Cause to Kill

A small side guest room was equally vacant.

“I’m serious,” she called, “it’s way past your bedtime.”

She stomped up the stairs in high heels, a black leather skirt, and the skimpy tank top she planned to wear to the party later that night.

“You better be in bed!”

Sure enough, both Luke and Gidget were hidden under the covers and giggling like mad because they’d once again outsmarted her.

The kids shared the single room and each had their own bed. A stark contrast could be seen between Gidget’s side of the room and Luke’s. Hers had actually been painted pink; it was neat and orderly, with toys in their proper place and clothes in their drawers. Luke’s side of the room was painted dark blue. All of his toys were on the floor, clothing thrown everywhere, and the walls were smudged with dirt and markers.

“Now I see how it is,” Molly said. “Make me run all over the house and then pretend you were asleep all this time. Nice try.”

The covers were thrown off and both of them vied for her attention.

“Read me a book, Molly.”

“Don’t turn off the hall light,” Luke said.

“Your parents will kill me if they find you up when they get back. You have to go to bed. No more books. I’ll leave the hall light on. You hear me? I find either of you roaming the halls again or trying to scare me downstairs, I become a squealer. And you know what that means.”

“No, no,” Gidget cried.

“Don’t tell Dad,” Luke pleaded.

“All right then. Bedtime. Good night.”

Once again, she shut the door, leaving it open about a quarter of an inch so they could see the hall light.

Back downstairs she thought: Ugh…Kids.

A quick look in the living room mirror confirmed that she still looked amazing– green eye shadow in place, lashes long, lipstick perfect, blue eyes sparkling.

You look hot, she thought with a squeal.

About twenty minutes later, as Molly was watching a taped edition of The John Oliver Show, Mr. and Ms. Hachette silently opened the front door.

Pleasantries were given all around.

Molly updated them on her night. “Dinner was great. Books were read. I gave them both baths. We ran around for a while and they went to bed. Nothing special.”

As always, the Hachettes asked if she wanted to say any longer, eat something, or just crash in the guest room. Molly declined.

All she could think about was the party, a huge Brandeis bash given by one of the biggest fraternities on campus. Three boys that she’d been seeing would all be there, but none of them were actually considered boyfriend material. Tonight, she was hoping to find someone new.

She grabbed her bag and skipped out the door.

Let the games begin, she thought, smiling.

* * *

He had been waiting outside for a while, hidden in the shadows of his minivan interior. For the last hour, he’d been there, watching and preparing for the right moment. He’d silently watched as Molly had searched the house for the kids and found them in bed. He’d seen the Hachettes enter the house.

He was parked on a very quiet street in a tree-lined neighborhood just northeast of Brandeis University, only a few minutes’ drive to the college and about a twenty-minute walk. Molly, he knew, would choose to walk. She would hop down the stairs, make a left onto Cabot Street, and then a right onto Andrea Road. After that, she usually altered her route based on where she needed to be on campus.

As he suspected, Molly skipped down the house steps and turned left.

He silently exited his minivan and moved to the back, where he pretended to be unloading something from the trunk space. He loudly shut the trunk, sighed, and stepped onto the street. Molly was headed directly toward him. He took off his cap and looked up.

Immersed in her own thoughts, Molly nearly bumped right into him. “Oh, sorry,” she mumbled.

“That’s fine,” he replied.

“Hey!” She suddenly brightened. “I know you. How are you?”

“I’m all right.” He smiled. “Having a bit of car trouble here. Wait a minute.” He frowned and rubbed his chin. “I thought you lived somewhere on the Brandeis campus?”

“Yeah, I do,” she acknowledged, “I just work here. See that house,” and she turned to point it out, “I nanny for their kids during the week. But don’t worry, I…”

The moment she swiveled, he quickly punctured her with his needle.

“Hey! Ow! What the…”

Molly began to fall. He slid behind her to catch.

“Are you all right?” He pretended to panic. “Molly?” He tapped her cheeks in mock concern. “Molly, are you OK?” He scanned the area.

The streets were dark and empty.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, “I’ll take care of you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Large glass windows buttressed both sides of the glass door of Art for Life Studios. Avery could see a narrow, packed gallery space inside with all kinds of modern art: sculptures, paintings, drawings, and retro collages. Further back, the room opened up into a much larger area, with a circle of easels for what she assumed was the art class meeting area.

Her phone rang.

“Black,” she answered.

“Who’s your boy?” Finley said. “I just got a call back from one of Tabitha’s friends. The victim definitely took an art class at that studio.”

“I already figured it out. Didn’t you notice all the art when you were in her dorm?”

“What art?”

“In her room.”

“That wasn’t art.” Finley blanched. “That was garbage. I thought she bought it at a yard sale. Look, Black, don’t bust my balls. I just got you a good lead.”