Dear Killer Read Free Page B

a smile. I looked at her, even more confused than before.
    “You’re inviting the police to our house ?”
    “Don’t sound so stunned. He’s a nice man. He’s—he’s the man unofficially in charge of the Perfect Killer case.”
    I gaped.
    “And you’ve just invited him over?”
    “I went to a cocktail party the other day, since your dad couldn’t make it. Went in his place, you know. He was there. We got to talking, and I figured that we should have him over for dinner.”
    “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
    She looked up from the table and met my eyes pointedly.
    “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, Kit.”
    Such a cliché.
    The doorbell rang, chiming like a music box.
    “And that’s him!” my mom exclaimed happily. “I’ll get the door, you wait here. Actually, you can start serving the food. It’s in the warmer. Relax, Kit. It’ll be fine.”
    She bombed off toward the door as I looked blankly after her. I tensed. Relax. That was easy for her to say. Her days as a murderer were over, and she hadn’t killed as much as me or been as famous as me.
    I heard the door open and then muffled voices.
    And now the man who was in charge of hunting me down was in my house.
    I walked quietly over to the warmer and pulled out the steak and mashed potatoes my mom had made. I picked up a set of tongs. I put a steak on each of the three plates my mom had set out, and then ladled mashed potatoes onto each. Step by step, methodical. I listened to the voices in the hallway, trying to hear what they were saying. But I couldn’t. The voices grew louder, and I strained to hear them even more, but still, no luck. I walked over to the mahogany table and put the dishes down crookedly; I was distracted now and couldn’t be bothered to straighten them. I turned around.
    And he was walking into the kitchen.
    He was young. Younger than I had expected. Much younger, in fact. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five or thirty. I remembered that my mom had said he was only unofficially in charge of the investigation. He looked like the law, through and through. Order personified.
    Tallish, with light-brown hair and hazel eyes that were cold and steely and a little bit angry, if a little young. But he was smiling. And also, strangely, he had a bit of a studious feel to him, as if he were a professor or some other scholar. Not in the eyes so much, but in the cut of his jaw, and in the way he held his shoulders. His posture was remarkably graceful. He was slim and wiry, but I could see quiet strength in the way he stood—he was vaguely catlike. He was wearing gray slacks and a white-collared shirt, as if he had just come out of a meeting and had taken off his tie and jacket, and his thumbs were hooked in his pants pockets.
    He was attractive. Surprisingly so.
    Not that it particularly mattered, I reminded myself. He was the enemy.
    I felt uncomfortable. Not afraid, exactly, because I knew he wouldn’t suspect me, but definitely very uncomfortable. As if I were standing beneath an air vent that was too cold or too hot. He and my mom stopped near the doorway to the kitchen.
    I forced myself to smile pleasantly, trying to make myself look a little dull around the edges. No one suspected stupid people.
    “Alex, this is my daughter,” my mom said energetically, gesturing to me.
    “Hello. I’m Kit,” I chirped, adding a silly giggle to the end of my name. He looked in my direction and smiled patronizingly.
    “I’m Alex. Nice to meet you,” he said.
    “I heard you’re an inspector.”
    My mom’s eyes narrowed with amusement. I suppose it was funny for her, seeing me wear this mask of innocence and stupidity.
    “I’m still just a sergeant,” he replied flatly.
    “Oh, but aren’t you, you know, in charge of investigating that murder? Or murders, whatever?”
    And now my mom was stifling laughter, biting her lower lip until it hurt, trying to keep a straight face. Alex glanced down at the ground, and I