214 Palmer Street(22)



By the time they’d been married nearly two years I felt a responsibility. Someone needed to shake Sarah. Someone needed to wake this woman up.

The first time I left a note in their mailbox it was done on impulse. I waited until the street was quiet and no one else was in sight, then slipped the envelope inside and drove off quickly, trying not to speed. I knew there might be hidden security cameras in the area, but I didn’t care. I imagined Kirk opening the envelope and reading my message, knowing that I knew what he’d done and that he wasn’t off the hook. Let him sweat. I didn’t even care if he guessed it was me.

Later at home I waited for the knock on the door. The one you see in movies when the police come to call and they take the suspect away in handcuffs. It never happened, which was both a relief and a bit of a letdown. Over the next week or so I looked to see if it came up under the police reports in the local paper. It never did.

At first, the lack of response infuriated me. Had I been ignored? And then it emboldened me. I continued keeping watch and eventually left three more notes. All of them anonymous, of course. I was making a point, not trying to get myself in trouble.

When I drove downtown one day and saw a dead rat by the side of the road, it called to me. An opportunity to do something truly shocking. I picked it up using a plastic bag and threw it in the trunk. That time I waited until after dark to visit the Adens, dumping the rodent corpse on the porch and running like hell back to my car, which was parked down the block.

I waited for something. A phone call from Kirk, where I’d get a chance to either deny it was me or defend my actions. I wanted to hear raw emotion in his voice; whether it was terror or anger was up to him. Or perhaps I’d see Sarah packing her bags and leaving. That would serve him right. But nothing. Another day went by and then two and three. The Adens continued to be a good-looking, happy, and rich family, all of which was missing at my house.

And then Sarah began seeing another man on the sly.

I didn’t know what to think. The guy drove a dinged-up Ford Focus with a plastic hula girl suctioned to the dashboard, so he was as far from Kirk Aden as a man could be. At first, I thought it was an affair, but their outings said otherwise. Each time he parked around the corner and she exited the house through the patio door on the side of the house, cutting through the neighbor’s yard to meet him. Why the subterfuge? My guess is that she was evading a security camera.

The first time this happened he drove her to City Hall, where she went inside while he waited in the car, windows open, tapping on the dashboard to the beat of 90s pop music. She returned with a smile. I watched as she flung open the door and scooted inside, as happy as a teenager escaping her parents for the night. Something good had happened.

Another time, he picked her up and the two of them drove around my old neighborhood, lingering in front of Kirk Aden’s childhood home. “What are you up to, Mrs. Aden?” I mused aloud, my hands gripping the steering wheel.

My curiosity was at an all-time high, so after he’d dropped her off near her house, I followed him, back to a place called Body Mechanics Physical Therapy, a place where I’d seen Kirk drive Sarah on numerous occasions after her regrettable injury. Later, I looked at their website and matched his face to one of the therapists. Phil Schaefer. According to the reviews online his clients loved him and it seemed like Sarah was no exception. My guess? Kirk didn’t know they were friends. She also didn’t want Kirk to know about these outings, which made me curious.

She was up to something.

Maybe there was more to Sarah than I’d thought.





FIFTEEN





THEN





When Kirk announced he was going to a two-day convention in Chicago, Sarah thought it was a good opportunity to tell him about her own Chicago-related plans. “I ran into Phil the physical therapist this afternoon when I stopped for a coffee,” she said.

Before she could finish, Kirk had said, “Oh no, not that guy. I hope you didn’t get stuck talking to him.”

“Actually, we sat and talked for quite a while and I really enjoyed his company. Turns out we were both art history majors at one point.”

“Sounds about right,” Kirk said and then launched into the details of his trip to the Chicago Auto Show. The opening to tell him about the Art Institute was gone, overridden by his plans. “My mom was hoping to spend some time with you, if you’re agreeable.” Her guess was that he was nervous about leaving her alone for two days. “If you don’t want me to go, I can cancel.”

“No, you should go,” she said, giving him a smile. “You’ll have fun, and I’ll be fine.”

Sarah’s mother-in-law had called it a girls’ day, which just meant that her father-in-law, Bert, was free to go golfing. She suspected that Kirk had asked his mother to keep her occupied while he was away, but she didn’t mind. Judy was easy company and at this point Sarah was feeling better. Not quite well enough to return to her job, but increasingly more restless at home. She wondered if she should try working part time, but Kirk didn’t think it was a good idea. “What’s the rush? You’re just now feeling more like yourself. Another week or two won’t make a difference.” He was rubbing her shoulders as he said it, which made it all the more convincing.

That morning Kirk had dropped her off at his parents’ house, getting out of the car only briefly to say hello to his mother and kiss Sarah goodbye. When Judy asked him to come in for a cup of coffee, he shook his head. “Chicago traffic is brutal in the morning. I need to leave now if I want to get there on time.”

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