Page 68 of Mr. Perfect

“That’s good,” Shelley said. “The last thing you want is another broken engagement.”

She could have gone all day without mentioning Jaine’s miserable track record, but then Shelley had never been noted for her tact. On the other hand, Jaine had never doubted that her sister loved her, which made up for a lot of tactlessness.

The phone rang. Jaine removed the cucumber slices and reached for the cordless at the same time Shelley did. “Sam said for me to answer the phone,” Shelley hissed, as if whoever was calling could hear her.

Ring.

“Since when do you take orders from someone you just warned me against?” Jaine asked dryly.

Ring.

“I didn’t exactly warn—”

Ring.

Knowing the mini-argument could go on for half an hour, Jaine punched the “talk” button before the answering machine could pick up. “Hello.”

“Which one are you?”

“What?” she asked in astonishment.

“Which one are you?”

She disconnected and set the phone down, frowning.

“Who was it?” Shelley asked.

“A crank call. Marci, T.J., and Luna have been getting them since the List came out.” Her voice caught a little when she mentioned Marci. “It’s the same guy, he always says the same thing.”

“Have you reported to the phone company that you’re getting obscene calls?”

“They aren’t obscene. He says, ‘Which one are you?’ in this weird whisper. I guess it’s a guy, because it’s hard to tell when someone’s whispering.”

Shelley rolled her eyes. “A crank call about the List? You can bet it’s a guy. Al says all the guys at work have been really ticked off about parts of it. I’ll let you guess which parts they don’t like.”

“The parts having to do with their parts?” As if she had to guess.

“Men are so predictable, aren’t they?” Shelley moved around the kitchen, opening drawers and doors.

“What are you doing?”

“Finding out where everything is so I won’t have to look for anything when I start cooking.”

“You’re cooking? What?” For a slightly disjointed moment, Jaine wondered if Shelley had brought over the ingredients of whatever she planned to cook for her family’s supper that night. After all, she had pulled a gigantic cucumber out of her purse; God only knew what else was in there. A roast, maybe?

“Breakfast,” Shelley said. “For us. And you’re going to eat it, too.”

Actually, Jaine was hungry this morning, having skipped supper the night before. Did Shelley think she was crazy? No way was she going to argue with food. “I’ll try,” she said meekly, and replaced the cucumber slices on her eyes while her sister bustled around preparing made-from-scratch pancakes.

Corin sat staring at the phone, feeling his disappointment wash through him in waves. She hadn’t told, either. At least she hadn’t snapped at him the way the others had. He had thought she would, had prepared himself for whatever she might say. She had a big mouth on her, as his mother would have said. He often disapproved of the way she talked at work, with all that cursing. His mother wouldn’t have liked her at all.

He didn’t know what to do now. Killing the first bitch had been… so overwhelming. He hadn’t expected that wild, hot rush of joy, almost of ecstasy. He had gloried in it, but afterward he had been frightened. What would Mother do if she knew he enjoyed it? He had always been so afraid she would find out his secret pleasure at her punishments.

But the killing … oh, the killing. He closed his eyes, swaying back and forth a little as he relived every moment of it in his mind. The shock in the bitch’s eyes that split second before the hammer hit her, the sodden thudding sounds, then the joy that leapt through his veins and the feeling of being all-powerful, of knowing she was helpless to stop him because he was so strong—Tears welled into his eyes, because he had enjoyed it so much and now it was over.

He hadn’t enjoyed anything so much since the day he had killed Mother.