Twisted: The Collected Short Stories of Jeffery Deaver

Pete noticed that Mo was starting to spend a lot of time on the phone and online. He tried to check the phone bills to see if she was calling Baltimore but she hid them or threw them out. He also tried to read her e-mails but found she'd changed her pass code. Pete's specialty was computers, though, and he easily broke into her account. But when he went to read her e-mails he found she'd deleted them all on the main server.

He was so furious he nearly smashed the computer.

Then, to Pete's dismay, Mo started inviting Doug to dinner at their house when he was in Westchester on company business. He was older than Mo and sort of heavy. Slick — slimy, in Pete's opinion. Those dinners were the worst… They'd all three sit at the dinner table and Doug would try to charm Pete and ask him about computers and sports and the things that Mo obviously had told Doug that Pete was into. But it was awkward and you could tell he didn't give a damn about Pete. He kept glancing at Mo when he thought Pete wasn't looking.

By then Pete was checking up on Mo all the time. Sometimes he'd pretend to go to a game with some friends but he'd come home early and find that she was gone too. Then she'd get home at eight or nine and look all flustered, not expecting to find him, and she'd say she'd been working late even though she was just an office manager and hardly ever worked later than five before she met Doug. Once, when she claimed she was at the office, Pete called Doug's number in Baltimore and the message said he'd be out of town for a couple of days.

Everything was changing. Mo and Pete would have dinner together but it wasn't the same as it used to be. They didn't have picnics and they didn't take walks in the evenings. And they hardly ever sat together on the porch anymore and looked out at the fireflies and made plans for trips they'd wanted to take.

'I don't like him,' Pete said. 'Doug, I mean.'

'Oh, quit being so jealous. He's a good friend, that's all. He likes both of us.'

'No, he doesn't like me.'

'Of course he does. You don't have to worry.'

But Pete did worry and he worried even more when he found a Post-It note in her purse last month. It said, D.G. — Sunday, motel 2 p.m.

Doug's last name was Grant.

That Sunday morning Pete tried not to react when Mo said, 'I'm going out for a while, honey.'

'Where?'

'Shopping. I'll be back by five.'

He thought about asking her exactly where she was going but he didn't think that was a good idea. It might make her suspicious. So he said cheerfully, 'Okay, see you later.'

As soon as her car had pulled out of the driveway he'd started calling motels in the area and asking for Douglas Grant.

The clerk at the Westchester Motor Inn said, 'One minute, please. I'll connect you.'

Pete hung up fast.

He was at the motel in fifteen minutes and, yep, there was Mo's car parked in front of one of the doors. Pete snuck up close to the room. The shade was drawn and the lights were out but the window was partly open. Pete could hear bits of the conversation.

'I don't like that.'

'That…? ' she asked.

'That color. I want you to paint your nails red. It's sexy. I don't like that color you're wearing. What is it?'

'Peach.'

'I like bright red,' Doug said.

'Well, okay.'

There was some laughing. Then a long silence. Pete tried to look inside but he couldn't see anything. Finally, Mo said, 'We have to talk. About Pete.'

'He knows something,' Doug was saying. 'I know he does.'

'He's been like a damn spy lately,' she said, with that edge to her voice that Pete hated. 'Sometimes I'd like to strangle him.'

Pete closed his eyes when he heard Mo say this. Pressed the lids closed so hard he thought he might never open them again.

He heard the sound of a can opening. Beer, he guessed.

Doug said, 'So what if he finds out?'

'So what? I told you what having an affair does to alimony in this state? It eliminates it. We have to be careful. I've got a lifespan I'm accustomed to.'

'Then what should we do?' Doug asked.

'I've been thinking about it. I think you should do something with him.'

'Do something with him?' Doug had an edge to his voice too. 'Get him a one-way ticket…'

'Come on.'

'Okay, baby, sorry. But what do you mean by do something?'

'Get to know him.'

'You're kidding.'

'Prove to him you're just my boss.'

Doug laughed and said in a soft, low voice, 'Does that feel like I'm just a boss?'

She laughed too. 'Stop it. I'm trying to have a serious talk here.'

'So, what? We go to a ball game together?'

'No, it's got to be more than that. Ask him to come visit you.'

'Oh, that'd be fun.' With that same snotty tone that Mo sometimes used.

She continued, 'No, I like it. Ask us both to come down — maybe the weekend I'm having that shower for my niece. I won't be able to make it. Maybe he'll come by himself. You two hang out, paint the town. Pretend you've got a girlfriend or something.'

'He won't believe that.'

'Pete's only smart when it comes to computers and sports. He's stupid about everything else.'

Pete wrung his hands together. Nearly sprained a thumb — like the time he jammed his finger on the basketball court.

'That means I have to pretend I like him.'

'Yeah, that's exactly what it means. It's not going to kill you.'

'Pick another weekend. You come with him.'

'No,' she said. 'I'd have trouble keeping my hands off you.'

A pause. Then Doug said, 'Oh, hell, all right. I'll do it.'

Pete, crouching on a strip of yellow grass beside three discarded soda cans, shook with fury. It took all his willpower not to scream.

He hurried home, threw himself down on the couch in the office and turned on the game.

When Mo came home — which wasn't at five at all, like she promised, but at six-thirty — he pretended he'd fallen asleep.

That night he decided what he had to do. The next day he went to the bookstore and stole the copy of Triangle.

* * *

On Saturday Mo drove him to the airport.

'You two're going to have fun together?'

'You bet,' Pete said. He sounded cheerful because he was cheerful. 'We're gonna have a fine time.'

On the day of the murder, while his wife and her lover were sipping wine in a room at the Mountain View Lodge, Roy had lunch with a business associate. The man, who wished to remain anonymous, reported that Roy was in unusually good spirits. It seemed his depression had lifted and he was happy once more.

Fine, fine, fine…

Mo kissed him and then hugged him hard. He didn't kiss her back, though he did give her a hug, reminding