They Never Die Quietly (2010) (15 page)

"He never saw this outfit, Ma. Remember?"

Josephine thought for a moment, then nodded. "You should button your blouse. He might get the wrong idea."

To appease her, and to avoid a lengthy exchange, Sami complied.

Angelina tugged on Josephine's apron. "When we eatin' supper, Grandma?"

"In a little while, honey."

"What are we eatin'?"

"How about macaroni and cheese?"

The two-year-old nodded furiously. "It's yummy."

"Why don't you go into the playroom, Angelina. Grandma will call you when dinner is on the table."

Angelina toddled to the spare bedroom where Grandma Rizzo kept an assortment of toys.

"Where are you meeting him this time?" Josephine asked.

Sami would not give her the satisfaction. "He's picking me up in about thirty minutes at my place."

Josephine shook her head and sat on the sofa. "So he decided to be a gentleman?"

"I guess so, Ma."

"Is he going to come to your door or blow the horn?"

"Actually, Ma, he's going to drive by slowly enough for me to dive through the open passenger window like Wonder Woman."

"Such a mouth on you."

Sami sat next to her mother and patted her hand. "You think that one of these days before I die you'll stop treating me like a child?"

"Is it wrong for a mother to care about her only daughter?"

"No, but it's wrong for you to coddle me like I'm a nitwit."

As always, Josephine sulked.

"Yes, Ma. The mystery man is going to knock on the door like a real gentleman."

"What does he do for a living?"

"He's a physical therapist."

Josephine nodded. "Ah, like Stella's daughter?" Stella was Josephine's lifelong friend.

"That's right, Ma."

They sat silently for almost five minutes.

"Do you think it's right for you to go on a date so soon?" Josephine asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, only three days ago, Tommy..."

"I don't think there are rules regarding acceptable periods of mourning over ex-husbands."

Josephine evaluated Sami's logic for a few seconds. "But what would people
think
if someone saw you?" Always the case with Josephine Rizzo, she never did anything without first weighing how it would be judged by society. Consequently, her life had been unremarkable and humdrum.

"To be honest, Ma, I couldn't care less what people think."

Josephine struggled off the sofa and without saying another word disappeared into the kitchen. For the next ten minutes Sami sat quietly, thinking about Al's uncharacteristic behavior and Captain Davison's candid reminder that the hourglass was quickly draining. At six p.m., Sami said goodbye to her still-sulking mother, gave Angelina a hug and started toward the front door.

"How late will you be?" Josephine asked.

"Not sure."

"Want Angelina to sleep here?"

Sami hadn't asked for fear of yet another lecture. "I'd really appreciate it."

"Pick her up in the morning. I'll make breakfast."

"Thanks, Ma."

At six-twenty-two, Sami pulled into the Bayshore Hospital parking lot, parked facing the entrance so she could watch for Simon to pull in, and turned off the ignition. It occurred to her that she had no idea what kind of car Simon drove, but she knew if he was indeed the serial murderer he'd be much too clever to drive the Supercab pickup. In the dark parking lot, lit only by scattered sodium vapor lights, he might be hard to spot. Sami was reasonably sure that Simon would find her. She barely had a moment to compose herself and check her weapon to be sure it was secure in her purse when headlights flooded the inside of her car. A white Ford Explorer pulled next to her. Leaving the engine running, Simon got out of the sport utility vehicle, and limping slightly, he approached Sami's car. She eased out of the car and watched Simon walk toward her. Handsomely dressed, razor-sharp creases punctuated his tan slacks, and he wore a jade-green V-neck sweater. Sami caught a whiff of his citrus-scented cologne.

"Well, Sami, we meet again." He extended his right arm.

When she grasped his hand, Simon sandwiched it between both of his and gently pumped her arm. His hands were as soft as satin. "It's good to see you, Simon." Her voice was a little unsteady.

"You look smashing, Sami. Ready to take a ride into the country?"

"Want me to drive?" Sami offered.

He shook his head. "I'd rather, if you don't mind."

He opened the passenger's door on the shiny white Explorer and carefully helped Sami step up into the sport utility vehicle. Conscious of her short skirt, Sami maneuvered into the passenger's seat in ladylike fashion. Dark stockings or not, she didn't want Simon to get an eyeful. Or did she? The potential for awkward silence concerned Sami. During dinner, no doubt, they'd have plenty to talk about--she hoped--but how could she keep the dialogue moving during this long ride?

She noticed the "new vehicle smell." For lack of a more sophisticated opening, Sami said, "I like your Explorer."

"It's new. Finally decided to get rid of my rickety old pickup. When you live in the country, a truck's pretty handy." Simon turned out of the parking lot and headed for Mission Bay Drive.

"So where exactly do you live, Simon?"

"On the outskirts of Alpine."

"You like it out in the boonies?"

"When I first moved here from Texas, I figured that if you're going to live in Southern California it would be silly not to be near the ocean. I tried a beach community but just couldn't deal with the traffic and the all-night party animals."

"Are you a native Texan?"

"Born in Corpus Christi."

"Did you move here when you were a child?"

He shook his head. "Ten years next month."

"How did you manage to lose the Texas accent?"

Simon put his foot into the accelerator and headed for the Freeway 5 on-ramp. "For some reason I never acquired that Texas twang. To be honest with you, I'd rather listen to fingernails dragging across a blackboard than a southern drawl."

Or you could be lying through your teeth
. "Y'all can't be serious."

Simon gave Sami a sidelong glance and grinned. "I reckon that's true just as sure as bacon comes from hogs. And that be the gosh-darn truth."

Sami leaned back and rested her head against the headrest. For a fleeting moment she thought about Al and wondered if he decided to watch NBC's lineup alone. Considering his stable of women, he probably found a more stimulating way to enjoy Thursday evening.

"What's your story? Are you a surfer girl?"

Apparently he hadn't noticed her pale skin. "I'm a native San Diegan, but I can count on one hand the number of times I've dipped my toes in the Pacific."

"Really? I would think a local would have gills."

"The weather here is to die for, but our ocean never gets warm enough for me. Seventy-five degrees max. And that's only in summer."

"Tell me about it." As they approached the on-ramp for Freeway 8, the traffic was almost at a standstill. "I love to scuba dive and I'm accustomed to the warm Gulf waters. The first time I dove here I thought I was in Antarctica. Immediately bought a dry suit."

Simon turned on the radio and slid a CD into its slot. "You like Basia?"

"As a matter of fact I do."

In spite of Simon's ability to conceal his true feelings, engaging in idle chitchat with a chosen one sickened him. Until he had her locked safely in his Room of Redemption, he'd have to pretend that their encounter was a date and play the role of captivated suitor. If only she knew what he had in store for her. Detective Sami Rizzo would not be easy to overcome. With the others, it had been child's play. He had shown the frantic mothers his hunting knife and whispered in their ear that he'd fillet their kids like a fresh salmon if they even thought about fighting him. Without resistance, all the mothers complied with his wishes. With Detective Rizzo, he didn't have her daughter for leverage, and unlike his other guests, she was well trained in the art of self-defense. And more than likely that oversize purse concealed a firearm. Simon couldn't take anything for granted. He enjoyed a challenge, and choosing Detective Rizzo as an honored guest presented a dichotomy of exhilaration and concern.

He wondered about the investigation, curious if anyone in the homicide division had uncovered anything that might incriminate him. He knew she'd never answer direct questions. Perhaps he could find a back door?

"How long have you been a homicide detective, Sami?"

"For more than six years." She paused. "Sometimes it feels like a century."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't look the part."

"Is that a compliment or otherwise?"

"Believe me, it's a compliment."

She thought about his observation for a minute.

"I could never deal with all the blood and guts. How do you sleep at night?"

Blood and guts? Interesting choice of words for a could-be killer
. "Mostly I don't."

"Then what drives you?"

"I often ask myself the same question, Simon. I never intended to become a homicide detective, it just happened." She thought it unwise to share a tale about her father's dying wish.

"Trying to track down a serial killer must be difficult."

"He'll make a mistake. They always do."

Her comment excited Simon, making him believe that he hadn't yet made a mistake and she had no viable leads. "According to the newspaper, there are no suspects as of yet."

"Well, that's not entirely true."

Simon glanced at Sami with a peculiar look on his face.

The tangled traffic on Freeway 8 finally started to move. Simon put on his signal, eased over to the left lane, and engaged the cruise control. "Are you going to arrest me if I exceed the speed limit?"

"As long as we get to your home in one piece, you can kick it into warp drive."

They sat quietly. Basia sang a tune called "Time and Tide."

Simon exited the freeway and turned left. "Who's babysitting Angelina?"

Sami dug her fingernails into the soft leather seat.
You got no shot at finding out, pal
. "She's sleeping at my partner's home."

The bumpy country road was dark and winding, lit only by the moon and an occasional mercury vapor light mounted on a garage. It gave Sami an eerie feeling. There were no palm trees in sight, a trademark synonymous with Southern California. So far from the ocean, Alpine looked like anything but part of the Golden State. For a moment, Sami felt panic-stricken.

What the hell am I doing?
If Simon was the serial murderer, she was on her way to his home. When she'd devised the plan, it had made sense. Now, sitting next to him, moments from turning into his driveway, she realized that pride and stubbornness had colored her thinking. How did she propose to search his home? If he offered a tour, surely he'd exclude any area that might incriminate him. Even if his home were abundant with evidence, he most certainly would have sterilized the interior to protect himself. Instead of acting so headstrong, she should have arranged for backup, organized a plan with Al and the task force. Unless she could find a way to contact her fellow detectives via cell phone, Detective Samantha Rizzo was on her own.

I must be out of my friggin' mind.

The Explorer slowed and Simon turned into a driveway. Sami watched the garage door open. Light poured out onto the gravel surface.

"Home sweet home," Simon said.

In the garage a stocky brown dog went berserk. "Is that your watchdog?"

"More like a pussycat. If anyone ever broke in, Samson would lick them to death."

Still upholding his urbane demeanor, Simon got out of the Explorer and opened the door for Sami. "I must warn you," Simon said as he grasped her hand and led her toward the entrance, "my humble abode will never make the cover of
Architectural Digest.
"

Simon stopped briefly to quiet Samson. They walked into the kitchen and Simon turned on the light. He secured the dead bolt, pushed in the lock button on the doorknob, and fastened the chain lock. He helped Sami remove her jacket and hung it in the closet. That he'd secured the door like Fort Knox troubled her.

"Are you hungry?" Simon asked.

"My belly button's playing tiddlywinks with my backbone."

He laughed. "We'll handle that problem right away." Simon opened the refrigerator, removed a plate of assorted cheeses and crackers, along with a bottle of Robert Mondavi chardonnay. He set the plate on the kitchen table and held up the chilled bottle of wine. "Do you like white or red?" He pointed to a wine rack in the corner.

"Actually, I'm a beer-out-of-the-bottle kind of gal. But I could manage a glass of red."

Sami, of course, was terrified to eat or drink anything. She would have to watch Simon carefully to be certain he did not doctor what she consumed. If she observed him opening and pouring wine into a glass from a sealed bottle, he would be unable to contaminate it without her knowing. As much as she needed to remain levelheaded, a few sips of wine could help calm her frazzled nerves. She could feel perspiration dripping from her armpits.

"Cabernet, merlot, or malbec."

"Malbec, please."

Simon popped the cork on a 2004 bottle of Catena and half filled two wine goblets. "Everything's prepped. All I have to do is add a few finishing touches, pop the main course in the oven, and we'll be eating in twenty minutes." He handed Sami a glass. "To serendipitous beginnings."

Sami gently clicked her glass against his, waiting for him to drink the wine before she took a tiny sip herself.

As Simon wrestled with the plastic wrap covering the cheese and crackers, Sami noticed his shiny brown shoes. Except for the color, she'd recently seen loafers just like them. They were a popular men's style: low-profile heels, little tassels, and slightly pointed toes. But what distinguished these particular shoes from most loafers was the rough-textured leather, looking like alligator or lizard skin. She took another sip of the wine, more convinced than ever that she was about to share an intimate dinner with a serial killer. A rush of warm blood filled her face. She suddenly felt flu dizzy.