Page 55 of Return of the Spider
His mood swung between excitement at having been asked to come in for a preliminary interview at the Washington Day School and bubbling rage at Missy, who’d harped on about the goddamned wedding from the moment he’d walked in the door yesterday.
Missy had been so relentless, he felt homicidal toward her, and that would not do. Missy was a key part of his cover. Besides, they always suspected the husband first.
So he’d driven away before dawn that morning, leaving his wife a note saying that he needed to be by himself, that he’d be back when he was back, and they could discuss the whole wedding thing then.
Soneji was wearing the brown wig under a ball cap with a tool-company logo on it. He’d found a clean green workman’s coverall with an embroidered chest patch that saidDENNY’S PLUMBINGon it in a Goodwill store. He’d scraped and dented the toolbox that now sat on the passenger seat so it looked like it belonged to the journeyman plumber he was impersonating.
For the next forty-five minutes, Soneji watched the house through a pair of pocket binoculars. A slow trickle of potential buyers went to the porch, put on blue booties to protect the newly refinished floors, entered, and exited not long after. At a quarter to five, there were three visitors left in the house.
A single male in his forties left at ten to five, and Soneji made his move. He put on latex gloves, grabbed the toolbox, and left the van. It was windy, raw. He marched up the short drive in the remains of the daylight.
The final two viewers, a young couple, exited the house, pulled off their blue booties, and walked down the porch steps, heads lowered against the wind. Absorbed in a discussion about the kitchen, they barely looked up as they passed Soneji, who was standing where the walkway met the short drive.
“Oh, I think she’s closing up,” the woman called to him.
Soneji waved his gloved hand but did not turn to them. “Thanks, I’m not a buyer.”
He climbed up to the porch and put on a pair of the blue booties as the sign there requested. A help, as far as he was concerned. Then he went into a brightly lit, thoroughly renovated, and beautifully staged home.
Slate entry. Spacious great room. Hardwood floors. Nice, neutral paint job. The furniture looked custom-made.
He reached behind him to a panel by the door, flipped off the outdoor lights.
“I’m sorry, the open house is over,” a woman called out in a pretty Southern accent.
A bosomy platinum blonde in her early fifties came out of a hallway on the far side of the room and walked toward him. She wore a cream-colored pantsuit, matching high heels, a pink blouse, an imitation-pearl necklace, and a name tag.
“Not looking to buy, ma’am,” Soneji said, adjusting his accent to match hers. “I’m Denny Holder, just supposed to check the gas fittings on the boiler.”
He could see her suspicion and knew there was fear there as well.
“What could be wrong with the boiler?” she said, close enough for him to read the name tag—BRENDA MILES—on her blazer. “Everything in this house is brand-new.”
“I’m sure it is, Ms. Brenda,” he said amiably. “But the gas company’s done over-pressurized the lines in this part of the county. We’ve been getting forty calls an hour about people smelling gas, including one from the lady across the street. It’s easy to check, easy to fix, and I’d hate to see a house as pretty as this one explode or something.”
The real estate agent paled, looked at her watch. “Go ahead. Door to the basement’s over there in the corner. But could you be quick? I’ve got a dinner date.”
“Done in ten or less,” he promised, smiling at her.
He opened the basement door, pleased at how quietly it traveled on its hinges. He turned on a light, closed the door behind him, and set his toolbox on the riser.
Soneji got out the baggie containing the rope he’d stolen from outside Diggs’s trailer. He removed the rope and wrapped one end three times around his gloved left hand, holding the other end loosely with his right.
He used that same hand to crack open the door enough for him to peer into the great room. The real estate agent was nowhere to be seen.
He heard water running and then a cabinet shutting, and he figured she was in the kitchen, down the short hallway that began near the big mirror on the wall.
Quickly, quietly, Soneji crossed the great room to the hall entry and stood next to a sideboard artfully decorated with glossy coffee-table books.
“Ms. Brenda?” he called. “I need you to see something and sign something.”
“Two seconds,” she called in a weary voice.
CHAPTER
43
Soneji waited until heheard theclick-clickof the real estate agent’s heels coming his way before lobbing one of the books at the door to the basement. It made a solid thud when it hit.
