The Killing Room (Richard Montanari) - By Richard Montanari Page 0,31

She was also a fan of novelist Sue Miller, having recently bought a copy of The Good Mother at amazon.com. Three of her recent emails – which she for some reason printed out and subsequently discarded – had recommended the book to friends.

She also ordered Mexican food from a delivery service, favoring tapas on Tuesday and frijoles on Friday nights.

Note to self: Write a Broadway lyric around this.

Shane closed his eyes, visualized the upcoming encounter. He had learned this technique from a shrink he had been forced to see as a result of a run-in with the PPD the first week he had been on the job in Philadelphia. The court had thought he might be unstable.

Little did they know.

Twenty minutes later he dressed in a Zegna sport coat, Seven For All Mankind jeans, along with an inexpensive white shirt from J. Crew, locked the two deadbolts on his door, and left the building.

After stopping at the Barnes & Noble at Rittenhouse Square, and making his purchase, Shane entered the lobby bar at Le Meridien at just after nine. There was only one seat open at the bar. A Sixers game was on the plasma.

He saw her at her favorite banquette with her overweight work friend – older woman, mid-forties, wearing a navy blue, off-the-rack Chico’s pantsuit. Shane knew this woman to be Arlene. He had found a Christmas and birthday card from her in the trash.

Shane took up a position a few seats down from them. He slipped in a pair of earbuds, but did not start any music on his iPod. He needed to be able to hear. He opened his brand new copy of The Good Mother, began to read. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the woman look over, then look a second time a few seconds later, the way people do when they think they know someone, but they’re not sure in which world to place them. School, work, social, casual. Ever since Shane had become an on-air personality in Philly it had started. This worked in his favor, as well as against, in seemingly equal measure.

Tonight it was golden.

‘Excuse me,’ she said. As she said this, she reached over and touched his arm. He glanced at her wine glass. It was almost empty.

Perfect.

Shane looked up, made eye contact. He felt a shiver of excitement. He imagined that it was the same feeling that prosecutors get when they trap a witness in a lie, or that of a marlin fisherman when he feels that unmistakable pull on the line.

He took the earbuds out, smiled. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi,’ she said. Her full name was Danica Evelyn Dooley. Twenty-six, five-nine, 120 give or take. Mostly give lately. She’d been putting away a few bags of Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies a week. She worked at Progressive Insurance, drove a Ford Focus, had two brothers named William and Thaddeus. She liked Versace Crystal Noir perfume. She was wearing it tonight. ‘I know you from somewhere.’

Shane smiled even more broadly. ‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘I’d certainly remember you.’

She blushed. ‘My name is Danica. This is my friend –’

Arlene, Shane wanted to blurt out, just to keep things moving. He did not.

‘– Arlene,’ Danica said.

‘My name is Shane.’ He reached out, shook hands with both women, lingering a split second longer with Danica’s hand. The gesture was not lost on anyone. ‘Delighted to meet you both.’

Not entirely true.

Danica pointed at Shane’s book. ‘I can’t believe you’re reading that. I just finished it. It has to be one of my favorite books of all time.’

Shane put his earbuds away, committing to the conversation, then held up the new paperback. ‘Well, I’m on my third read,’ he said. ‘Had to buy a new copy. I lent mine out, never got it back.’ He had read all the amazon.com reviews of the book before leaving the house, of course, and with his nearly eidetic memory, remembered them word for word. If pressed, he could more than hold his own in a book discussion with Danica. ‘Every time I read it I find something new.’

The waiter approached the table. ‘What can I get you, sir?’

Shane looked at the wine list, even though he didn’t have to. He had this memorized, too. ‘I think I’ll have a glass of the Barolo.’

‘This is amazing,’ Danica said. ‘Barolo is my favorite.’

‘Anything else for the ladies?’ the waiter asked.

Danica and her friend made instant eye contact, the way friends do at a moment like this,