A Noise Downstairs(54)

Paul wondered if he looked as stunned by Harold’s words as he felt.

“It was so much easier, honestly, than a divorce. So many times I considered asking her for one, but the thought of the process stopped me. The fights, the recriminations, the lawyers, the sleepless nights, the division of property. It’s endless. How easy it would be, to avoid all that, to just kill your spouse. But, of course, I’d never have done such a thing. I’d never even have contemplated it. But what Hoffman did, it makes me realize now, what a magnificent time saver murder is. There are times I wonder if I should write him a check.”

Paul couldn’t think of a follow-up question.

“Does that about take care of it?” Foster asked. When Paul said nothing, the man unlocked his car, got in, and started the engine.

Paul was still standing there as Foster drove out.

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PAUL REALIZED, AS HE TURNED ONTO HIS STREET, THAT CHARLOTTE’S car was directly in front. She hit her blinker, turned into their driveway, and he drove in right behind her. They each got out of their cars at the same moment.

“Hey,” Charlotte said, walking toward him.

“Hey,” he said.

She approached him tentatively, eyes down, the way a girl might act if she were asking a boy to dance. But it wasn’t shyness. She appeared almost fearful.

“There’s something I want to tell you I did, because I don’t want you finding out on your own and getting angry, wondering why I didn’t tell you.”

“What are you talking about?” he said worriedly.

She looked him in the eye. “I went to see Dr. White.”

Paul said nothing.

“I’m just so worried about you, Paul,” she said. “You’re scaring me half to death. I’m not sorry I went to see her. I don’t care how mad you get. I had to talk to her.”

Paul wasn’t angry. He put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s okay.” He paused. “What did she say?”

Charlotte, eyes brimming with tears, said, “What could she say? She’s not allowed to say anything. You’re her patient. I’m not.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I don’t know what’s happening with you. You assaulted a man! You come home, then you take off. I don’t know where you’re going, who you’re going to see. You think you feel like you’re losing your mind? Well guess what? Me, too.”

He tried to pull her into his arms, but she resisted. When he pulled a little harder, she allowed him to hold her.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I need you to listen to me,” she said. “I want you to get help. You have to promise me that if Dr. White can’t help you, you’ll see someone else. You’ll get to the bottom of all this. You’ll find out why you’re . . . why you’re doing the things you’re doing.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do. I’ve been out all day, talking to people.”

“What people?”

Paul told her, prompting a concerned sigh.

“Do you really think that’s the best thing to do? Getting all those people involved. I mean, the more people you talk to, the more people who are going to think you’re—”

She stopped herself.

“The more people who are going to think I’m what?”

“Nothing.”

“Crazy? The more people are going to think I’m crazy? Is that what you wanted to say?”

“That’s not what—I can’t take any more. I just can’t.”

She turned. Her keys were still in her hand, and she used them to unlock the front door. She went in, closed the door behind her, leaving Paul standing there in the driveway.

I’m losing her, he thought. If she doesn’t believe me, where am I?

Without Charlotte’s support, he wasn’t sure he had the strength to get through this. Whatever this was.

The front door reopened. Charlotte stood there, crying.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “What is it?”

“It’s not funny anymore, Paul,” she said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why are you doing this? Why are you doing this to me?”

“Charlotte, what are you talking about?”

She pointed a finger over her shoulder. Paul ran past her and into the house, taking the steps up to the kitchen two at a time. When he reached the top, he froze.

The kitchen floor was littered with paper.

Single sheets. The same kind of paper that was loaded into his printer. At a glance, twenty, maybe thirty sheets. Scattered all over the room.

A line typed on each one.

Paul bent over, started grabbing the sheets, one by one. Reading them. He tried to keep his hands from shaking, but each page in his hands was like a leaf in a windstorm.


Blood everywhere

Laughter as we screamed

What did we do to deserve this?

We were unfaithful but that shouldn’t be a death sentence Paul lifted his gaze from the clutch of pages in his hand and looked toward the study door.

The Underwood, without a sheet of paper in it, stared back at him.

Paul felt himself being watched and turned to see Charlotte standing at the top of the stairs.

“Just tell me the truth,” she said. “Is it you?”