Thankless in Death (In Death #37)(42)

He’d have to think about that one. But for the meantime, he’d enjoy the big screen while he was “in residence.”

He cackled over his good luck when he discovered she not only had a jet tub, but a big, fancy shower, multijets.

Now, this was living.

He didn’t know dick about art or give a shit, but he thought, maybe, he could take a couple of the paintings to a gallery, spin a tale about his dead aunt Martha, and see if he could get some cash.

But his biggest discovery, and thrill, was the safe.

A good-sized one, built into the wall behind a painting of a dumbass farmhouse and a field of some farming shit.

An old safe, at least it looked old, with its classic combo lock. Probably been in the house for decades. Maybe more. And whatever was inside, now belonged to him.

Back in her bedroom, he dumped all her fat old lady clothes out of the closet and into bags. Maybe he could get something for them, but mostly he wanted them out. He dragged them, the stupid dog bed, the smelly basket of dog toys into another bedroom. Guest room, he imagined with its fussy lacy things and pictures of flowers.

She had an unexpected guest now.

He went back, changed out of his suit into new jeans, a designer T-shirt, and new skids. Work clothes, he thought, checking himself out in the mirror. He set out his things in the bathroom for later. The hair color, the trimmer, the face and body bronzer.

He’d wanted to go to a fancy salon, but he wasn’t an idiot. Anyway, he’d read instructions on the ’Net on how to do this makeover deal. He could pull it off, and later, he’d try that fancy salon to polish it all up. He just needed to look different, and to have that look for the new ID the old bat would help him create.

He knew just how to convince her.

He took out the pair of metal cutters, the meat cleaver he’d found in her kitchen—handy and full of potential—and a little, battery-operated hand drill.

That should do it for now, he thought, and strolled back into the office.

He smiled brilliantly when he saw her eyes open, terrified, confused. Bumped up the smile when those eyes landed on him, when he watched recognition—and then horror—bloom in them.

“Hi, Ms. Farnsworth! Remember me? You flunked me out of Comp Science—screwed up my life. We’re going to have ourselves a teacher-student conference.” For effect, he thwacked the meat cleaver into the desk. “Starting now.”

9

HE PULLED A CHAIR OVER SO THEY FACED each other, braced an ankle on his knee. “I had to take your stinking class over because you had it in for me. I got in-home detention for a month, stuck in there with my bitching, carping parents. You fed them lies when they came in for your student crisis meeting. You told them I was lazy and careless, how all I wanted to do was play comp games instead of learning the lame, stupid, worthless science. You cost me my f**king summer, all those weeks taking that class over when my friends were hanging. I couldn’t go to the shore.”

He lifted the nippers, studied them, smelled her fear sweat. “It was the worse summer of my life. My friends ragged on me every damn day, and I was stuck in class with losers just because you wanted to screw with me.”

He leaned forward, and though she tried to curl her fingers, keep them balled in a fist, he pried one out, fit the nippers over it. Smiled at her.

“I’m going to take the tape off so you can explain all this to me. Give me your side of it. If you scream, I’m going to snip this finger off at the knuckle. You got that?”

She nodded, her eyes glued to his as he pulled at one corner of the tape.

“One scream, one finger,” he warned and yanked the tape free.

She hissed in a breath at the rip on her skin, let it out in a tremble. “I won’t scream, Jerry.”

“Nobody’s going to hear you anyway, the way you’ve got this place closed up, but I don’t want to hear it.” He really wanted to tighten his hold on those nippers, feel the snip, watch her face when he did. But it occurred to him she might need her fingers to make the ID he wanted.

Still, she wouldn’t need her toes if it came to that. Slowly, he drew the nippers away, set them down.

“So, what’s your side of it, Ms. Farnsworth?” He put on an attentive face, and still couldn’t conceal the ugly glee in his eyes. “I’m really interested.”

“I wanted to help you. I did,” she insisted, when he picked up the nippers again. “I went about it the wrong way. I made a mistake.” She had to fight back tears of relief when he took his hand off the nippers, gave herself a moment, just a moment to gather herself. “I shouldn’t have been so hard on you.”

“You were on my case from day one.”

“You had such potential.” She wasn’t entirely sure that was a lie. She had seen potential. And utter laziness. But she’d tried so hard with him, had given him so many chances. For God’s sake, she’d worked with him one-on-one, assigned one of her best students as his lab partner.

“I couldn’t figure out how to mine that potential, how to reach you.” That was a lie, she thought. She’d been a good teacher, and she’d tried everything in her arsenal with Jerald Reinhold. He’d been one of her few failures because he hadn’t cared, he’d been consistently lazy, obviously ungrateful. “That was my failure. My fault.”

“You marked down my work.”