the collar of her shirt.

“Oh, that pretty little circle there? Oh, my, are they real emeralds?”

“Real emeralds. Real diamonds.” Dolores nodded, a trace of pride in her voice.

“Oh, that is lovely,” Mrs. Olinski said. “You are a lucky girl. . . .”

Connie stood up and went back to the receptionist’s desk. Slumping into the chair, she retrieved the newspaper, smoothed it out, and leaned over the counter to study the article spread out before her. When she was finished, she looked around for a place to put it where Dolores would eventually find it on her own.

Vince stopped at the newspaper box on the corner and dropped in two quarters, opened the door, and yanked out a paper, curious to see just what it was that Miss Connie had been hiding back there.

The paper under his arm, he walked a block to the one and only coffee shop in Carleton. He ordered a large special Hawaiian blend, cream and sugar, and took a seat nearest the window at the coffee bar. He opened the paper and began to scan each page, trying to figure out what it was that Connie had wanted to keep him from seeing.

“Town Council Votes on New Parking Meters”? Nah.

“Rabid Raccoons Found Near Carleton Park”? Not likely.

“Broeder Police Release Sketch of Stolen Pendant.”

Uh-oh.

With a calm he did not feel, he hunched over the page, reading as rapidly as his eyes could move and his brain could absorb.

Broeder police chief Sean Mercer yesterday released a sketch of a pendant similar to one stolen from For Old Time’s Sake, the antiques shop that was the scene of a grisly murder. Forty-seven-year-old Marian J. O’Connor was found murdered . . .
yada yada . . .
emerald pendant missing from the scene . . .
yada yada . . .

“We believe the killer may have grabbed the pendant on his way out of the shop as a souvenir,” Chief Mercer said in a recent telephone interview with the
Broeder Herald
. “And the sketch we’re releasing, while not exact, is similar enough to the one stolen that anyone seeing it would make the connection. Of course, there is the chance that the person who has the pendant in their possession could have purchased it from the shop before the killer came on the scene. In any event, we are most anxious to speak with anyone who, within the past week, has seen an emerald and gold pendant that in any way resembles this one.”

Yeah, I’ll just bet you would.
Vince drummed anxious fingers on the countertop. When he realized the girl behind the counter was staring at him, he smiled weakly, gathered the newspaper, and walked out of the shop.

Once out on the street, he walked in tune with his thoughts, which were at full throttle.

Connie. She saw the article. She saw the pendant. She put it together.

Yeah. She did. I saw it in her face. She knows.

The question now is, who has she told?

It was a source of concern for him all afternoon. Had she shared her suspicions with Dolores? Because—
let’s keep calm now
—that’s all Connie could have at this point, suspicions. He’d studied the picture in the paper, and while the general shape was accurate and they’d gotten the circles right, there was enough of a difference between the drawing and the real deal that a case—a very strong case—could be made for them not being the same. Sure. If Connie showed the article to Dolores and Dolores mentioned it to Vince, he’d just say, “Hey, how ’bout that? Must have been made around the same time. They’re both old pieces, right?” And Dolores would believe him, of course, because she’d want to.

But Connie?

Connie could be a problem. Over the past few weeks, as he and Dolores spent more and more time together, Dolores was spending less and less time with Connie, a situation that Connie clearly resented. Wouldn’t she be just pleased as shit to show him up? Even if she did nothing more than plant a seed of doubt in Dolores’s mind, it could prove to be a problem for him.

These days, he had a zero tolerance policy when it came to problems.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE

Vince gnawed anxiously at a fingernail, the third one he’d chewed down to the quick that afternoon.

“Bitch is just too damned smart for her own good,” he muttered. “Just too damned smart . . .”

He paced a bit in his room, then realized it was way too small for the amount of pacing he needed to do just then. Tucking the newspaper under his arm, he locked the door behind him, then took the steps two at a time. He drove the three blocks to the Cut N Curl and parked in the small lot behind the shop.

Don’t do anything stupid,
he cautioned himself.
What are the odds Connie’s going to say something to Dolores?

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.”

“I’ll put it back in the box tonight and I’ll keep the box in a safe place.”

“That’s probably a smart thing, Dolores. It should only be a few days till I can get in touch with him.”

The waiter returned with their orders and a smile. “Lobster ravioli for the lady, and mussels in red sauce for the gentleman.” He beamed. “Enjoy.”

“Vinnie, I hope you know what you’re doing,” Dolores whispered after the waiter walked away.

“Hey, at least I’ll die smiling.”

“Don’t even say that.” She crossed herself, and he laughed out loud.

“So you’re superstitious,” he said.

“No, but I don’t believe in courting trouble, like my mother always said.” She took a sip of her wine. “God rest her soul.”

He tipped his glass in her direction. “Here’s to a great dinner and an even greater dessert.” He winked.

He plowed through the mussels. They were excellent—he was going to hate even pretending that they made him sick, but hey, you do what you have to do. And right now, what he had to do was to get rid of Connie.

He glanced at his watch. It was twenty after nine. Her last client should be gone by now.

He’d give her another five minutes.

“Vince, you feeling all right?” Dolores tore off a piece of garlic bread and placed it on the edge of her plate.

“Actually, now that you mention it, I am feeling a bit queasy.”

“Are you serious? Really? You really feeling sick?”

“Yeah.” He tried to look sheepish. “I hate to admit it, but yeah, I’m not feeling so good right now. Would you excuse me?”

“Maybe we should tell the waiter . . .”

“No, no. I don’t want the chef to feel badly, you know, like there was something wrong with the mussels. It’s me, not them, you know?” He shook his head. “I think I’ll just head on back to the men’s room. Just give me a few minutes. I’ll be okay. But don’t say nothin’ to the waiter. Don’t want anyone feeling bad . . .”

“Vinnie, I think we should leave—”

“Nah, nah. I’ve had this before. Just a stomach thing. It might take a few minutes, but don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

He pushed away from the table, smiling stoically, and walked to the back of the restaurant. He went three steps past the men’s room door and right out the rear door.

Keeping to the shadows, he ran past the back of the darkened shops to the one place that was still lit. He paused and looked around. There was no one in the parking lot. He pulled the thin rubber gloves from his pocket and slid them on, opened the back door of the Cut N Curl, and slipped inside. Connie had just turned off the outside lights and those that illuminated the front of the shop. She was walking toward the rear, a broom in one hand, her handbag in the other, when Vince stepped out of the back room.

“Dee isn’t here,” she said bluntly, making no attempt at hiding her feelings for him.

“I’m not here for Dee,” he told her.

“What do you want, Vinnie?” She leaned the broom against the wall and one fist on her hip. “What is it you want?”

“I want to eliminate a potential problem, Connie. That’s what I want.”

She took a step back. “What problem is that?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t play with me. I already know that you saw the newspaper article. That drawing. You made the connection. You know it’s the same pendant.” He took a step forward, careful not to walk into the light. “I know that you know, and now you know that I know. And you know what that means, don’t you, Connie?”

“Vinnie, I didn’t tell anyone. I swear. I didn’t say a word to Dolores. I won’t.” She backed away, her eyes filled with terror.

“I know you won’t.” Before she could scream, he pulled the small handgun from his pocket and fired.

In the blink of an eye, she was bleeding out on the floor. Damn, but that had been fast.

He stepped over her and went to the cash register. The day’s proceeds were missing. Of course. Her purse . . .

He went back to the body and opened the bag that had fallen onto the floor. There was a thick envelope containing cash and checks.
Might as well make it look like a robbery,
he figured.
Might as well take the cash along for my trouble.

As he leaned down to scoop up the cash, the light caught on the ring on Connie’s middle finger. He straightened out her hand, tugged the ring off, and gave it a quick look. It was gold, with five little round pink stones that formed a flower. He stuffed the ring and the cash in his pockets and scattered the checks around the floor. With Dolores waiting back at the restaurant, thinking he was in the men’s room puking his guts out, he had to hurry. What if she asked the waiter to go in and check on him?

There was no time to spare—just take care of business and get the hell out. Well, he’d done that. He’d taken care of business, all right.

He clung to the dark as he hurried back to Luigi’s, and less than ten minutes after he’d first mentioned that his stomach was upset, he was sliding back into the booth.

“Vinnie, are you all right?” Dolores placed a hand on his forehead. “You’re all flushed and sweaty.”

“Oh, you know, you get like that when you get sick sometimes.” He took his napkin and wiped the sweat from his face. “But to tell you the truth, I’m starting to feel a little better.”

“Look, we’ll just get the check and leave.”

“No, no. You finish your dinner. I’m serious, I’m starting to feel a little better. I’ll just drink a little water here, and that’ll help.”

“Ginger ale,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Ginger ale. My mother—”

Vince mentally crossed himself and added,
God rest her soul.

“—she always gave us ginger ale when we were sick. It helps.” She signaled for the waiter. “Could we have a ginger ale here? My boyfriend’s a bit under the weather.”

“Actually, I’m okay now.” He eyed her plate and the leftover ravioli. “You gonna eat that? I’m starting to get my appetite back. . . .”

“Miss, I’m sorry, but the street is blocked from here down to Price Avenue.” The young police officer held up his hand to stop Dolores from making the turn on the side street that would lead to the parking lot behind the Cut N Curl.

“But I need to get into the parking lot,” she told him. “I need to get to work.” She gestured in the general direction of the strip mall.

“Where do you work, ma’am?”

“The Cut N Curl.”

“The beauty shop there?” He pointed toward the small shopping center.

“Yes. I’m the owner.”
Well, one of the owners,
she added to herself.

“Ma’am, would you mind pulling over to the side here?”

“Is something wrong?”

“Just pull over to the side of the road, please.”

What the hell?
she thought, annoyed that she’d stopped. Should have come in the way she usually did, from Market Street. But she hadn’t had time to make coffee that morning, and she and Vinnie had overslept. . . .

“Ma’am, your name?”

“Dolores Hall. Officer, what is this all about?”

“Ms. Hall, I need to ask you to come with me.” The officer stepped aside to give her room to get out of the car.

“Why? I haven’t done anything wrong.” She frowned. “What’s going on?”

“There’s been a . . . a situation at your shop.” He took her arm and led her around the back of the restaurant where she and Vinnie had eaten just the night before.

“A situation? What the hell does that mean? Is the place on fire?”

Once around the corner and into the parking lot, she stopped in her tracks. The lot, usually empty at this hour of the day except for the guy who arrived to open the dry cleaner at seven, was filled with police cars.

“What the hell is going on here?” she asked, a cold fear growing in the pit of her stomach.

“Chief?” the young officer called to a tall, thin, balding man in uniform. “This is Ms. Hall. She owns the shop—”

“Well, I own it with a partner. I have a partner. Connie Paschall.” She looked from the chief to the officer and back again. “Is someone going to tell me what is going on here?”

“I’m afraid there’s been a break-in at your shop,” the chief told her. “Looks like a robbery.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

Something in his eyes told her there was something more. “And . . . ?” She motioned for him to get on with it.

“And I’m afraid that your partner—”

“Connie?” The fear clenched around her heart. “Connie? Is Connie all right?”

“I’m afraid not, Ms. Hall. I’m afraid—”

“No. She can’t be. There has to be a mistake. . . .” Dolores bolted for the back door of the shop and was stopped by the arm of the police officer, holding her back.

“There’s no mistake, Ms. Hall. I’m sorry. Could you come with us, please? We have a few questions.”