“This has been so much fun,” Vera said, giggling as she gathered her things to leave. “But I really have to scoot now. We should do this more often. Especially the wine part!” She took a five-dollar bill from her billfold, but Colleen waved the money away. “My treat, remember?”

“Okay,” Vera said, rising. “Have a great weekend. See you Monday.”

Her bus to Atlanta wasn’t leaving until seven-thirty. Colleen ordered another glass of Chablis, gulped it down and paid again with her credit card. Then she went into the ladies’ room and changed into the tight-fitting new designer jeans and platform heels. She pulled a floppy-brimmed straw hat from her pocketbook and tucked her long hair beneath it. At the last minute, she took off her bra and put it in her pocketbook, enjoying the sensation of the silky fabric against her bare breasts, as well as the thought that Allen would have been apoplectic about her walking around braless in public.

When she got to the orange Camaro she unlocked the trunk and removed the train case, flipping the lid just to make sure her runaway money, as she’d come to think of it, was intact. All was well. She folded the new dress, still in the shopping bag, on top of the cash. She opened the driver’s-side door and placed the clothes she’d been wearing, including her bra and pantyhose, carefully folded, on the bucket seat. She tossed the shoes she’d worn onto the floor and thought for a moment. And then she had a flash of genius.

Allen enjoyed inflicting pain, so maybe she’d hurt him a little, as a parting gesture. She took the nail scissors she always carried and carefully punctured the tip of her right index finger, squeezing with her left hand, spattering droplets of blood onto her clothes and the seat, even smearing some on the steering wheel. For good measure, she slashed the pantyhose and bra, smearing blood on them too. All in all, it made for a ghastly little crime scene. It also made her a little light-headed, so she sat in the Camaro for a good ten minutes, waiting to regain her equilibrium.

When she emerged from the parking deck onto Second Avenue, she donned a pair of oversize Jackie O sunglasses and set off down the street, swinging the train case. With each swaggering step she took her mood lightened.

Colleen was standing at the corner, waiting for the light to turn, when a car pulled up to the curb. She heard a voice call her name, and when she glanced over, found she was staring down the barrel of a gun. “Get in,” the voice said.

49

The Gulf Vista security guard, who was so young it appeared he might have bought his uniform and badge at Toys “R” Us, had difficulty opening the sliding-glass door in Room 133, outside of which Drue was gloomily perched on a cheap plastic chair.