was very much Robert’s domain—but she was always struck by how incredibly neat it was. It was an aspect of his personality that she found contrasted sharply with the real man. In his daily life and his personal appearance, Robert was always slightly dishevelled, slightly scattered. She’d once thought it was part of his charm. He’d turned up on a date more than once wearing odd socks, and he still had the boyhood habit of incorrectly buttoning his jacket. Lately however—even before she’d become suspicious—she’d been aware that he’d started taking care of his appearance. She’d noticed some new shirts with strong vertical stripes in the closet, along with a couple of new silk ties in bright primary colors to match them. A sharply styled new suit in a dark, Italian wool-silk mix had appeared behind his row of classic Brooks Brothers suits. She remembered the brand: Forzieri. It had sounded so pretentious, and when she had looked it up online later, she discovered that it was. Since when did her husband invest in luxury Italian suits? When she had first met him, his idea of dressing up had been wearing a blazer from the Gap. Recently, he had started getting regular haircuts. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d sat on the edge of the bath while she trimmed his hair with her sewing scissors.
When had these changes started? And why hadn’t she given them a second thought when she first noticed them? Perhaps, because she just hadn’t been paying attention. Or was it that she wasn’t interested?
Kathy stood in the center of the room and looked around. She was looking for something. She just didn’t know what she was looking for. She’d know it when she saw it: It would be another red flag item.
She started with the papers on his desk. A neat pile was stacked in a wire basket to the left of his computer. She knew from experience that he’d notice anything out of place, so she’d have to take care to leave everything exactly as she found it. She turned the basket upside down, emptying all the papers onto the desk, facedown. Then, she went through them, one by one, replacing them in the wire basket, right side up.
Invitation to a product launch . . . letter from a client . . . art student looking for a job . . . Visa bill . . . invoice from a secretarial agency . . . speeding ticket . . .
Kathy stopped. Robert had never said anything to her about getting a speeding ticket. It was a hundred and fifty dollar ticket issued in Jamaica Plain last October 31, at 11:12 p.m. He had been going forty-five miles an hour in a twenty-five mile an hour zone. She sighed as she put the ticket back into the basket; that was an expensive ticket. And it was going to bump up their insurance even more. She knew why he hadn’t said anything to her about it. Like most men, he was incredibly vain about anything related to his driving and probably felt embarrassed.
The next sheet of paper was a complaint from Tony O’Connor. Now there was a name from the past. She remembered Tony. He’d been one of their first clients. He had a number of small carpet and tile shops scattered across Massachusetts and employed R&K to do his deliberately cheesy advertisements. Tony insisted on being the star of his own commercials, and his over-the-top, hard-sell delivery had made him a local celebrity. Despite R&K’s commercials helping to nearly triple his profits, Tony always complained, even when he’d signed off and approved an ad. Some things never changed. Shaking her head, she put Tony’s letter in the basket on top of the speeding ticket.
And stopped.
Something cold settled into the pit of her stomach. She picked up the ticket and looked at it again. October 31. Halloween. She remembered last Halloween because there had been some trouble in the neighborhood. A group of older boys, whom Brendan sometimes hung out with, had gotten some unbelievably powerful fireworks and had set them off into the early hours of the morning. Fireworks
Learning to Kill: Stories