He’s ready to kill the bitch. The excitement of it makes him giddy, light-headed. As soon as she opens that door, shows off that pretty little Dolce & Gabbana dress, he’s going to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze until his thumbs meet his index fingers.
He knocks on her dressing room door. “You okay in there, honey?”
“Just a second. This isn’t the right kind of bra, I have to take it off. You really like this dress?”
“I have to see you in it.”
“I didn’t know you cared about fashion, Barry.”
Fuller grins, thinking about the corpse in the back of his SUV.
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, dear.”
Fuller wipes some sweat from his forehead, hands shaking. The store’s swamped with customers, and there’s no one chaperoning the dressing room. He’ll be able to kill his wife in less than thirty seconds, and then slip out before anyone knows what is happening. Remember to take her ring and tennis bracelet, he tells himself. Might not hurt to stop at the jewelry department on his way out and max his credit card on diamonds. He won’t get even half their value at the pawn shop, but he doesn’t plan on sticking around to pay the bill.
“You ready, honey?” Holly’s voice is like a dinner bell.
“I’m ready.”
“The shoes don’t match.”
“I don’t care. Let me in so I can look at you.”
The door opens. Fuller goes in.
Holly smiles at him, the same fake smile she gives photographers.
“What do you think?”
Fuller smiles back, full wattage, his eyes wide and the muscles in his neck stretched taut.
“I’ll show you what I think.”
He reaches for her neck.