The Kind Worth Killing Read Online Free PDF Page A

short—but it was better than nothing. If Chet came back it would be hard for him to open the door, at least, and the chair would fall over and make a noise.
    I didn’t think I would sleep that night, but I did, and when morning came, I lay in bed, thinking about what I should do.
    My worst fear was that if I told my mother about what had happened, she would tell me that I should have sex with Chet. Or else she would be mad that I let him come into my room, or that I let him watch me in the pool. I knew that this was something I needed to take care of on my own.
    And I knew how I would do it.

CHAPTER 3
TED
    At nearly midnight, I stood on the front steps of the bay-fronted brownstone I owned with Miranda, the taxi’s red lights receding down the street, and tried to remember where I’d stowed the house keys when I’d left for London a week earlier.
    Just as I was unzipping the outside pocket of my carry-on, the front door swung open. Miranda was in midyawn. She wore a short nightshirt and a pair of wool socks. “How was London?” she asked, after kissing me on the mouth. Her breath was slightly sour and I imagined she’d been asleep in front of the television.
    â€œDamp.”
    â€œProfitable?”
    â€œYes, damp and profitable.” I shut the door behind me, and dropped my luggage on the hardwood floor. The house smelled of takeout Thai. “I’m surprised to see you here,” I said. “I thought you’d be in Maine.”
    â€œI wanted to see you, Teddy. It’s been a whole week. Are you drunk?”
    â€œThe flight was delayed and I drank a few martinis. Do I reek?”
    â€œYes. Brush your teeth and come to bed. I’m exhausted.”
    I watched Miranda climb the steep stairs to our second-floor bedroom, watched the muscles in her slim calves tense and untense, watched the nightshirt sway back and forth with the movement of her hips, then thought of Brad Daggett bending her over the carpentry table, lifting her skirt . . .
    I went downstairs to the basement level, where our kitchen and dining room were located. I found a carton of red curry shrimp in the fridge and ate it cold, sitting at our butcher-block island.
    My head was starting to ache, and I was thirsty. I realized that without having fallen asleep I was already hungover from all the gin I’d had in the airport lounge, and then on the flight.
    The redhead from the bar had also been seated in business class, across from me, and one row behind. After boarding the plane, we’d kept talking across the aisle, even though we’d temporarily ceased our discussion of my wife’s infidelities. The old woman next to me in the window seat saw us talking and said, “Would you and your wife like to sit next to one another?”
    â€œThank you,” I said. “We’d love to.”
    Once she was settled in, and once I had ordered a gin and tonic from the flight attendant, I asked for her name again.
    â€œIt’s Lily,” she said.
    â€œLily what?”
    â€œI’ll tell you, but first let’s play a game.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œIt’s very easy. Since we’re on a plane, and it’s a long flight, and we’re not going to see each other again, let’s tell each other the absolute truth. About everything.”
    â€œYou won’t even tell me your last name,” I said.
    She laughed. “True. But that’s what lets us play by these rules. If we know one another, then the game doesn’t work.”
    â€œGive me an example.”
    â€œOkay. I hate gin. I ordered a martini because you had one in front of you and it looked sophisticated.”
    â€œReally?” I said.
    â€œNo judgment,” she said. “Your turn.”
    â€œOkay.” I thought for a moment, then said, “I love gin so much I’m worried sometimes I’m an alcoholic. If I had my way I’d drink about six martinis a