Now . . . the test! Why did she kill the sister? If you answer correctly, then you think like a psychopath.

The Storyteller did, of course. He figured it out immediately. This woman killed her sister . . . because she was hoping the guy she liked would appear at the funeral.

Anyway, after he killed Marti Lowenstein-Bell, he was high as a kite, but he knew he had to stay in control, more or less anyway. He had to keep up appearances.

So he hustled on back to work.

He roamed the halls of the office building in Pasadena and talked to half a dozen coworkers about things that bored the living shit out of him, especially today. He wanted to tell every one of them what had just happened—about his secret life, about how none of them got him at all, about how smart and clever he was, and about what an incredible planner, schemer, and killer he was.

Jesus, how they loved to toss that word around—so and so was a killer, this one had a killer smile, a killer act, but it was all such incredible bullshit.

All of these people were wimps. They didn’t know what real killing was all about. But he sure did.

And he knew something else—he liked it a lot, even more than he thought he would. And he was good at it.

He had this sudden urge to pull his gun at the office and start shooting everything that moved, squeaked, or squealed.

But hell, that was just a fantasy, a little harmless daydreaming. It would never measure up to the real story, his story, Mary’s story, which was so much better.

Chapter 28

Chapter 28

“ALEX, YOUR OFFICE AT THE FBI called so many times, I had to stop answering the phone. Good Lord, what is wrong with those people?” My great aunt Tia was holding forth at the kitchen table at home, admiring the colorful scarf we had brought her as thanks for house-sitting while we were in California. Nana sat next to Tia, sorting through a thick stack of mail.

Our cat, Rosie, was in the kitchen, and looked a bit heavier if I wasn’t mistaken. She rubbed hard up against my legs, as if to say, I’m mad you left, but I’m glad you’re back. Tia sure is a fine cook.

I was glad to be back, too. I think we all were. Christine’s taking Alex away to Seattle had more or less ended our vacation, at least the joy in it. My one conversation with her had been tense and also sad. She and I were both so controlled, so intent on not losing our temper, that we ended up with almost nothing to say.