Page 7 of Little Twisted Things

I was straightening one of the paintings when the bell about the gallery door chimed. A woman in her late forties stepped inside, wearing linen pants, oversized sunglasses, and a Louis Vuitton purse hanging on her shoulder.

“Good afternoon.” I smiled.

She slipped off her sunglasses and glanced around.

“I’m just looking.” Her tone was abrupt.

“Take your time.” I smiled and went back to straightening the painting.

She wandered around the gallery, looking at various pieces, and stopped in front of Eyes Without a Face. I watched as her head slightly tilted. She stayed that way for almost a minute. I walked over and stood next to her.

“Interesting piece of art,” I said.

“It makes me uncomfortable,” she replied, staring at the painting.

“Most people say that.” I smiled.

“And yet, I can’t stop looking at it. I’m not really sure what to make of it. I’ve been decorating our new home for three months and have bought beautiful paintings. But when I look at them, I don’t feel anything. But this one,” she pointed, “makes me feel something.”

“That’s what great art does,” I said. “It doesn’t tell you what to feel. It reveals something about yourself.”

“I’ll take it,” she said.

“You won’t regret it.” I smiled.

I removed the painting from the wall and took it behind the counter to wrap it. From the corner of my eye, I could see Tess watching. After the customer paid and took her new painting, Tess walked over and shook her head.

“I’ve had that painting for less than twenty-four hours, expecting it never to sell. What did you say to her to convince her to buy it?”

“I didn’t sell her a painting. I sold her a piece of herself.” I smiled.

Tess laughed. “Now I truly know that hiring you was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

If she only knew how I understood monsters better than most people.

4

Kris had told me that Kevin was scheduled to attend a history conference at NYU. The conference didn’t exist as I stared at the university’s calendar on my laptop, scrolling through every conference scheduled for this month. Nothing. No American Historical Society Conference listed anywhere. I called the hotel where Kris told me he was staying and disguised myself as one of the university's administrative assistants.

“I’m just confirming Professor Kevin Hadley’s reservation.”

“Yes, he is confirmed for three nights, two adults, in our honeymoon suite.”

I silently laughed. Alex had been right. Kevin wasn’t simply having an affair. He’d become careless. Comfortable. The way men always did when they were confident they were getting away with it.

Alex and I had Kris and Kevin over for dinner. I watched them. Studied them. Poor Kris deserved someone who looked at her the way she looked at her husband. She’d be better off without him. She’d be fine, especially once she found out he was seeing another woman. It was easy to clone his phone that night. I wasn’t surprised when he sat at my table, next to his wife, and texted his mistress.

“Excuse me. I have to respond to this text from the Dean at the university. It’s about a meeting tomorrow.”

He made a deadly mistake he didn’t yet know about. He told Alex, and Alex told me. And once I knew, I couldn’t unknow it. Ever since I’d found out, the whispers returned. The uneasiness. The fight to keep it under control.

“Walk away, Dahlia. Last warning.”

“Show me.”

“No.”

“I said, show me!”