Page 58 of The Perfect People

As she tried desperately to gasp for air she couldn’t get, he had whispered to her, “I’m the plumber.”

He thought he saw a moment of recognition on her face just before the light left her eyes, but he couldn’t be sure. Either way, it was more satisfying than he could have possibly hoped for. As a result, he could barely contain himself the next day waiting for the chance to teach Nicole Boyce the same lesson.

For her, death had come in the bathroom rather than the bedroom, which made for a different kind of excitement—dirtier and rawer. It helped that she was an athlete. She was stronger than Mrs. Mallory and fought back hard, which was thrilling. But in the end, he was much bigger and stronger and had the element of surprise. She was no match for him.

When he whispered, “I’m the plumber,” he didn’t see the same recognition in her eyes, which was a little disappointing. He didn’t know if that was because it had been several weeks since his visit and she’d already forgotten how she’d wronged him, or if the horror of this moment had made all other thoughts flee from her head. In the end, it didn’t really matter. She was dead, and just like Shasta Mallory, she would never treat someone “beneath” her so badly again.

Wade snapped out of the memory at the sight of Steve Dorman, who was standing in a corner of his expansive living room, holding court as he talked to two buddies, with his back to the stairwell. It couldn’t have been more perfect. As casually as he could, Wade shuffled up the stairs, weaving past several folks who were chatting at the top of the landing.

He moved down the hall, which was empty other than two women giggling in an open bathroom as they checked their makeup. Then he arrived at the main bedroom, which he’d identified from checking real estate websites earlier in the week. He wasn’t surprised to find that the door was locked. Of course it was. Steve was a good husband and wouldn’t want to leave his inebriated wife vulnerable in a home filled with partygoers, some of whom they didn’t know.

Unfortunately for the Dormans, Wade Cronin was adept at overcoming simple residential bedroom door locks. He snapped on his latex gloves and defeated it in seconds.

When he stepped inside the bedroom, closed and relocked the door, it was 11:53 p.m.—time to teach his final lesson.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

Jessie wasn’t sure he was coming.

As she sat on a chair in the guest bedroom across the hall from where Maya was serving as bait, doubt began to nibble at the corner of her mind. Not because they’d been waiting a long time. They hadn’t.

But she started to wonder if it was a mistake to clear out so many of the guests. The goal had been to make it easier to spot someone suspicious, but the downside was that it might, for the same reason, have made the killer skittish. He likely used crowds to sneak in and get to his victims. Had they inadvertently scared him off?

She looked at her watch. It was 11:49 p.m.

For the briefest of moments, she was tempted to use this otherwise wasted downtime to text Hannah to see how things were going with Chris. But she fought back the urge. First of all, it was too late. Either her sister was asleep, or things were going extremely well. In either scenario, Hannah wouldn’t appreciate the intrusion. More importantly, Jessie needed to keep her focus on the current situation. A sudden buzz interrupted her thoughts.

“We’re going to have to bail,” Sergeant Breem texted abruptly over the shared chain that they’d all been using. “There’s a big bar fight down at Hercule’s and they’re asking for help. I need to pull Shaw, Timms, and Oldmeyer. You guys okay for a bit?”

“Yes,” Susannah texted back.

“Let us know if you need us back here,” he replied. “We can be back in under two minutes.”

“Will do,” Jessie texted, before adding to Susannah separately, “I’m going to go check in on Maya for a minute. You still good down there in the living room?”

“If by ‘good,’ you mean ‘bored as hell,’ then yes, I’m good.”

Jessie texted Maya that she was coming over, walked across the hall, and knocked on the door. The woman quickly let her in and locked the door again.

“Is this happening or not?” she asked.

“We honestly don’t know,” Jessie admitted. “But everything suggests that it will. Like we explained earlier, the last two murders happened later on the same night that the hostess was attacked. Unfortunately, because the times of the killings varied so widely, we can’t be certain when he might try to come after you.”

“And you don’t know why he’s picking particular people?” Maya asked.

“No,” Jessie acknowledged, frustrated that they had made so little progress on that front. “Other than that both victims have been women who hosted Strand holiday parties, we don’t have much. The first was on Thursday night. The second victim had her party last night. She didn’t know the first victim. Your party is on a Saturday and you told us you don’t know either of the other women.”

“Like I said, I’ve obviously heard of Nicole Boyce,” Maya said, “and I’ve seen her around. But I didn’t know her personally And I didn’t know the other woman at all.”

“Right,” Jessie said. “So, we’re still trying to find that connection among the three of you.”

They stood there in silence for a few seconds before Jessie decided that she’d stalled long enough.

“I better get back to the guest bedroom,” she said. “I wanted to check in on you but you’re not much good as bait if I’m in here with you.”

“Okay,” Maya said, standing up, ready to lock the door. “I wonder why this guy picked me and not Lola.”

“What do you mean?” Jessie asked. “Who’s Lola?”

---