by K. A. Williams
A blonde woman stepped out of the red front door with a
blond man who zipped up her canary yellow dress. Since I wasn't being paid for
using any of my high-tech surveillance gadgets, that was all the proof of infidelity
The blonde balanced herself on spiked heels long enough to
make it to a cream Ford convertible parked in the driveway of the red brick
house with the red shutters. I had my face hidden behind a city map while I
waited for the convertible to pass by my rented black Chevy, then I followed at
a discreet distance. She led me down Wellington Avenue to a house covered in
white vinyl siding with a sign in the front yard that read “Psychic Reader
The cop who barged into my office hadn't knocked, which
didn't surprise me. He never knocked.
Detective Carl Morgan, tall with thick dark hair, would
have been a 10 except his eyes were too small. He sidestepped the client chairs
and bent over the computer into my face. "So, honey, someone stole your
gun, eh?" Today his breath smelled of cinnamon.
I leaned back in my chair and propped my athletic shoes up
on the desk. "Yes," I lied. "I always lock it here in the middle
drawer before I leave because my husband works at home and doesn't like
firearms in the house. This morning when I came in, I found the door pried
open, all the desk locks jimmied, and no gun. Officers Rodriguez and McGrady
answered the burglary call."
"I know," Morgan said. "I talked to them.
Several offices on this floor were burglarized last night. We think the thief
acted alone since only small items were taken. That's why I'm here."
"What are you working on?"
I shook my head.
"C'mon honey, don't give me that client
confidentiality crap. These burglaries could have been staged to cover up the
fact that it was just your office the thief was interested in."
Handsome and smart, but I didn't flinch.
"So, what are you working on?" he asked again.
I shrugged. "The usual domestic stuff—that's
"Any of your former clients' files missing?"
"I'd have to check."
"Do that. You miss any files, call me."
Morgan's sudden smile revealed flawless teeth; too bad his
eyes vanished. "Another reason I stopped by, honey, is to see if you're
ready to step out on your husband and be with a real man."
I smiled back. "When are you going to introduce me to
Morgan slammed my door on his way out.
Several days later, I closed my file on the case and headed
home to my red brick house with the red shutters. I opened the red door and
startled my blond husband. "I didn't expect you home until late tonight. I
thought you had a case."
I kissed him before I settled back on the black sofa and
hunted the remote. "All wrapped up. Wife wanted her cheating husband
watched. Isn't it wonderful our marriage is perfect?"
Max stared at me until I clicked on the TV, then asked,
"Have you had dinner yet?"
I flipped the channels until I found the one I wanted and
patted the cushion at my side. "Why don't we just sit here and watch the
"Okay." He sat down, and I hugged him.
A breaking news report followed the weather forecast.
"Jasmine Harris was found shot to death at her home on Wellington Avenue
this afternoon. The police have no suspects at this time."
A close-up of the blonde's face flashed on the screen, and
I quipped, "Guess she didn't see it coming."
"W-Why did you say that?" Max asked, his voice
He had gasped at the mention of her name and now tears
filled his eyes, but I still loved him.
I changed the channel and shrugged. "No reason."
“No Reason” was first
published in the 2009 Winter-Spring issue of The Rockford Review,
where it won their Editor's Choice Award for prose.