Page 52 of The Perfect People

But independently, Jessie and Susannah had agreed that before they risked calling the hostess downstairs, they wanted to at least try to get the lay of the land, and maybe, if they got lucky, unmask the killer before he could act. Thus the lap around the house.

They started moving but it was slow going. The whole place was essentially one huge dance floor and even in the short time since they’d arrived it had gotten more crowded. It was hard to see what was going on amid the writhing mass of bodies. And with the relentlessly thumping music, it was difficult to hear much of anything either. Jessie leaned over and shouted into Susannah’s ear.

“With everyone wearing costumes, theyalllook ridiculous and suspicious,” she said. “Until someone does something overtly violent, we’re going to be hard-pressed to discern between wild party behavior and something more disturbing.”

Susannah nodded but didn’t respond. Her eyes were darting everywhere as the two of them skirted around the edge of the living room and pushed through a hallway into another, smaller room that was equally packed. Jessie knew what her partner was thinking because she had the same thoughts.

The charm of the silly outfits was fading. The reality of staking out an enormous home filled with hundreds of people was settling in. The killer might be here among them right now and they would never know it.

He could be standing right next to her, and she’d have no clue.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

He stood amid the crowd, with a friendly smile plastered across his face, hoping that no one could hear his heart beating through his chest.

As far as he could tell, everyone was oblivious to the giddy anticipation he was feeling, as they danced to the boisterous music, shouting to be heard over it. He put the martini he’d been handed on a table and politely squeezed through a group of people blocking the doorway he needed to navigate.

“Cool outfit,” one of the women said.

“Thanks,” he replied, before moving on quickly.

It was reassuring to get the compliment because it meant he wouldn’t seem like the odd man out. He was wearing an old-timey 1920s-style men’s bathing suit, comprised of a ribbed wool onesie that buttoned at the crotch and had a scoop neck. In addition, he wore a pair of mid-thigh swimming shorts fastened with a white, webbed belt and a metal buckle. He was also wearing a wig that gave him tightly cut black hair that looked like it had been doused in pomade.

He stepped into the larger room and scanned the area again. He’d already been here for twenty minutes, looped through the giant house twice, and yet he still hadn’t seen the hostess. He was starting to get antsy. How was it possible that she wasn’t at her own party?

And then he saw her. She was in front of him, walking down the stairs, wearing a silver, fringed flapper skirt with her hair tied back. He tried to catch up to her so that he could meet her just as she reached the main level, but it was difficult with so many people in between them.

He almost lost sight of her completely as she darted into the cluster of people at the base of the stairs, who greeted her warmly and guided her to an area near the massive French doors leading to the front yard. He was all for that, as it made for an easier exit once he was pried off her. He saw her again and methodically resumed his march toward her, sliding on his latex gloves as he moved.

She began dancing with her back to him, and the sparkles on the fringe of her dress drew him in like a homing beacon. He saw a small opening amid the churn of bodies and headed directly for her, extending his hands, reaching out for her neck, which seemed so slender and fragile.

Then he was there, squeezing tight, but not too tight. It was a challenge to maintain even pressure with his blood pumping so hard. She tried to wriggle free, but she was no match for him. He wanted to turn her around to let her see his eyes, so that later tonight, she would make the connection between the two attackers in the moment before she died. But that would require twisting her and he feared he might break her neck in the process.

Suddenly, they were on him. Two people tearing at his hands as several others went for his body. He felt himself falling to the floor along with her. She was being yanked away from him as multiple bodies tried to pile on top of him.

And then, as he felt the weight of them about to collapse down upon him, he made eye contact with her. But instead of giving him satisfaction, the sight caused a completely unexpected reaction: shock. His mind suddenly a sea of confusion, he fixed on the one clear thought that emerged from the muck: he had to get out of there.

He stopped fighting gravity and allowed the swell of people above him to fall down into a pile. In the ensuing chaos, he shot up, tore free from their grasp, and hurtled out of the house, through the French doors, and off into the night.

He could hear the angry shouts behind him for about a block before they faded away. Still, he kept running for several more blocks before he slowed to a walk. Five minutes later he was in his car, heading home to clear his head, take a shower, and change.

But he’d be back in a few hours. There were errors to correct and wrongs to right. The real work was still to come.

***

Jessie pushed her way through the morass of humanity, trying to get back to the front room, where the chaos they could hear but only barely see was coming from. Beside her, Susannah had taken to stomping on people’s feet to make them move.

“I don’t want to ruin our cover, but we have to get over there,” the detective said desperately. “Should I just pull out my gun?”

Jessie shook her head.

“I’ve got a better idea,” she said. “Follow my lead.”

She put her head down, started groaning, and began barreling forward into people.

“Hey, watch it!” some guy yelled.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” she moaned loudly, “let me through!”

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