“I want to tell you a little about what I’ve been up to,” he finally said. Until then, everything had been about her.

“I want to hear all about it, sweetie. Only I can’t leave the kid too late back at my hotel. The nanny threatens to quit.”

Now that he remembered, Tracey was kind of a selfish bitch most of the time.

“Does anybody know about the two of us tonight?” he asked.

“No. Duh. So what are you up to? Something big, of course. You’re due.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a mystery thing. It’s big, all right. Really different though. Nothing anything like it before. I’m writing the story myself. The story of stories.”

“Wow, that’s great. You’re writing it yourself, huh?”

“Yeah. You know those murders in L.A.? Mary Smith?”

She knew a little but not everything, since she’d been up in Vancouver for four weeks, so he quickly filled her in.

“You bought the rights? Wow! That’s great. And what, you want me to produce?”

He shook his head in disbelief.

“From who, Tracey? Who would I buy the rights from?”

“Oh, right. Well, so what’s the deal then?”

“So I can talk to you? Really talk?”

“Of course you can talk to me. Tell me your big idea, your story. I love thrillers.”

This is it. Go or no-go? What is it going to be?

“I planned those murders, Tracey. I’m Mary.” Wow. It was out. Just like that. I’m Mary. Holy shit!

She looked at him real funny, funny peculiar, and suddenly he knew this had been a very bad idea, and old Tracey wasn’t the crazy one—he was. He’d just blown his whole deal. And for what? To let off a little steam with an old girlfriend? To vent? Confess?

She was staring at him as if he had two heads, at least that many. “Come again? What are you saying?”

He laughed, faked it the best he could, anyway.

“It’s a joke, Trace. We’re high; I made a joke. Hey, let me give you a ride home. You’ve got the kid at your hotel, the nanny and whatever. I hear you. And you’re a good mommy, right?”

Chapter 57

Chapter 57

THEY DIDN’T TALK MUCH IN THE CAR, so he knew how big a mistake he’d made, and now he wondered if he’d made other mistakes along the way. Maybe important ones that would get him caught. Like way back in New York City. The movie-theater shootings.

He finally spoke. “I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, you know.”

She muttered, “Sure. I hear you.”

Man, she was making him paranoid, and a little nuts, actually. They’d been friends for a long time, though. “So how old is the kid now?”

“Uhmmm, four and a half. He’s great. Stefan.”