Dead Certain by Mariah Stewart Page B

tire a time or two.
    “That was mature,” she muttered, and went to the rear of the car. Opening the trunk, she checked for her spare tire. “Great. A doughnut. My tire goes flat and all I have to replace it with is a doughnut. . . .”
    Rooting around, she found the tool kit that came with the car. She removed the spare tire and rolled it to the front of the car. “Might as well get this over with . . .”
    “Do you need a hand there?” The voice seemed to come from nowhere.
    Amanda jumped, her fingers tightening around the tire iron. “No, thank you. I can take care of this.”
    “Hey, I don’t mind.” The man stepped from around the side of the pickup parked next to her car. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t have to change her own tire. Chivalry ain’t exactly dead, you know.”
    “Thanks anyway, but I really can do this for myself.” She turned away and returned to the task at hand.
    “Okay. Just trying to be friendly here.”
    “I appreciate the offer,” she said, barely looking at him, “but really, I don’t need help. But thank you. It was nice of you to offer.”
    “Hey, anytime,” he said somewhat sourly, as if he felt he’d been rudely rebuffed.
    A minute later, Amanda heard the pickup roll off, and she slid the jack under her car, her would-be Samaritan already forgotten.

CHAPTER
EIGHT
    Vince lay back on the bed in his rented room and tried to organize his thoughts. He had a lot on his mind tonight and needed to make sure he had it all straight. He’d had a busy day.
    He’d made his first contact with both of his intended victims. He’d only meant to check up on that Marian O’Connor, the one Archer had called the “antiques lady with the big mouth.” She’d been the one who’d called the police that night when Archer had had to teach Amanda who wore the pants in their relationship.
    Vince snickered out loud.
    Like anyone in their right mind would believe that a woman like Amanda Crosby would be in a relationship with Archer Lowell. Vince had seen her up close and had known right away that she was classy and smart. How deluded would you have to be to really think that a quality broad like her would look twice at a moron like Lowell? Well, that pretty much said it all about Archer, didn’t it?
    However, a deal was still a deal, no matter how stupid one of the parties might be. Vince wasn’t about to go back on his word just because he was beginning to realize just how nuts Lowell really was. That would hardly be fair. If nothing else, he owed it to Curt Channing—a real stand-up guy, in Vince’s book—to keep the game going. Vince never lost sight of the fact that if he took care of his piece, then Archer, once out of prison, would be obligated to take care of Channing’s. That was the way it was going to be. A new twist on the old eye for an eye thing.
    Marian O’Connor would be easy to take out. She was alone in her shop all day, every day, from nine or earlier in the morning till she opened at ten, then later, from when she closed at six to maybe seven, when she actually left. And she wasn’t physically strong. He’d watched her struggle with a box that the smaller Amanda had carried effortlessly. Easy enough to set this up, once he decided on a method.
    A glance at the clock reminded him that he had just an hour or so to shower, dress, and pick up Dolores at her apartment. Over the past week, they’d become friends over beers and conversation down at the Dew Drop, just as he’d planned. Tonight would be their first real date. Dinner and a movie. And he had even bigger plans for Miss Dolores. Oh, yes, he certainly did.
    Grinning to himself, he went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He had those plans already mapped out. Dinner tonight would be just the beginning. He had to let her see that he was a class guy, a gentleman. He had her figured out, all right. He’d had from the minute he first laid eyes on her. He might not be a genius, but he could read women