Killing Katie (An Affair With Murder) (Volume 1) (17 page)

My plan was to dress up to look like a grad student, seducing my mark and getting close enough to lead him somewhere private, alone. The clock showed nine. I anxiously scratched at my arms. I slipped away for a few minutes to rehearse how to fill the syringe, holding the brown bottle of strychnine in one hand and the syringe in the other.

“Did you drop it off?” I heard Steve ask, but my mind was elsewhere. “Babe?”

“What, Steve?” I asked, hurrying my hands over a plate before dumping it on the dish rack. “Sorry. Little rushed.”

“Rushed for what?”

“I’m supposed to meet with Katie later for a couple of drinks. I told you last week. Remember?” I asked. That was lie number one for the evening. Katie’s involvement was purely fictional. Steve looked uncertain as he tried to focus on a memory that wasn’t there. I rolled my eyes immediately and added, “You forgot, didn’t you? She was supposed to catch me up on what’s going on with her and Jerry?”

Steve gave me a quick nod as if he remembered. He always preferred agreeing rather than admitting he’d forgotten. Now who was lying? I tried not to laugh.

“Your blouse?” he asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Which blouse?” I answered, playing dumb to what he’d said earlier.

“The one you were wearing the night you fell at the library,” he said. He touched my shoulder, drawing my attention away from the sink. Lie number two for the night was coming. I could feel it. “I picked up the laundry from the dry cleaner, only they didn’t have your blouse. Said that you never brought one in.”

“The torn-up one?” I asked, traipsing my hand over the front of the shirt I was wearing and then wishing I had avoided touching the buttons. “Tossed it.” Steve’s face emptied, becoming blank as if all his thoughts were lost. I turned back to the sink, keeping the conversation insignificant. But inside, I was nervous and scared. I squirmed at the sting of sweat beneath my arms.

“Wait, what do you mean you tossed it?” he asked, raising his voice. I thumped my hand on the faucet, shutting off the water, doing my best to look annoyed.

“It was ruined. Cheaper to buy a new one,” I answered, lifting my brow as though his tone surprised me. “It was an old blouse. I’ve got a dozen more. And since when do you care at all about my clothes?”

There was moisture on his upper lip, and the sight of it kept me from turning back to face the sink. His lip twitched too, but he tried to hide it. His warm hands were on my arms then, his eyes locking with mine, searching for a truth that I had to keep hidden.

“What happened after you left the library?” he asked. I shrank away when I heard a strange tone in his voice. It wasn’t harsh like he’d use in an interrogation, but soft, a near whisper. It cut right through me. He was afraid for me. “Please, Amy. Please try to remember.”

“I . . . I told you,” I repeated, stammering. My voice cracked against the sudden dryness in my throat. “Tripped and fell. Hit the railing.” I tried to bring my hand up to my head, but Steve closed his hands tighter, gripping my arms as though he would try and shake the truth out of me.

“Do you still have the blouse?” he pleaded now. I shook my head as images raced through my mind. I saw charred remains of the fabric, black snowflakes being picked up and whisked into the breeze, carried by the dying heat of the small fire.

“I don’t,” I said flatly. “What is it? Why do you need it?” He pushed off then, nearly shoving me away as he leaned against the kitchen counter and drove his face into his palms.

“Do you remember that night?” he half asked and half stated. “The night we skipped dinner because of the crime scene outside of Romeo’s?”

“Yeah, sure,” I answered. “But what’s that got to do with my blouse?” I kept my voice level, thin, and directed, but my insides tumbled out of control. I braced against the counter, clutching it until my knuckles hurt.

“We found something at the scene, and God help us, I think it’s from your blouse.”

“What?” I nearly shouted, doing my best to sound surprised and oblivious. Steve only shook his head, waving his hands at the air. “What was it?”

“Best you don’t know. Not yet.” I touched him then, rubbing my hand against his arm, trying to soothe what troubled him. He shook his head. “If only you still had the blouse.”

And I realized then that his hope was in finding that the evidence collected that day
couldn’t
be connected to my blouse. With the blouse destroyed, that was already the case—he just didn’t know it, yet.

“If there is anything I can do to help . . .” I began to say, but he only gave me a brief glance before leaving the kitchen. I reached through the tension, hoping Steve would take my hand, but he ignored me.

“Enjoy your drinks out with Katie,” he said, his voice rigid and trailing down the hallway as he made his way into his office. If he’d brought home the case files, a glass of wine might be in order. Who knew? One of the case files could be about my homeless man.

It was clear to me now that the homeless man had grabbed my buttons, holding onto them as I’d taken his life. Steve thought he recognized them but wasn’t able to marry them up to my being there—not without the blouse. There were a hundred other scenarios Steve would consider before considering the one that put his wife at the scene of a murder.

What if the homeless man had simply walked by the library, finding two creamy moons staring up at him from the sidewalk? Would he believe that?

And then there was the obvious choice—telling Steve the truth.

This last option had never crossed my mind. I had been attacked by the homeless man. That part was true. The man’s intentions were to rape me and then slice me open, like he’d done to another girl. And then it occurred to me that the homeless man was just like
me
. He was a hunter, a prowler, and he would have continued doing what he’d been doing if I hadn’t ended him. If it had to happen, if I had to offer a story, it would be the truth. All of it. From the blade held to my neck to the hit I’d planted against his head and then taking the knife from him. It would be a terrific story of self-defense. And to better the story, I’d add how I was filled with shame and embarrassment that kept me from coming forward. Isn’t that always the case?

I could get away with this,
I thought.

The only thing I’d have to leave out of my story was just how much I enjoyed murdering the man.

I
ASKED MYSELF
a thousand times whether I could look the part.
Could I pull this off?
Skinny jeans
were
what the college girls wore. I had confirmed it when driving around the college campus after my first field trip. I had made other mental notes too: shirts, hairstyles, and shoes to name a few. A grad student could get away with looking a bit older, but I wanted Todd Wilts to see me, and I needed Todd Wilts to want me.

The only suitable pair of jeans I had were already too small—Levis from my college days. I tried them on, pulling on the denim, feeling the tightness wrap around my thighs like a stocking. They were uncomfortable, but to pass as skinny jeans at the White Bear, they were perfect.

And in the same bin of old college clothes I found a sexy black top, a V-neck, extra low in the front, with bare shoulders. The top would offer plenty of distraction, giving my mark something else to look at when I was close to him. I changed my hair a half-dozen times, and then my shoes three or four more. Todd was a big boy and, at best, I came up to his shoulders. I would need leverage to plunge in the syringe. At the back of my closet, I found a pair of black pumps—a bit high in the heels. I’d have to lean on my toes when the time called for it. They were dusty and hadn’t been on my feet in years. I winced when squeezing my toes into them. They were going to hurt, but I’d make them work.

I glanced in the mirror hanging on our bedroom’s closet door, keeping the lights low, careful to try not to stir Steve from his sleep. I blinked when I looked at my reflection and shook my head. I’d done it. I thrust my front out and arched my back, pushing myself into a sexy curve. I looked damn good—hot.

“Let’s just hope Mr. Todd Wilts thinks so too,” I said under my breath.

Seeing isn’t feeling, though, and I hoped some of that confidence I saw in my bedroom mirror stayed with me. I stopped at one point, on the bridge over Neshaminy Creek, ready to turn my car around and call it off, my nerves getting the better of me.

There’s no way he’ll think I am a college student.

But the need to feed came to me—the hunger pangs more physically present than I ever could have imagined. It wasn’t about the money. I wanted to do this, needed to do this. Vampires
were
real
—
I believed that now.

I rolled my car window down, letting the late-autumn air tumble inside and caress my bare shoulders like a trainer relaxing an athlete. A crescent moon hung in the star-filled blackness—a glowing sickle threatening to cut open the sky. It was all I needed to see to urge me on.

Todd Wilts kept to his schedule, ending his delivery late in the evening and showing up at the White Bear. By the time I’d arrived, he was already leaning against his bar stool, gripping a longneck and dropping shots of the tavern’s own brand of whiskey.

“Gonna make a fortune on that stuff,” he exclaimed, his lips brimming sloppily. Sam gave him a curt nod, agreeing, but didn’t return the smile. He hesitated filling the shot glass with another pour.

“No trouble tonight. Okay?” Sam asked with caution in his tone. Todd leaned over the bar, tapping the barkeep’s shoulder comfortingly. Sam shrugged off Todd’s hand and added, “I’ll kick you right out of here. You know I will.”

“No trouble, Sammy boy,” Todd answered. I could see his shoulders rocking up and down as he laughed.

The night scene at the White Bear was a surprise. It had me thinking this would work out better than expected. Music moved through my body, pumping and pulsing, making me want to dance. It was a thumping funk-filled rave music meant to cater to the college crowd. The pleasant honey-colored light from my earlier afternoon visit had disappeared. Now flashes of electric light bounced from every surface, reflecting disco colors.

“It’s perfect,” I decided. A dark corner, or maybe a booth, or even a bathroom stall—any of them would do. I only needed to figure out how to lure him. I’d found a small table, round, perfect for two, and scraped a chair’s stiletto-thin legs back and sat down. I waited. The seat was just ten feet from the bar, ten feet from my first mark. I waited for him to see me.

I felt the outline of the syringe in my pocket, hoping that its shape didn’t show through my jeans.

They wear them so tight now!

And as I’d hoped to see—counted on seeing—the tavern was filled with college students. They lined the walls and filled every table and every booth. They leaned in and out of the shadowy corners, dancing and loving. They filled every inch of the White Bear.

Todd saw me!

Distracted by the crowd, I’d almost missed his gaze. I managed to remain composed, though, and raised my leg just enough to hang my pump from the end of my toes, dipping the heel. I was fishing and wanted to see if he’d bite. His gaze wandered, up and down, staying on me. I had him. I pretended not to notice, but saw him move his stare from my shoes to my thighs and the low-cut reveal of my breasts. When he was finished, his gaze moved up and met mine with a leer. He was an enormous man, muscle upon muscle, and I couldn’t help but wonder just how big he was. I saw the appetite in his eyes, and it even excited me. But when I remembered the monster he was and what he’d done to that poor girl, any alluring element evaporated. I was sickened.

“World isn’t going to miss you . . .” I muttered.

“What’s that?” he asked, cupping his hand behind his ear. Thinking that I’d said something to him, he waved me over.

I took my time standing, giving him more to ogle. When I was ready, I walked into a razor beam of electric-blue light and popped my chest, hoping the extra lift erased a few years from his view. Sam fixed me a look as I approached, seeming to recognize me from the other day. A moment later someone called out his name, and he disappeared from behind the bar before he could make the connection. I made my way over to Todd—sauntered over might be a better way to describe it. When I reached him, I tucked myself between him and the bar, purposely bracing his knee to lean in and say hello over the hard thumping coming from the speakers. His response was quick and steady. He moved his hand to the curve of my waist, holding me.

I wrapped my fingers around his longneck beer and tugged. He tilted his chin, his eyes never leaving mine, and offered permission without my asking. I playfully drank back a sip, showing just enough tongue to set the tone and to leave nothing to question.

“My name is Ginger,” I quickly said, easing close enough for him to look down the front of my top and to catch my smell.

“Of course it is,” he answered, smiling. I could feel his hand on my side, cradling, acting like a gentlemen, but all the while teasing with his fingers as they ran along the curve of my breast, barely touching.

Catch this monster
, I reminded myself as I straightened to face him.

“Want to drink?” I asked, dropping a twenty-dollar bill on the bar.

“Sam! Some shots?” he shouted over the music. I sipped his beer and turned away from the bar while Sam set up the shots of whiskey. “And then what?”

This was too easy. Did I have him already?

“I like my shots big and fast,” I told him as I drank one down. Todd drank two, dropping them one after the other. We repeated the one for two, drinking more shots. By the third, I could feel my head beginning to swim. I held back. I needed to focus. I could see from the hard outline in his pants that Todd was ready to go anytime I told him.

I felt for the syringe but found his hand on my pocket instead. I stopped.

Had he figured out why I was here?
Impossible.

He brought his lips over to my ear, laying his hand on the side of my breast, and mentioned another room. When his thumb brushed over my nipple, my stomach churned, but by now, I was all business. I’d set the trap and had my prey. And now it was time to go in for the kill. Anything else would just be toying with him like a cat with a mouse.