Shop and Let Die (22 page)

Besides, all the books say
it is good for children to do their own homework, even if they take
a huge poster board and crowd everything in tiny print in the upper
left hand corner, saving the prime real estate of the center for a
heart sticker (Anna) or a picture of a Pokemon (Ryan).

I decided to sit beside
them and concentrate on the work. It might not help them, but I
knew it would help me keep from thinking about Lanie, and Lanie’s
mom. I was immersed in the kids’ homework when the doorbell
rang.

We looked at each other
for a moment. The doorbell never rang. Unless it was a magazine
solicitor or someone peddling the best way to Heaven. But it was
late for anyone like that to be coming to the door.

Seth went to answer it,
and then called my name. His voice sounded strange. His face
flashed with jealousy, too, when I went to see who had rung the
never-used doorbell.

James Connery stood there,
right next to Deb. She didn’t waste any words. “We just found Janet
Butler.”

I must have looked blank,
because she added, “Lanie’s mom, Molly.”

“
Fine.” I thought of sweet
little Lanie. I couldn’t quite scare up the memory of what her mom
looked like. But it didn’t matter.

I looked at Seth, jealous
for all the wrong reasons. No matter how handsome he was, I would
have preferred never to set eyes on this particular Fed ever again.
There were no words to explain it to him, at least none that I
could dredge up.

I didn’t look at Deb, who
was playing the mommy card, though James Connery probably didn’t
realize it. We moms have to stick together, even when it means
trying to flush out a serial killer who happens to prey on
moms.

I looked at James Connery,
right in the green eyes. “What do you need me to do?”

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

Sometimes it Takes a Mother

I had
expected Seth to protest my involvement, but Deb had whisked him
aside to explain things while James Connery called his partner,
Martie Grimes. I remembered her from the job fair booth. The FBI
mom. I listened to the conversation, but half of it was code-speak
and the other half too low to catch. He ended the call and said
briskly, “Martie has everything ready to go as soon as we get
there.”

“
Already?” I had just
agreed.

He nodded. “Priority one.
He’s ramping up. We want to stop him from killing anyone
else.”

“
So what would you have
done if I hadn’t agreed?”

He looked at me blankly.
“I knew you would agree.”

“
How? Because I’m a mom?
Because I’m a secret shopper?”

“
You’re a spy at heart,
Molly Harbison.” He grinned. “Maybe only safe domestic spy jobs for
now, but spying is in your blood. You should think about applying
to the FBI. Seriously. We do hire moms, as Martie told
you.”

“
Hire moms for what?” Seth
asked, coming back into the room, looking pale and unsure of
whether to punch James Connery, or not.

“
The FBI,” I said. “Don’t
worry. I’m applying for the Admissions job as soon as this is done,
I promise.”

He didn’t look at the Fed,
or at Deb. He looked at me, as if he really wanted to be sure I was
sure. “Deb says they need you, but if—”

I kissed him, glad that he
cared, but not wanting to pretend I was sure when I was anything
but. “For Lanie’s mom. For moms everywhere. I have to do
this.”

James Connery smiled at
him, as if he were taking me for a stroll through the park. “I’ll
have her back safe and sound by midnight. Promise.”

I gaped at him.
“Midnight?” Even on “CSI” and “Law and Order” it took more than six
hours to catch a criminal.

He nodded, and I sensed
how seriously focused he was, despite all his smiles and easy
confidence. “The fact that all three of these suspects want to date
Serena tonight is a chance we don’t often get. We intend to get
him. For the moms.”

Seth hugged me, tightly.
“Be careful.” He gave Connery a steady gaze. “Make sure nothing
happens to her. We need her.”

Sappy or not, my heart
melted a little. “Dinner’s in the oven,” I whispered. “I’ve left
Anna’s raw vegetables in the little blue bowl in the
fridge.”

As we drove back to the
police department, James Connery filled me in on the plan. Three
men, three dates, and me dressed like Serena and wired up, with
James Connery and Martie listening to my every word, ready to
spring in and rescue me should the serial killer strike.

Martie stood in the same
little room I’d been in earlier that day, with a briefcase full of
little black boxes and wires. “Thanks for doing this, Molly.” She
smiled at me, briefly, as she laid all the equipment out, checking
switches and plugs with the speed of an IT expert.

“
No problem,” I lied. I
had wanted to change. I had vowed to change. But…this was not
change, this was complete transformation. Like one of those movie
werewolves, where hair and fangs and big sharp claws sprang forth
in a messy, painful fashion. I couldn’t help wonder if Dierdre
would approve.

Being wired was kind of
like being massaged standing up—one of those uncomfortable, painful
massages where they get deep into your muscles. I had to stand
there while Martie hmmed and taped, ordering me to lift my arm, my
shirt, twist here, turn there. Then she stood back to assess her
work.

Her expression was more
alarmed than pleased. Apparently Deb and James Connery agreed,
because their faces bore identical expressions.

I looked down, and felt
alarmed myself. They’d elected to put the bulky part of the wire
between my breasts. But, like I said, I’m small. So I now looked as
though I had three breasts. I joked, “Maybe he’s into women with
extras.”

“
We’ll have to put it in
the booty.” James Connery said.

“
What booty?” Martie
Grimes asked.

Deb, wisely, did not
comment.

They switched the wire
from the front to the back, but as Martie had noted, I did not have
a booty and it looked like I had, at some point in the near past,
had my tail amputated.

Martie sighed, whipped off
her shirt and her bra—much bigger than mine. She held it out.
“Here, try this.”

I took it and stared at
her. “One cup does not fit all.” I didn’t see how this was any kind
of a solution.

“
Serena is buxom, so now
you will be.” She quickly buttoned her shirt back up to hide the
view.

I glanced at James
Connery, who was still staring at the buttons of her shirt as if he
had x-ray vision. No way was I taking off my shirt in front of
him.

Deb barked at him, “Turn
around, so the lady can change her bra.”

He obediently turned
around, and I quickly changed into Serena the Siren…sort
of.

Martie, thinking ahead,
had gone into the restroom and confiscated two rolls of toilet
paper, which she proceeded to stuff down into the gaping cups of
her bra, until she was satisfied that the wire was concealed
between two fake breasts.

“
Brings a whole new
meaning to fake it until you make it,” I said nervously, as they
fit the blonde, Serena-esque wig on my head.

Martie laughed, “Normally
we have movie-quality chicken cutlets and tape, but this is a short
notice job, so we do short notice improvisation.”

“
You’re pretty good at
it,” I admitted. I tried not to scratch at the itchy places where
the wire had been taped and then removed. I was glad they were all
finally satisfied with the new me. Or the new Serena, I
guess.

Then Martie rummaged
through what looked like her bag, a giant bag that could hold dead
body parts. She pulled out a tube of lipstick, a battered compact,
and a tube of mascara with pink butterfly stickers on it. And two
small plastic bags of gummy bears.

“
How old are your kids?” I
asked, believing, at last, that she was really both a mom and an
FBI agent.

She dropped the candy back
in her bag. “Nine. Twins.”

“
My daughter is eight,” I
offered.

“
I know,” she said, with
the implication that she knew a lot more about me than that. Of
course she did.

I stayed quiet as she did
my make-up, with Deb offering advice, until at last they were both
satisfied.

Success. I was
—finally—wired, Serena-ized and ready for my big date night with
Serial Killer Suspect #1.

I tried to channel Serena
and failed.

I tried to channel my
Secret Shopper mojo and failed.

At last, I thought of
Dierdre and her sharp, sharp, scalpels.

If I survived this, Seth
was definitely going to spring for a maid service.

Dating while married is interesting, to say the
least. Dating a serial killer suspect, while married and under an
assumed name takes that to a whole new level. Do you wear
kill-me-red lipstick? Strangle-me heels?

I did enjoy having boobs,
fake or not. As I walked into the mall, to meet the first date at
the local bookstore/coffee shop, I couldn’t help notice how many
guys checked me out. Or, checked Serena out, I guess I should
say.

James Connery’s voice
buzzed in my ear. “Suspect #1’s email says he’s got a blue sling on
his right arm. Racquetball injury. He’ll be holding a copy
of
Fear of Flying
.”

I felt a cold shock from
my toes to the top of my head. I wanted to bail, even as the voice
in my ear finished, “His name is Hammond.”

But there he was. Hammond.
Holding
Fear of Flying
, with a blue sling on his right arm. “Hammond?” I asked, my
voice just a little shaky.

He smiled. “Don’t be
nervous. We know each other through our emails. Meeting is just a
formality to get out of the way.”

The first thing I noticed
was that I couldn’t “see” him as the Hammond from the emails, just
as a poor guy who was not going to get lucky with me tonight. The
mental picture of a confident man ready to live a life of adventure
with the woman of his dreams dissolved into the real, live, man who
I’d been flirting with against the rules.

I stared at him. Searching
for signs of the man who said he was looking for his soulmate. Who
promised to keep her safe and yet still take her on
adventures.

I wanted to tell James
Connery that he had the wrong guy. Hammond had never once broken a
rule. He’d always been polite and thoughtful, and perfect in every
way.

Perfect in every way,
except for the sling. I suppressed a shudder as he gestured with
the book for me to follow him into the coffee shop. The news had
been full of Bundy references. Reminding women not to be fooled by
someone with a cast on his arm or leg, which was how Ted Bundy had
put some of his victims off guard.

I’m
wired
, I told myself.
And I’m not leaving the mall with this guy
anyway
.

I help up my sturdy cloth
shopping bag, perfect for holding books, and hiding my can of
pepper spray. “Ready to shop. You?”

He flexed his fingers,
much like a piano player — or a strangler — might do.
“Always.”

I tried to lead him along
the right path. “What a fun idea — going book shopping for a
date.”

“
I like help picking out
new books — and how better to get to know someone than to see what
books they browse — and what books they buy?”

“
I’ve never tried it
before, but it sounds like fun.” I wondered what books Serena would
gravitate toward?

“
Would you like to start
with coffee, or would you like to browse first?”

“
Let’s browse,” I said.
James Connery had been clear that I had until 7 p.m. to find out
whether Serial Killer #1 — or Hammond, as I knew him — was a serial
killer or not. Serial Killer Date #2 was already scheduled for
7:30, dinner at the little Italian place. And then at 9:00 would be
drinks at the only bar at the mall for Serial Killer Date
#3.

I stared at Hammond,
having the absurd desire to confess all to him. He loved a good
mystery, and this real life mystery would probably delight
him.

He smiled at me, taking my
stare for the interest a real date might show. “Would you like to
start in the children’s section?”

“
I don’t have children,” I
reminded him, trying to think like Serena.

“
For your niece. Or
nephews?”

“
Oh, yes.” I remembered
what I had told him. And then I froze, realizing that James
Connery, and probably Martie Grimes also knew what I’d told him. I
hoped Deb did not. That would be very awkward.

I quickly thought up a
more Serena-appropriate reply. “But I give them gift cards, so they
can choose their own books. I don’t know what children like to
read.”

His eyes lingered on mine
a little too long, before he said, “Of course. Travel? I’d love to
know where you and I might plan our first adventure.”