Truth, Lies, and Second Dates - MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,72
for the rest of my life. It would have destroyed me.”
“So you destroyed Danielle instead. And ran.” She hesitated, but took the plunge anyway. “You’re pathetic. Oh, what? I’m supposed to be nice to you? I’m supposed to believe you’re not going to kill me if I flatter you and pretend you don’t disgust me? Please. I know you don’t want me to leave this room under my own power. Anyone who’s ever watched a murder mystery would know that.
“And the worst part, Pete, you fucking piece of shit? I was with Danielle that whole last day! You probably only missed me by an hour or so. And then you showed up and—” It was a day for dawning realizations, apparently. “Trying too hard,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead. “That’s what the tech said at the crime scene.” She looked up. “You stabbed her and she bled out—I’ll bet you waited until her back was turned, because you’re a cowardly POS. And once she was down, you got creative—but you overdid it. Just like you overdid it with her ashes. And my drug test. You wanted it to look like a random psycho vagrant. Not the local junkie who stole from the dead and then pissed himself when he thought a teenager was going to get him in trouble.”
“You should talk,” he snapped back.
“Hey: this junkie never robbed a dead nursing home resident, didn’t pull an over-the-top murder to cover my theft, and didn’t flee like a fucking coward only to skulk back and play petty tricks to lure me into an ‘alone with the psycho’ moment.”
“It wasn’t exactly fun times for me, either. I threw up in two Ziploc bags.”
“Jesus Christ. What’d you do with Dennis?”
“Why is everyone worried about Dennis?” Pete had the gall to sound wounded, which was as offensive as it was hilarious. “I have no idea where that idiot is.”
“You—you don’t?”
“I needed to get you alone. Why the hell would I want Dennis Monahan hanging around?”
“But you had his cell.”
“I found his cell. And the whole thing was taking too long, so I used it. I’ve got a life to get back to, y’know.”
Wow. He really thinks that. Unreal. And why hasn’t someone walked in or called in the last five minutes?
“So I called his little girlfriend,” Pete continued. “He doesn’t lock his phone, can you believe it?”
“You’re right. This is taking too long. So what now? I’m here. My bodyguard’s down for the count.”
“Your what?”
“Never mind. Just so we’re on the same page, you’re going to kill me because you’re a nasty, vindictive brat, and also because you don’t want anyone finding out you killed Danielle. Do I have that right?”
“That’s only two reasons,” he snapped. “There are loads more. I know what you’re doing, by the way. You’re not clever, and I’m not talking because you’re tricking me. I’m talking because you deserve to know why. You think I won’t get your phone later and wipe whatever recording you’re making?”
“What about Tom?”
“Fuck him.” But he sounded rattled. Ava wondered when Pete had tipped from vengeful sociopath to clinically insane nutjob. Because he was crazy, she was sure of it. Ten years of looking over his shoulder had taken a toll; even when he thought he was free, he wasn’t.
“Fine. Get on with it.”
He just looked at her, then at Tom. And she saw what the problem was. He’d tased Tom, who had collapsed facedown. Meaning he was lying on the electrodes embedded in his
(broad, yummy)
chest.
In other words, Pete couldn’t tase her from where he was. All he could do was zap Tom again. If that was even how Tasers worked—did the thing need to build up a charge? Could you pull the trigger again if the electrodes hadn’t retracted? Note to self: see G.B. about Taser lessons.
Did he have a gun? Or a knife? Would he try and strangle her with those scrawny, manicured paws? She almost hoped he would. She’d stick her thumbs in his eyes so deep, he’d spend the rest of the year looking for a service animal.
“Second thoughts?” she asked.
“No.” He dropped the Taser, which was great. But he pulled what looked like a .38 from somewhere, which was less great. Had it been tucked in the back of his jeans? Dolt.
“You’ve been watching too much TV. That’s an excellent way to get a bullet up the crack of your ass.”
“Shut up.”
“Aren’t you worried about someone dropping by to coffin shop? What are you going to do with the