Read Online Killing Katie (An Affair With Murder) (Volume 1) by B.A. Spangler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: B.A. Spangler
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driveway and tried to peer through the front window to see if Steve’s silhouette was there, waiting for me.
Is it too soon to say that I was shopping for the holidays? I wondered.
I could tell him that I’d lost track of time browsing in one of the newly opened boutique stores off Main Street. He knew that I wasn’t much for browsing in stores, but it was the next best excuse that I could come up with. And I could also tell him how lunch with Katie had gone over on account of her news that Jerry was having an affair. I shook my head. I was never late. I never lost track of time. Some of this was my fault. On the other hand, it could be a good first step toward my other plan. I suppose that I had set a precedent and was now obligated to be on time.
That’s just going to have to change , I considered. Not that it will help me right now.
The round handle to our front door felt as cold as the night air—it sent a chill into me. My stomach felt sour, twisting from the nerves that came with lying. I dreaded the idea of not being truthful with Steve. I held the door handle another moment but didn’t turn it. During my entire drive home, I’d missed something important.
An epiphany .
Soon, there was going to come a time that I was going to have to lie. With murder, I was going to have to start lying to everyone to cover up my work.
This is practice , I told myself as I turned the knob.
As I walked through our front door, the familiar smells of home hit me. Someone had been cooking too, and with the pang of hunger, I realized that I was famished. Steve’s mother was an excellent cook; the smell of tomato sauce and pasta filled our kitchen. Any minute, I was sure to see Snacks racing up to greet me, red sauce covering her front and a tangle of hair bouncing with each step. I’d laugh, loving every second of it.
Steve said nothing as he hurried around the kitchen cleaning up. A heavy blanket of silence sat between us, raising the tension to a nearly unbearable level. I put my things down, plopping them on the table loud enough to be heard, but he ignored me. Normally, I’d try to turn this around, act mad about something unrelated, but I needed the practice. I had to learn how to lie to my husband.
“I’m sorry that I’m late,” I started, having rehearsed my apology multiple times now. “Katie and I had a few drinks with lunch and I needed to walk off the buzz. I just lost track of time.” Not sure where that came from, but I thought it sounded good.
Steve slowed his movements over the sink, then turned the water off and faced me. He didn’t look mad—that is, he didn’t look at all like I imagined he would. During our marriage, I’ve seen Steve get angry, and the memory of those times scared me. He looked concerned instead.
“You didn’t think to text and let my mom know?” Anxious guilt took a hard bite at my gut. I shrugged a shoulder and slowly shook my head. “My mom called me. You’re never late. She wanted to call the hospitals. Where were you all that time?”
“The library,” I answered. His expression went blank. The words were out of my mouth before I could catch them.
Did I not understand how lying even worked?
Steve said nothing. I feared that even the truth was hard for him to believe.
“The library is down the street from the café, and I just needed a place to sit until I felt okay to drive. I picked up a book and got lost in it.”
“A text message?”
“The roof,” I answered, adding some truth to my story. “Phone didn’t work inside the library.”
“I had to leave work early to come home and help,” he said. The words stung like a bee. This was a slip, a bad slip, bringing up something that he knew I was already sensitive about. “My mom couldn’t stay, so I came home to take care of the kids.”
“Oh . . . and is that such a bad thing?” I exclaimed, raising my voice. He did work a lot of hours, and I understood the type of career he had as a police
Is it too soon to say that I was shopping for the holidays? I wondered.
I could tell him that I’d lost track of time browsing in one of the newly opened boutique stores off Main Street. He knew that I wasn’t much for browsing in stores, but it was the next best excuse that I could come up with. And I could also tell him how lunch with Katie had gone over on account of her news that Jerry was having an affair. I shook my head. I was never late. I never lost track of time. Some of this was my fault. On the other hand, it could be a good first step toward my other plan. I suppose that I had set a precedent and was now obligated to be on time.
That’s just going to have to change , I considered. Not that it will help me right now.
The round handle to our front door felt as cold as the night air—it sent a chill into me. My stomach felt sour, twisting from the nerves that came with lying. I dreaded the idea of not being truthful with Steve. I held the door handle another moment but didn’t turn it. During my entire drive home, I’d missed something important.
An epiphany .
Soon, there was going to come a time that I was going to have to lie. With murder, I was going to have to start lying to everyone to cover up my work.
This is practice , I told myself as I turned the knob.
As I walked through our front door, the familiar smells of home hit me. Someone had been cooking too, and with the pang of hunger, I realized that I was famished. Steve’s mother was an excellent cook; the smell of tomato sauce and pasta filled our kitchen. Any minute, I was sure to see Snacks racing up to greet me, red sauce covering her front and a tangle of hair bouncing with each step. I’d laugh, loving every second of it.
Steve said nothing as he hurried around the kitchen cleaning up. A heavy blanket of silence sat between us, raising the tension to a nearly unbearable level. I put my things down, plopping them on the table loud enough to be heard, but he ignored me. Normally, I’d try to turn this around, act mad about something unrelated, but I needed the practice. I had to learn how to lie to my husband.
“I’m sorry that I’m late,” I started, having rehearsed my apology multiple times now. “Katie and I had a few drinks with lunch and I needed to walk off the buzz. I just lost track of time.” Not sure where that came from, but I thought it sounded good.
Steve slowed his movements over the sink, then turned the water off and faced me. He didn’t look mad—that is, he didn’t look at all like I imagined he would. During our marriage, I’ve seen Steve get angry, and the memory of those times scared me. He looked concerned instead.
“You didn’t think to text and let my mom know?” Anxious guilt took a hard bite at my gut. I shrugged a shoulder and slowly shook my head. “My mom called me. You’re never late. She wanted to call the hospitals. Where were you all that time?”
“The library,” I answered. His expression went blank. The words were out of my mouth before I could catch them.
Did I not understand how lying even worked?
Steve said nothing. I feared that even the truth was hard for him to believe.
“The library is down the street from the café, and I just needed a place to sit until I felt okay to drive. I picked up a book and got lost in it.”
“A text message?”
“The roof,” I answered, adding some truth to my story. “Phone didn’t work inside the library.”
“I had to leave work early to come home and help,” he said. The words stung like a bee. This was a slip, a bad slip, bringing up something that he knew I was already sensitive about. “My mom couldn’t stay, so I came home to take care of the kids.”
“Oh . . . and is that such a bad thing?” I exclaimed, raising my voice. He did work a lot of hours, and I understood the type of career he had as a police
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