“But two didn’t even have their wedding rings on when they were making their moves on Margot,” Mia pointed out. “We know from you that Robert wasn’t wearing his wedding ring when he was with Margot in Chumley’s. And Lisa Ann Cole said that her husband never wore his ring, that she remembered he wasn’t wearing it when he left that night because they got into a fight about it. She said he carried it in his wallet instead.”
Matthew thought about that. “Well, I do know that Robert always wore his ring except when he went out partying. So, if he wasn’t a random victim, it’s possible that the killer would have seen him with the ring on at some point, somewhere else, perhaps.”
“But what about Lisa Ann Cole’s husband?” Mia said. “If he never wore the ring ... ?”
“Maybe our killer knew the victims from somewhere else? Knew they were married men who were cheating?”
Mia tilted her head and considered that. “But knew all of them? And from where? Two live thirty miles distance from each other.”
Questions, questions, questions. That was all they had. “And how would the killer know the victims would be going to a particular nightclub on a particular night weeks in the future so as to hire Margot to be there that night?” Matthew shook his head. “Once again, it makes it seem like the killings were random. How could that be planned in advance?”
Mia held his gaze. “You do see that my playing the part of Margot is our only way of answering these questions, right?”
Damn. She was right about that. Nothing made sense about this case.
“I see it, Mia. I just don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it either,” she said. “But it’s worth it to me to do it. For both our sakes, for your brother and for my sister. And for whoever is on the killer’s list for the tenth. If our plan fails, we tell the police all we know and suspect, even if it incriminates Margot for a while. Agreed?”
Matthew took a deep breath. “All right. So you show up a few minutes after I do, tape recorder in your purse, and sit alone at a table ...”
Mia looked at him for a moment, and he saw that she was pleased. He had given in.
“Right,” she said. “And you’ll be sitting alone at another table, watching everyone in the bar very closely to see who’s checking me out, who’s paying close attention to me.”
“We know for sure that the killer expects a cheating husband to be there and to go for Margot. Why I still can’t figure—”
He stopped and leaned back against the sofa, his mind working a mile a minute.
“Matthew? What is it?”
“My contribution to the plan just became clear,” he said, going over the final bits of it in his mind.
“What are you talking about?” Mia asked.
“I’m going to play the part of cheating husband.”
Mia’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
Matthew leaned forward, his elbows braced on his thighs. “I’m going to show up before you, alone, wearing a wedding ring. Right before I go to make my move on you, I’m going to take off my ring, quite obviously, but not so obviously that it looks like I want to be seen doing it, and then put the ring in my pocket, most likely as Robert did.”
The color drained from Mia’s face. “Matthew, that’s crazy. You’re setting yourself up to get killed!”
“But it was okay for you to do that yourself?”
“My plan doesn’t make me the target of the killer!” Mia cried. “Margot isn’t dead, Matthew!”
“Mia, we suspect that someone is going to die this Saturday night—unless we do something about it. My playing the part of cheating husband and making myself a target saves some poor schlub from getting jumped in the parking lot or from even knowing he was about to meet his maker.”
“No.”
“The fact that I’m setting myself up allows me to protect myself,” he pointed out. “The second I walk out of the bar and head to my car, I’ll be expecting someone to creep up behind me. I’ll be ready.”
“How are you going to be ready for a sudden gunshot to the back, Matthew?”
“I’ll wear a bulletproof vest,” he countered. “Mia, I’ll protect myself.”
She shook her head. “Can we get back to my plan, please?”
“Fine,” he said, leaning back again. “Your plan requires mine and vice versa.”
“My plan does not require you to set yourself up to be murdered!” Mia cried. “Now listen to me and forget all about you being the target. That is not happening.”
“Fine, go ahead. I’m listening.”
Mia narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you really listening?”
Matthew nodded. He was listening. While he formulated his own plan, that was.
“Okay,” she began. “I’ll be watching the other patrons, too—especially to catch a guy in the act of removing his wedding ring. I don’t know if we’ll be lucky enough to catch that, but maybe we will be.”
Matthew almost snorted. “You’d think a cheating jerk would be smart enough to take off his ring before he even got inside, but I’ve actually seen Robert remove his ring right in the middle of a restaurant or a sporting event—if there was an attractive woman around.”
Mia shook her head. “Unbelievable.”
“And sickening.”
“Speaking of sickening,” Mia continued, “the target will come over, sit down, and I’ll flirt with him for a while. Then, if he asks me to leave with him, I’ll say yes.”
Matthew’s eyebrow shot up. “Excuse me?”
“This is how we’re going to catch our killer straightaway,” Mia said. “You’ll see that I’m getting ready to leave with the target, and you’ll hurry outside and hide behind a car. The target and I will come out a minute later. I’ll make an excuse for having to run back in to get my scarf or go to the ladies’ room. The killer will come out looking for the cheater. And when he or she does, we’ll tackle him.”
“Tackle someone with a gun or a knife,” Matthew said flatly.
“Or we’ll throw something,” Mia amended. “We’ll do something to startle the killer. Anything that lets the cheating guy get away safely and leaves the killer exposed.”
“Mia, the only way I’ll even consider this scenario is if you carry a cell phone and call 911 the moment the killer shows a sign of making a move. There’s a police precinct a half block away from MacDougal’s.”
“I have no problem with calling the police,” she told him. “After the killer makes his move.”
Matthew sighed. “Now here’s my version of your plan. I set myself up as the target. I take off my wedding ring and make a move on you. I’m the guy who leaves with you. And then you immediately head back in to get your scarf and stay there while I fiddle with my car keys out in the parking lot, supposedly waiting for you. I deal with the killer—who I’ll be expecting and ready for—alone, meaning without your help.”
“Matthew—”
He shook his head. “Look, you’re insisting on your plan and how you fit in; I’m insisting on my plan and how I fit in. I’m compromising here, Mia. Take it or leave it.”
She stared at him. “The minute I go back into MacDougal’s, I’m calling the police and telling them something’s going down in the parking lot.”
“Fine. They can get there in time to arrest the psycho.”
Mia was gnawing on her lower lip. “But what if they don’t get there in time to save your life, Matthew?”
“Mia, I’m going to be careful. I’m going to take every precaution.”
“You can’t! There’s no such thing as being prepared against a cold-blooded killer who’s struck four times. Four times without being caught.”
“Are we compromising, or not?” Matthew asked.
“Oh, so suddenly you’re the king of compromise?” she snapped. “I wouldn’t have known that from last night.”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about last night,” Matthew said.
“Fine,” Mia replied. “Let’s not talk ab
out it. Let’s not talk about anything.” Her expression was stony. “Let’s just meet in the living room at around six P.M. to go buy some stuff for disguises. We’ll change up here, then head over to MacDougal’s around seven-thirty or eight, when it starts getting crowded. How does that sound?”
Bossy little thing, wasn’t she? “Just fine.”
“Good,” Mia said. “Until then, I’d like some time alone.”
“You can take your pick of the bedroom or the living room,” Matthew ground out through gritted teeth.
“I’ll take the bedroom,” she said, before stalking off with her notes and slamming the door behind her.
There were a lot of slammed doors in their relationship, Matthew thought.
Just the way it should be.
Chapter Fifteen
“We need two wigs,” Matthew told the salesclerk at Wig Out, a shop he’d never even noticed, even though it was two blocks from his apartment and next door to the bagel shop he frequented almost on a daily basis.
“We’re going to a masquerade party tonight,” Mia added. “We’d like to look totally different, but not too way out. Just not like us.”
Mia wondered if she had another “look” in her. So far, there was the plain Jane and the Margot.
“How about a blond wig for you, sir,” the salesclerk suggested to Matthew, “and for you, miss”—she tilted her head to the left and then to the right, studying Mia’s face and the shape of her head—“maybe red curls?”
Red curls. Just like Mia’s mom. When Mia was young, she used to love watching her mother comb out the deep red ringlets, see them bounce up as they dried. Mia and Margot, around five or six years old, would squeal with joy as they gave the ringlets a gentle tug and then set them springing. And their mother would laugh with such delight. The twins had taken after their father lookswise, with their fine, medium brown hair and pale brown eyes. Mia had always yearned for her mother’s gorgeous red hair.
And tonight, she would have it.
“Red curls sound great,” Mia told the salesclerk.
Matthew was eyeing the wig the woman brought over to him as though it were a dead mouse. “This is a little embarrassing,” he said, “trying on a wig. Wearing a wig.”
Mia smiled. “Matthew, it’s just for a few hours.”
The woman led them to the back of the store to two leather chairs facing mirrors. She fitted the blond wig on Matthew first. “You could pass as a natural blond with those blue eyes,” she commented, a flirtatious lilt in her voice.
“I think my dark eyebrows are a dead giveaway,” Matthew countered, grimacing at his new, wavy, dark blond tresses.
Mia grinned. And as the salesclerk fitted her with the red wig, her smile turned wistful.
“Wow,” Matthew exclaimed, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. “You look great as a redhead.”
Mia stared at herself in the mirror, and for the first time in perhaps her entire life, she liked what she saw. The deep red was almost auburn, and the texture was very similar to her own. Mia’s hair had never held a curl, except for the time she’d cut it off as a teenager and the release of its weight added waves she never knew she had.
“Your skin tone, your light brown eyes—red really suits you, hon,” the salesclerk said.
“Thanks,” Mia told her. “I’ll take it.”
“Yeah, I’ll take this thing,” Matthew added, grabbing the wig off his head and running a hand through his hair.
He held out the offending hairpiece, his expression twisted into utter misery. The saleswoman took it from him, and his shoulders sagged with relief. Mia couldn’t resist a smile.
She took one last look at herself as a redhead, then removed the wig and handed it to the salesclerk, who headed to the front of the store to ring up their purchases.
“Well, we’ve got our wigs,” Matthew said. “What next for our disguise?”
Mia thought for a moment. “How about nonprescription eyeglasses?”
“Great idea,” he said. “And we should also pick up a couple of cheap gold wedding bands so we show up at MacDougal’s tonight looking like a married couple.”
“Why?” she asked. “I mean, I know why you need the ring for tonight, but why is it important that we appear married tonight?”
“Because if our killer is there,” Matthew explained, “he or she will see me with my redheaded wife. And he or she will then see me again on Saturday night, trying to pick up the decoy.”
She nodded. “Ah, I see. Good point.”
Fake wedding rings. A rush of bitterness rose in her throat. Her entire marriage had been fake. And now she’d have a fake wedding ring to go with her fake new look.
Fake, fake, fake.
She looked at herself in the mirror, though, and felt anything but fake. She felt right.
“It’s funny,” Mia said, getting up from the chair. “I’ve been so used to not looking like myself, and the minute I put on a wig that totally changes my hairstyle, I feel completely natural.”
“I’m not following,” Matthew said. “Not looking like yourself?”
She blushed. “Oh, I just mean—” She glanced at the floor. “Forget it.”
“I’d rather not,” he said. He cupped his hand under her chin and gently lifted her face to his. “Tell me.”
How she wanted to take his hand in hers and press it against her cheek, throw herself in his arms, and feel his strength around her. Feel safe. But he slipped his hand away and reached for his wallet.
“It’s just that my husband—my ex-husband,” she amended, “preferred me as a blonde like my sister is. So I colored my hair.”
Matthew nodded. “Ah. So you were serious when you said you changed your look to suit your ex. I remember you telling me that when you were taking a bath.”
“And we were talking through the door just like Margot and I used to—” The tears came, and Mia was powerless to stop them.
“Mia, it’s all right,” Matthew soothed. “She’s going to come home. After Saturday night, she’ll come home. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“I hope so,” she said, sniffling.
But would it? Would anything ever be all right again? She was scared to death of Saturday night, no matter how brave a front she put on for Matthew. She was scared to death that Norman Newman was going to kill them both. She was scared to death that Matthew would discover that Laurie Gray was the killer. She was scared to death to dress up as Margot on Saturday night and walk around as the woman she’d vowed she’d never look like again after her divorce.
And deep inside, she was afraid that Matthew Gray was going to like how that woman looked. Like it a lot.
“So where should we go for fake wedding rings?” Matthew asked as they walked up Bridge Avenue, Mia carrying their wigs in a shopping bag. They’d stopped in Vision Today for nonprescription eyeglasses and had walked out with a pair of horn-rims for Matthew and trendy black frames for Mia.
“Charm machines outside the supermarket?” Mia suggested. “I have no idea.”
“Do charm machines really sell rings?” he asked.
She shrugged. “They did when I was a kid. But maybe they were made out of candy.” She smiled. “I loved those rings. You could wear them all day and have a treat whenever you wanted.”
He smiled. “There’s a supermarket a few blocks up with some charm machines out front. Let’s look. Maybe we’ll find you a candy ring, too.”
They walked in silence, and Matthew wondered what she was thinking. He imagined it would be as weird for her to wear a ring on her left hand as it would be for him.
They stopped in front of the row of charm machines full of different kinds of candy and tiny toys.
“I don’t think these mood rings will fool our killer,” Mia said, chuckling at the colorful, large rings in one of the machines.
“Ah, here are your edible candy rings,” Matthew said. “Let’s get a couple. We’ll each have a memento, something for us to remember the other by—”
What an idiot he was. What a complete idiot.
He glanced at Mia. She stared straight ahead, her expression tight.
“I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “Why don’t we try a large drugstore. Sometimes they have a costume jewelry counter.”
The candy rings avoided, they went into Reid’s Pharmacy a few stores over from the supermarket, and there, wedged between the sunglasses rack and the disposable cameras was a display of cheap jewelry: bracelets, necklaces, rings, earrings.
“These almost look real,” Mia commented as she fingered a pair of diamond stud earrings.
Matthew couldn’t imagine anything but the real thing, the most precious gems, adorning Mia’s body. Suddenly, the thought of a ring that would turn green in a few hours on her perfect finger seemed wrong.
But the real thing seemed really wrong.
Matthew put all thoughts of right and wrong jewelry out of his head. They were buying two cheap gold wedding bands as part of a disguise, that was all.
“These look okay,” he said, holding out a large and small version of the same gold band. “And only nine ninety-nine each. Who knew anything related to marriage was that inexpensive?”
“I lost almost everything in my divorce,” Mia said softly as she took the smaller ring and turned it over in her palm. “I did get the house, but my ex-husband had hated all my furniture and insisted on trashing it or selling it and moving in all of his things when we married. So when he moved out, I had an empty shell.”
“Was it like a fresh start?” he asked.
“I guess,” she said, biting her lip. “I like the place, but it’s never really felt like home. Maybe because I shared it with my ex for so long.”
“I’ve never lived with anyone,” Matthew said. “I can’t even imagine what it would be like to share my home with someone.”
Her expression turned wistful. “It can be really nice when you’re in love.”
“I suppose,” he replied, slipping the ring on his finger to test the size. “Wouldn’t know what that’s like either.”
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