The weather turned foul, which suited Thomas just fine. Through the picture window, he watched the maple in the front yard swing in the wind. He smiled when it cracked and fell on the power line, plunging the neighborhood into darkness.
Jeanette had stormed out of the house an hour ago. They had been arguing. Again. This argument was about whether to hide a spare key by the front step. “We don’t need it!” she’d shouted, and slammed the door behind her, leaving her purse, and keys, on the table.
Carefully, gleefully, Thomas crossed the room and locked the front door.