LITMIR.BIZ

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I’m tired. I’ve been writing cards for hours. Mostly your cards, to your friends and your colleagues,” she added bitterly. “I do it every year. And every year it’s last minute, and I’m always missing addresses. You don’t help.”

      She watched the smile tighten on his lips. “Kathy, I’ve just come in from a ten-hour day,” he said, his voice still light and reasonable. “I had a meeting in Framingham, the Pike was a parking lot, and I’ve got a really important presentation in the morning. Just . . . give me a minute to decompress, and I’ll go through my address book. Or you can; I’ve got nothing to hide.”

      “I’ve done them all,” Kathy said tightly, fully aware that people who claimed they had nothing to hide always had plenty to hide. “The four on the bed are all you have to do.”

      “We’re arguing over four cards?” he asked.

      “No,” she snapped. “We’re arguing over the one hundred and twenty I’ve already written. Without your help.”

      Robert nodded and shrugged. “I should have taken some into work with me.” Then he glanced up at the clock. “I’ll go and get the kids.”

      Before she could say another word, he turned and strode from the kitchen, across the dining room, and out into the hallway. She could see him snatching his leather jacket and scarf off the rack behind the door, and then he left, pulling the front door shut quietly behind him.

      Kathy leaned on the kitchen table and listened to the car start up and gently pull away. He’d done it again. Managed to twist and turn her words until suddenly she felt she was in the wrong, that she was arguing about nothing. And then, of course, he’d walked away. He was good at that. In all the years she’d known him, he had always walked away from an argument.

      A classic coward.

      If that had been her, she’d have slammed the door and revved off at high speed, spattering gravel against the side of the house. He was always just too damned controlled, a true Libra, far too evenly balanced.

      Kathy turned away from the table, opened the refrigerator, and grabbed a wedge of Skinny Cow cheese. There were only thirty-five calories in each piece. She ripped open the thin tinfoil packaging and popped the tiny triangle into her mouth. She hadn’t managed to lose any weight for the various Christmas parties they’d been invited to—and was feeling slightly guilty because she’d avoided going to a couple of business-related events that she knew would be populated by gorgeous twenty-somethings as thin as sticks, with designer little black dresses artfully draped on their bones. Robert had gone to the parties on his own; he didn’t seem to mind.

      Somewhere, in the distance, there was a long shrill ring.

      He’d left his phone.

      Kathy stopped suddenly. He’d left his phone. He never left his phone. An oversight? Or, perhaps, the universe was conspiring with her. Tossing the empty foil into the garbage can, she darted up the stairs. As far as she could remember, he hadn’t had his phone in his hand when he’d come into the kitchen. She knew he hated carrying it in his pants pocket; it was just a little too bulky, and he usually wore it clipped to his belt, like a kid wearing a toy gun, or he carried it in his inside jacket pocket like an oversized wallet.

      She raced into the bedroom. His jacket was where she’d left it, and there, just visible, was the silver edge of the phone.

      She was abruptly conscious that the decision she made in the next couple of seconds was going to have repercussions for the rest of her life. She could hear her mother’s voice now, clear and distinct, the slightly bitter waspish tones managing to irritate her even though the woman had been dead eighteen months.

      “Never ask a question unless you’re prepared for an answer you don’t like.”

      Was she prepared for an answer she didn’t like? Her last accusation had almost ruined her marriage and destroyed the family. It had been based on instinct, rather than evidence.

      Kathy Walker sat on the edge of the bed and cradled the phone in her hands, index finger hovering over the screen. Somewhere deep inside her, she already knew the answer. All she was looking for now was confirmation. Something tangible. Something to corroborate her suspicions. Six years ago, she had been plagued with doubt. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake she had made the last time. Proof. She was looking for proof.

      And once she knew the truth, she could prepare for the consequences.

      Kathy Walker tapped the screen.

      CHAPTER 3

      Stephanie Burroughs.

      All of the lines beside her name in the phone were filled in: an address, a phone number, a cell number, two e-mail addresses, a note of her birthday. And a little red flag beside her name.

      Kathy’s fingers felt numb, hands trembling slightly as she tapped the flag on the screen. The calendar opened, a series of little rectangles representing the days of the month. Friday last had a little flag on it; the flag on Stephanie’s name was linked to it. She tapped the screen again, bringing up the day.

      Friday had been a busy day for R&K Productions—or at least for the R part of it. There had been breakfast with a client at eight a.m., then a ten a.m. meeting followed by a voice-over session at the studio at eleven thirty. Artwork was scheduled in for three o’clock, then nothing.

      Except for a red flag at five. No notation.

      Kathy frowned, remembering. Last Friday . . . Robert had been home late last Friday; he’d been meeting a client, he said. It had been close to midnight when he’d arrived home.

      Conscious that time was slipping by, she changed back to the month view and moved to the next red flag. It was for the previous Tuesday. Again, late in the afternoon, the last event of the day, with no appointments scheduled after it. The flag before that was for the previous Friday. She nodded quickly. He’d been late that Friday, but she couldn’t remember anything about the Tuesday. Robert was often late getting home from work; in fact he was late more often than not. The flag before that was for the first Tuesday of the month. Leave it to her husband to develop a red flag pattern.

      Now she scrolled forward in the calendar. The next red flag was for tomorrow night, Friday night. Red flag at four, with no appointments following it. Apparently, Tuesday nights and Friday nights were date night in the world of red flags, Kathy thought bitterly.

      She changed back to the Contacts app and quickly scrolled down through the names. She only came across two other names with red flags, and she recognized both as longstanding clients.

      Feeling unaccountably guilty, she went through the other jacket pockets, not entirely sure what she was looking for. He’d taken his wallet with him, and all she found were a couple of parking receipts, a packet of mints, and a receipt from Au Bon Pain in the CambridgeSide Galleria. Two beverages. She smoothed out the receipt on the bed, trying to decipher the date.

      It looked like last Tuesday, at 5:10 p.m. What had Robert been doing in Cambridge last Tuesday? Robert hated shopping, hated shopping malls particularly. Getting out to the shopping mall in pre-Christmas traffic would have been a nightmare; getting back, even worse. When Robert wanted to pick up a quick gift, he usually just popped over to Brookline Booksmith and bought a book.

      Lights suddenly flared against the bedroom window as a car pulled into the driveway. Calmly, Kathy put the parking receipts and the mints back into his jacket pocket. She stuffed the Au Bon Pain receipt into her own pocket. Then she slipped the phone into her husband’s jacket pocket, and she was in the process of descending the stairs when the hall door opened and Robert, followed by Brendan and Theresa, bundled into the house in a tumult of noise and chill air.

      “We got takeout,” Brendan called, holding up the brown paper bags.

      “More than takeout, I see,” Kathy muttered. There was a smudge

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