Killing Me Softly (#Wattys2016)

EIGHTY-THREE

EIGHTY-THREE

Tracy ran all the way back to the garage at the Nine Hundred North building to get her car. The tears that streaked her face evaporated as they made contact with the icy surface of her cheeks. She wasn't altogether sure how she made it home, likely by rote, but before she knew it, she was pulling into her garage. She sat in her car crying for a few moments before she took a long, shuddering breath and dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.

She finally opened the car door and got out. She went through the alley and was about to unlock the front door when she remembered she was in such a hurry to come in from the cold last night, she hadn't checked the mail. She flipped the top of the box open and grabbed the envelopes shoved inside. There was a thick manila envelope wedged in such a way that a corner of it had caught on a groove at the bottom of the box, ripping the paper.

She looked at the envelope she'd just torn. The whole front with the address on it had been pulled away so she had to reach in and bring the contents out so she could read them.

At first she frowned.

Then she was confused.

And then she was pissed.

"That fucker," she said as she shook her head, still not believing what she was seeing. She thumbed through the thick report, reading in disbelief. It was a detailed dossier on her comings and goings for the past two months. From what she wore each day, to every time she'd gone out for lunch or dinner or a work event. The summary had concluded that the subject was not having an affair.

"He hired a detective to follow me," she said, stunned. "Motherfucker," she said as she slammed the report down on the hall table. The silver bowl jumped down and clattered against the hardwood floors. She started to pace the hallway, wondering yet again how she'd gotten into this mess.

"That's what you get for not going to the dentist for fifty years," she said with a bitter laugh. She looked down at the report for a moment before she snatched it back up. She'd take it to Kinko's tomorrow and make a copy to take with her to Damon Randall's office on Monday.

"Well, Phillip," she said as she tucked the report under her arm and went into her office. "You've just made my case for me. Thank you very much."

She opened a desk drawer and tossed it inside. After Kinko's, she'd call the locksmith then pack up his shit. All of her relaxation from earlier in the day had vanished. Seeing Jack, the discovery that her husband had her followed. It was almost too much to handle. Tracy pulled the half-full bottle of Riesling from the fridge and plopped down on the couch, exhausted.