Twisted

sweater.
    “Yeah?”
    “I’m with the cable company.” He showed her the ID. “I have to reset your converter boxes.”
    She blinked. “The TV?”
    “That’s right.”
    “They were working yesterday.” She turned to look hazily at the gray glossy rectangle of the large set in her living room. “Wait, I was watching CNN earlier. It was fine.”
    “You’re only getting half the channels you’re supposed to. The whole neighborhood is. We have to reset them manually. Or I can reschedule if—”
    “Naw, it’s okay. Don’t wanta miss COPS. Come on in.”
    Joseph walked inside, felt her eyes on him. He got this a lot. His career wasn’t the best in the world and he wasn’t classically good-looking but he was in great shape—he worked out every day—and he’d been told he “exuded” some kind of masculine energy. He didn’t know about that. He liked to think he just had a lot of self-confidence.
    “You want a drink?” she asked.
    “Can’t on the job.”
    “Sure?”
    “Yep.”
    Joseph in fact wouldn’t have minded a drink. Butthis wasn’t the place for it. Besides, he was looking forward to a nice glass of spicy Pinot Noir after he finished here. It often surprised people that somebody in his line of work liked—and knew about—wines.
    “I’m Barbara.”
    “Hi, Barbara.”
    She led him through the house to each of the cable boxes, sipping her drink as she went. She was drinking straight bourbon, it seemed.
    “You have kids,” Joseph said, nodding at the picture of two young children on a table in the den. “They’re great, aren’t they?”
    “If you like pests,” she muttered.
    He clicked buttons on the cable box and stood up. “Any others?”
    “Last box’s in the bedroom. Upstairs. I’ll show you. Wait . . .” She went off and refilled her glass. Then joined him again. Barbara led him up the stairs and paused at the top of the landing. Again, she looked him over.
    “Where are your kids tonight?” he asked.
    “The pests’re at the bastard’s,” she said, laughing sourly at her own joke. “We’re doing the joint custody thing, my ex and me.”
    “So you’re all alone here in this big house?”
    “Yeah. Pity, huh?”
    Joseph didn’t know if it was or not. She definitely didn’t seem pitiful.
    “So,” he said, “which room’s the box in?” They’d stalled in the hallway.
    “Yeah. Sure. Follow me,” she said, her voice low and seductive.
    In the bedroom she sat on the unmade bed and sipped the drink. He found the cable box and pushed the “on” button of the set.
    It crackled to life. CNN was on.
    “Could you try the remote?” he said, looking around the room.
    “Sure,” Barbara said groggily. She turned away and, as soon as she did, Joseph came up behind her with the rope that he’d just taken from his pocket. He slipped it around her neck and twisted it tight, using a pencil for leverage. A brief scream was stifled as her throat closed up and she tried desperately to escape, to turn, to scratch him with her nails. The liquor soaked the bedspread as the glass fell to the carpet and rolled against the wall.
    In a few minutes she was dead.
    Joseph sat beside the body, catching his breath. Barbara had fought surprisingly hard. It had taken all his strength to keep her pinned down and let the garrote do its job.
    He pulled on latex gloves and wiped away whatever prints he’d left in the room. Then he dragged Barbara’s body off the bed and into the center of the room. He pulled her sweater off, undid the button of her jeans.
    But then he paused. Wait. What was his name supposed to be?
    Frowning, he thought back to his conversation last night.
    What’d he call himself?
    Then he nodded. That’s right. He’d told Marissa Cooper his name was Dale O’Banion. A glance at the clock. Not even seven P.M. Plenty of time to finish uphere and get to Green Harbor, where she was waiting and the bar had a decent Pinot Noir by the glass.
    He unzipped Barbara’s jeans then started tugging them down to her ankles.

    Marissa Cooper sat on a bench in a small, deserted park, huddled against the cold wind that swept over the Green Harbor wharf. Through the evergreens swaying in the breeze she was watching the couple lounging in the enclosed stern of the large boat tied up to the dock nearby.
    Like so many boat names this one was a pun: Maine Street.
    She’d finished her shopping, buying some fun lingerie (wondering, a little discouraged, if anyone else would ever