Twisted

Mary last October, one that she’d probably bought on her way to a hotel to meet her lover—and dropped the gun into his pocket. Outside he climbed into his Bronco and sped down the driveway.

    Dennis Linden was nobody’s fool.
    He knew the location of all the watering holesbetween Mary’s office and the house—places she’d be inclined to stop at with a lover. But he also knew where she’d be likely to go on the way home from the mall. (He regularly made stops at many of them just to see if he could catch her.) He hadn’t snared her yet but tonight he felt that luck was on his side.
    And he was right.
    Mary’s black Lexus was parked outside of the Hudson Inn.
    He skidded to a stop in the middle of the driveway and leapt out of the truck. A couple driving toward the exit had to swerve out of his way and they honked at him. He slammed his fist against their hood, shouting, “Go to hell!” They stared in terror. He pulled the gun from his pocket, walked up to the window and peered inside.
    Yes, there was his wife: blonde, trim, a heart-shaped face. And she was sitting next to her lover.
    The man must have been ten years younger than Mary. He wasn’t handsome and he had a belly. How could she be seeing someone like him? How on earth? He didn’t look rich either—he was wearing a cheap, unstylish suit. No, there was only one reason to see him. . . . He must be good in bed.
    Dennis could taste the familiar metallic flavor of his rage.
    And then he realized that Mary was wearing the navy blue dress that he’d bought for her last Christmas! He’d purposely picked a high-necked one so she couldn’t go flaunting her breasts at every man she passed. And he realized that she’d picked it today as a private joke—an insult to him. Dennis pictured this fat slob slowly undoing the buttons,slipping his pudgy fingers under the cloth while Mary whispered words that this fat asshole would hear every time he looked at the blank Christmas card.
    Dennis Linden wanted to scream.
    He spun away from the window and strode to the front door of the inn. He pushed it open and stepped inside, shoving a waiter out of the way. The man fell to the floor.
    The maître d’ saw the gun and gasped, backing away. Other patrons too.
    Mary glanced at him, still smiling from her conversation with fat boy, then her face went white. “Dennis, honey, what—?”
    “Am I doing here?” he raged sarcastically.
    “My God, a gun!” The boyfriend lifted his hands. He stumbled backward and his bar stool fell over.
    “I’m here, honey, ” he shouted to Mary, “to do what I should’ve done a long time ago.”
    “Dennis, what’re you talking about?”
    “Who’s he?” the chubby man asked, his eyes huge with fear.
    “My husband,” Mary whispered. “Dennis, please, put the gun down!”
    “What’s your name?” Dennis shouted at the man.
    “I—It’s Frank Chilton. I—”
    Chilton? Dennis remembered him. He was married to Patty, Mary’s good friend from the church committee. She was betraying her friend too.
    Dennis lifted the gun.
    “No, please!” Frank pleaded. “Don’t hurt us!”
    Mary stepped in front of her lover. “Dennis, Christ! Please put the gun away. Please!”
    He muttered, “You cheat on somebody, there’s going to be payback. Oh, you bet there is.”
    “Cheat? What do you mean?” The actress within Mary was looking innocent as a child.
    A scream from nearby, a woman’s voice. “Frank! Mary!”
    Dennis glanced toward the bar and saw a young woman freeze as she stepped out of the rest room, a horrified look on her face. She ran to Frank and put her arm around him.
    What was going on?
    Dennis was confused. It was Patty.
    Eyes wide, breathless, Mary gasped, “Dennis, did you think I was seeing Frank?”
    He said nothing.
    “I ran into Patty at the mall,” she explained. “I told you that. We decided to have a drink and she called Frank. I invited you too. But you didn’t want to come. How could you think—?” She was crying. “How could you—”
    “Oh, nice try. I know what you’ve been up to. Maybe it’s not him. But it is somebody.” He aimed the gun at his wife. “Too many discrepancies, honey. Too many things don’t quite add up, honey. ”
    “Oh, Dennis, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. I’m not seeing anyone. I love you! I was just out buying you a Christmas present tonight.” She held up a shopping bag.
    “Did you get me a card too?”
    “A—”
    “Did you