Obsession

The victim was an older woman, a widow of more than 20 years. She left behind a sizeable estate — more than $6 million in cash, property, and investments. Two grown sons survived her, both now in their 60s. One daughter-in-law. No grandchildren. No brothers or sisters. Not a large circle of friends. No obvious enemies, either.

Robbery had not been the motive. The only item unaccounted for in the house: a boning knife missing from the Wusthof cutlery set on the kitchen countertop. The police quite confident that it had been the weapon used in the commission of the crime — rendered viciously, forcefully, repeatedly. The carnage so severe the coroner could only make an estimate of the number of wounds inflicted.

There was no primary suspect at the moment. The perpetrator may have been a neighbor. An acquaintance. A stranger.

Of course the police had spoken to the family.

But they were not without compassion. This was a town of 10,000 citizens. Everyone knew the family. The authorities would allow them to take care of the personal business attendant to the tragedy — arrangements, the funeral. There would be ample time to talk in more detail after all that was out of the way.

* * *

When Leo pulled up the website for Tie-a-Tie.net, he hadn’t expected so many options.

Four in Hand. Half Windsor. Windsor. Pratt. Bow Tie Knot.

Up scarcely a half-hour and he’s already run into a dilemma.

Not unusual for Leo.

But it takes less than an hour for Leo to opt for the Windsor. He is pleased that he has been able to make such an important decision so quickly.

Leo turns on the shower, adjusts some toiletries on the vanity, extending a hand into the shower stall several times until he is satisfied that the water temperature has stabilized. He showers and shaves, then glances at the watch he’s left by the sink.

Less than an hour and a half. Leo nods, pleased with the way things are progressing.

Whistling to himself “If I Were a Rich Man” from Fiddler on the Roof, then hesitating — deciding that may be too airy a tune for this particular day, switching to the more appropriate “Rock of Ages.”

A freshly laundered white shirt, lightly starched, hangs from the rod in the center of his closet, a blue tie with thin red diagonal stripes centered exactly on another hanger in front of it. He had positioned them the previous night to expedite this morning’s preparations.

He takes them up, one at a time, laying first the shirt, then the tie, on the bedspread, stopping momentarily to smooth a wrinkle from the bedspread with a brush of his hand.

He puts the shirt on, adjusting it, buttoning it, then carries the tie into the bathroom where he had earlier Scotch-taped the instructions for tying the Windsor knot onto the mirror.

Leo is momentarily distracted by an imperfection in the part line of his hair. He wets a finger and dabs at the offending strand, then resolutely soldiers on. There is plenty of time. The service isn’t until eleven o’clock.

Leo glances at the instructions on the mirror. Something about them is not right.

The alignment.

The bottom-right corner appears to be marginally below that of the left, causing the entire sheet to cant slightly to the right side of the mirror. Leo leans in closer to confirm his observation.

No doubt about it. The space between the bottom-right edge of the sheet and the edge of the mirror is fractionally narrower than the span at the bottom left.

How could he not have noticed it?

Leo is puzzled. Wondering for a moment if the mirror had been incorrectly mounted when the bathroom was completed, who knew how many years ago?

Then thinking that was impossible.

He would have noticed.

He considers it another moment, finally shrugging. Nothing to do but correct the situation.

Leo retrieves the Scotch tape and scissors and, exercising infinite care, reattaches the sheet to the mirror. Perfectly this time.

With that piece of business taken care of Leo once again stands at the mirror, aware of his purpose, taking up the necktie, beginning to work it under his collar.

Faintly, he may hear the ringing of a telephone.

* * *

“Is he answering?”

“Do you hear me talking to him?”

“Don’t snap at me,” Freida says.

Mel apologizes. “Sorry, it’s just that …”

Freida makes no move to reciprocate, even though she had snapped back in return. “God knows we have enough to deal with today without having to worry about Leo.”

It is quiet in their home, the sound of a grandfather clock ticking metronomically, providing a familiar sense of comfort on what is an uncomfortable day.

The phone is still ringing. Mel counts eight more times, then disconnects. “He still hasn’t set up his voicemail,” he says.

“We can try again in an hour,” Freida says.

“I wonder if we should go over.”

“He’s just in the bathroom or something,” Freida says. “Went out to get the paper.”

Mel nods. “I’ll try again in an hour.”

* * *

The Windsor Knot is a thick, wide and triangular tie knot that projects confidence. It would therefore be your knot of choice for presentations, job interviews, courtroom appearances, etc. It is best suited for spread collar shirts and it’s actually quite easy to do.

Leo checks his collar. Is it a spread collar shirt? He thinks so.

While just about everyone can use this tie knot to tie his tie, it looks especially well on men with longer necks.

Leo examines his neck, uncertain as to whether it could be categorized as long.

The heating vent on the floor to the left of the toilet engages and Leo takes a moment to watch as it flutters the edge of the hand towel that hangs above it.

Leo wonders if that movement might contribute to the wear of the towel. Wonders if it would be wise to move the towel rack to the opposite wall, or even above the sink.

Leo will consider it when he has more time.

To tie the Windsor Knot, select a necktie of your choice and stand in front of a mirror. Well, he’s already done that. Way ahead of the game. Then simply follow the steps below:

There are illustrations below each step. Leo is grateful. He has always appreciated a sense of order.

Upon closer examination, Leo’s enthusiasm takes a jolt. It hadn’t registered with him to this point — there are nine steps to this procedure.

1) Start with the wide end (“W”) of your necktie on the right, extending about 12 inches below the narrow end (“N”) on the left.

Leo allows his eyes to slide down the instruction sheet.

Eight additional steps still left in the process.

He feels a headache coming on.

A more pessimistic Leo goes back to Step 1, reading it more carefully this time.

Is that a phone ringing in the background?

* * *

“Anything?”

Mel shakes his head.

“What do we do?” Freida says.

Mel counting. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Disconnecting.

“Leo wouldn’t miss his mother’s funeral, would he?” Freida says.

“Not on purpose.”

“We’ve got to do something about him, Mel.”

Mel nods. He knows it will have to be done.

They’re sitting on the couch. Ready to go.

The grandfather clock keeping them company, chiming the half-hour.

Freida says, “We have to leave soon, Mel.”

“I know.”

“What do we do about Leo?”

“We’ll just have to go,” says Mel. “I’ll try him again once we get there.”

They begin to put on their coats. It’s a cold day outside.

* * *

Congratulations, you did it! You see, it is not rocket science after all. Simply keep practicing the Windsor Knot a few more times until you can tie this necktie knot within less than two minutes.

Two minutes?

Despite Leo’s earnest endeavors over the past half-hour, the knot he is looking at in the mirror bears no resemblance to the tight, attractive prototype pictured on the instruction sheet.

Leo would like to smile at the dichotomy. Entertain a thought about the rocket science reference. But he is unable to find humor in this unpleasant circumstance.

His earlier optimism is being overtaken by an uncertainty that Leo is gamely attempting to prevent from morphing into fear and dread.

Leo loosens the knot, pulls the tie out from under his collar, takes several deep, even breaths, the tie hanging at full length, then lifts the collar of his shirt and once again begins the process of placing the tie into the position shown in Step 1 of the instruction sheet.

* * *

Mel and Freida have arrived at the church. A crowd has already begun to assemble. Some stand on the outside steps; many have already taken their places inside, encouraged by a sharp breeze that blows out of a gray-streaked December sky.

Greetings are exchanged. Hugs, handshakes, kisses where appropriate. Some mourners hang back, uncertain as to proper protocol at a funeral for someone who has been murdered.

Mel and Freida move into the Fellowship Hall adjacent to the sanctuary. The immediate family will be ushered in just before the service begins.

Apparently without Leo.

Mel holds his hat in his hands, working his fingers absently around the brim, then glances at his watch.

He should have gone by Leo’s. Picked him up. On a day like today he should have known better than to trust that Leo would be able to get his act together.

Freida nudges him. “Let’s sit down, Mel.”

“He’s not going to make it.”

“There’s still time,” she says. “It’s only twenty till.”

“We should have stopped by.”

“He might still be here.” But there isn’t much conviction in Freida’s tone.

* * *

Leo stands slump-shouldered before the mirror.

Another futile and failed attempt.

Leo summons an inner resolve to keep from crying.

How unseemly would that be? A grown man breaking into tears because he couldn’t tie a goddamned tie!

Anger is just below the surface. Leo knows the progression of emotion. He steels himself against it. Anger will serve no purpose.

Leo listens for a moment to the wind outside the bathroom window.

A blustery day.

Most likely cold out there. He’ll want to wear his good winter coat.

A gust rattles the window, causing Leo to wonder whether he’ll need to re-caulk them. A lot of energy can escape through a drafty window.

He should wear a hat, too. More body heat escapes through the top of your head than any other point in the body.

Over the course of the winter a poor fit on a window can add significantly to the electric bill. Leo wonders if gas heating might be more economical. Nor is he certain where he’s left his hat. He considers going to look for it but there’s still the matter of the tie.

Maybe he can go without a tie?

No. That wouldn’t be proper. Not respectful.

Mel will be wearing a tie.

He could imagine what Freida would say.

Leo is startled to emit a loud bark, he’s not certain if it’s a laugh or a sob.

He begins to hum again the familiar strains of Rock of Ages.

He grasps the knot, working it loose, preparing to start the process once more, wondering fleetingly whether the Half-Windsor or the Pratt might be less complicated.

* * *

It began to sleet as the day wore on, only moderately, but Mel can hear the hiss of the tires against the wet pavement as they drive home in silence.

Finally, Freida says, “Too bad the weather couldn’t have been a little nicer.”

Mel says, “I guess it was a good day for a funeral.”

They had been to the formal rites at the church, then onto the smaller graveside service at the cemetery.

“Even after he missed the church service,” Mel says, “I thought he might …”

“I’ve told you time and time again. You can’t count on him.”

“It’s not his fault,” Mel says, standing up for his older brother.

“I know, I know,” Freida says. “It’s always his condition.”

Cars passing in the opposite direction pick up moisture in the treads of their tires and spread a fine layer of mist across the windshield. Mel turns on the wipers.

Mel says, “Sometimes he’s okay.”

“Sometimes,” she says. “But Mel, it’s getting worse, almost day to day.”

Mel can’t bring himself to acknowledge it.

“He missed his mother’s funeral,” Freida says, using more emphasis than necessary — even though she’s never had any feelings of affection toward her late mother-in-law.

It was obvious to everyone in attendance that Leo had missed the funeral, but it seems even more egregious when it is said aloud.

Freida says, “I don’t think it’s going to get any better.”

There is a prolonged silence as they motor through the gloom.

Finally, Freida puts into words what she has been holding back since the police stopped by on that fateful evening.

“Mel, you have to consider — it might have been Leo who did this.”

Mel, brushing at a tear running down his cheek, doesn’t answer.

* * *

The scissors lie on the dining room table beside at least a hundred small perfectly shaped squares, each only a fraction of an inch — a mosaic of blue silk, some pieces flecked with thin strips of red.

Leo had cut the tie into pieces when he looked at his watch and discovered it was 2:30 in the afternoon.

Refusing to believe it at first. His watch must have been wrong.

But he knew he was deceiving himself. He’d bought the watch because it was synchronized with the NIST-F1 cesium fountain clock in Boulder, Colorado, the official timepiece of the United States of America, guaranteed not to gain or lose a second in one hundred million years.

The clock was not wrong.

Leo had missed the funeral.

His own mother’s funeral.

This would difficult to explain to Mel. Even worse — to Freida.

The thought of it made Leo’s stomach hurt.

He had been halfway through the instructions, thinking he might actually have it this time, when he’d glanced at his watch, absorbed the reality of what had happened and, in horror, tore the tie from his neck. Leo had proceeded to the kitchen, secured the scissors, slumped down in anguish at the dinner table, and cut the tie into shreds.

He collected himself some time later (who can say how long?), looking down at the shredded fabric, strewn haphazardly.

The incongruity of the pattern on the table was intolerable.

And through his tears for the next hour Leo painstakingly aligned each tiny fragment of cloth into rows and columns in perfect symmetry.

* * *

At home Mel and Freida inventory an assortment of casseroles and dishes dropped off by thoughtful neighbors and friends, examining the contents of the refrigerator as deliberately as choosy shoppers at a delicatessen.

Mel answers a knock at the door. You’d think people, as well-meaning as they might be, would have the courtesy to respect a family’s privacy at a time like this.

It is Leo. Standing there in the rain. Mel looks at him. Not a word. Mel leaves the door open and walks back into the living room. Leo follows, closing the door behind him.

Freida comes out of the kitchen, wearing an apron with potatoes and carrots and onions embroidered on the front. “Who was at the door?” Then seeing Leo. “Oh.” Turning back into the kitchen without so much as a hello.

Mel, watching a game show on TV, finally says, “You missed the funeral.”

Leo knows there can be no adequate excuse, but makes a weak attempt. “I think it was some kind of flu.”

From the kitchen, Freida calls, “Looks like you made a miraculous recovery.”

Leo says, “I’m feeling better.”

“We’re about to eat dinner,” Freida says, her tone leaving no doubt that Leo is intruding.

Mel says to Leo, “You might as well join us.”

* * *

Not much conversation during dinner.

Leo finally has to ask the question. “Was it a nice ceremony?”

“Considering,” Freida says.

“Considering what?” Leo says.

“Oh, little things — like she was a murder victim — mutilated to the point that the casket had to be closed — the preacher mispronounced her name — some family members didn’t make the services.”

Leo doesn’t have anything to counter with. Mel isn’t defending him, either.

Leo thinks it might be wise to change the subject. “This is a good ham.”

Freida says, “It’s a Smithfield.”

Mel says, “They bring over a lot of food.”

“Who?” Leo says.

“Neighbors, church women. When somebody dies, they bring over a lot of food to grieving family members. Pies, cakes, casseroles, we had a great mac and cheese the other day. Hams are a big favorite.”

The custom must be one with which Leo’s neighbors are unfamiliar.

That was about it for dinner conversation.

The ham was good.

* * *

Mel is in the recliner in the living room the next morning, watching Drew Carey on The Price Is Right.

Freida, sitting in her chair reading a magazine, says, “Do you think we’ve been too hard on Leo?”

Mel says, “Of course you’ve been too hard on Leo.”

Freida is hurt now, even though she asked the question — expecting Mel to absolve her?

Then shaking it off. She’s good about not letting Mel’s opinions bother her. “It’s possible that I might have been a little …”

Mel wondering if she’s going to say bitchy.

“ … short with him now and then.”

“Maybe a time or two.”

“You’re the one who told me he has this obsessive thing.”

“It’s something he can keep in check.”

“How do you think that’s been going?”

Mel lets the subject drop.

Freida says, “Maybe we should go over to see him.”

“You want to go see Leo? Go over to his house?”

If Mel had been taken aback by Freida’s suggestion that they visit Leo, he is absolutely pole-axed by the next one.

“I could bake a cake, bring it along. Kind of a peace offering. Show him we’ve got no hard feelings about him missing the funeral — or being the primary suspect in the murder.”

“So, we take over a cake — make him feel better in case he was the one who killed our mom.”

Freida’s out of her chair now, heading to the kitchen. “I’m trying to do the right thing,” she says. “Just like always.”

* * *

Two hours later, the aroma of a freshly baked cake wafting out of the kitchen, and Freida is watching Mel, cell phone to his ear, Mel counting. It has already rung five times. “He never answers the damn phone,” Mel says, and no sooner has he gotten it out than Leo is on the other end saying, “Hello.”

“How you doing, Leo?”

“I’m so sorry, Mel. About yesterday. It was a pretty big screw up, even for me. I had this new tie …”

Mel jumps in to cut him off. He’s spent far too many hours listening to Leo’s explanations.

“I was thinking maybe we can get together tomorrow morning. Have a cup of coffee.”

“Sure,” Leo says. “Where shall we meet?”

“How about we come over to your place?”

“Okay. What time you want to do it?”

“Eight o’clock,” says Mel. “We’ll be there at eight.”

Leo is always excited at the prospect of a visit from his brother. But he keeps saying we. Does that mean Freida’s coming too?

“That’s great,” says Leo. “I’ll put a pot on …”

There’s no telling what might come of an attempt like that, so Mel nips Leo’s suggestion in the bud. “Don’t bother yourself,” he says. “I’ll stop at Starbucks on the way. We deserve a treat.”

“Okay, Mel. At Starbucks I like …”

“I know what you like,” says Mel. “I’ll get it just like you like it.”

“The dark roast,” Leo says.

“Right,” says Mel. “Three creams and one sugar.”

“The real cream, Mel. Not that fake stuff.”

“Real cream it is.”

A pause.

“Want me to make some toast? Or eggs?”

“Not to worry,” Mel says. “We’re bringing a cake.”

“You don’t have to buy a cake,” Leo says.

“We’re not buying it. Freida baked it. For you.”

There is a longer silence than you might expect. “She baked a cake for me?”

“And that’s not all,” Mel says. “She’s got a great idea we want to run by you.”

More silence.

“We’ll be there at eight,” Mel says and hangs up before Leo can tell him once more how he prefers his coffee.

* * *

The doorbell rings.

Leo looks at his watch.

Seven minutes after eight.

Mel said eight o’clock, but he’s never been a stickler for punctuality.

Leo opens the door. Mel is holding a Starbucks carry-out cardboard tray, three coffees, Leo can see them steaming in the chill morning air. Freida is right behind him, holding what looks like a chocolate layer cake.

Mel and Freida come in and set the cake and coffee on the small foyer table beside the door and the two brothers embrace awkwardly.

“How you doing, Leo?” Mel says.

“I’m sorry, Mel,” Leo says, still feeling a need to apologize for his transgression.

Leo waves it off. “Let’s have some cake and coffee,” he says.

“It’s dark chocolate fudge,” Freida says. “With chocolate frosting.”

* * *

For one of the few rare occasions of their married life, Freida is leaving the talking to Mel. Of course, she had scripted the conversation beforehand. All Mel has to do is recite it. Freida biting her lip, waiting for Mel to get to it.

Sadly, it can sometimes be difficult to make small talk with your own brother.

Mel and Leo gamely attempt it, Mel benefitting from Freida’s pre-game coaching, telling him to concentrate on Leo’s favorite subjects. The Bears. The Cubs.

“Looks like a rebuilding year for both of them next year,” Leo says.

Mel says, “Haven’t we heard that tune before?”

They both smile, getting caught up in mutual enthusiasm. A few minutes later, it’s like they were kids again.

It takes time, but the conversation eventually turns to the real purpose of Mel and Freida’s visit.

Leo has been invited to move in with them.

You have to be sensitive, tactful, Freida had told Mel.

“We’re your family, Leo. We love you. We want to help.”

Leo takes a sideways glance at Freida.

Mel says, “It was her idea.”

Leo is almost as startled as Mel had been last night when Freida first mentioned it.

Leo, tearing up just slightly, says, “It hurts a little. To realize your family thinks you’re not capable of taking care of yourself.”

“We don’t look at it as a permanent thing. You get some medical help. We’re here to support you. Back you up.”

“It doesn’t seem right somehow,” Leo says. “I’m the older brother. But you’re taking care of me.”

Mel shrugs. “It’s not a matter of age, Leo. It’s your circumstance. It doesn’t have to do with age.”

“Couldn’t you just give me this support with me living here in my own place?”

“How do you think that’s been working out?” Mel says. He hadn’t wanted to bring it up, but he has no choice. “You lost your job a couple weeks ago.”

Leo had worked at the bakery for nearly 20 years. Mel had talked to Leo’s boss, a man they’d both known since high school. I ask him to make biscuits, I come back an hour later he’s still measuring flour, the man had said. I love Leo but I got no choice. I gotta let him go.

Leo can’t argue the point.

“And then there was yesterday,” Mel says.

The guilt washes over Leo anew.

Mel touches Leo’s arm.

“They have medication. Freida and I can just be in the background. For moral support. There for you to lean on.”

“Could we try it temporarily?”

Mel nods vigorously. “Just for a while. See how it works. You make progress to a point where we all feel good about it … you move back here.”

Leo is mulling it over.

Any new consideration of a lifestyle change is a huge challenge for Leo.

This one is monumental.

“When would we do this?” Leo asks.

“As long as we’re here, why don’t we pack up a few things right now?” Mel says.

Both Mel and Leo are impressed with how enthusiastically Freida pitches in, tidying up the house, going through literally every room to ensure that everything is in order. She even checks out the garage.

* * *

It is the best meal Leo has had in years. Meat loaf and macaroni and cheese. Two of the greatest comfort dishes of all time, part of the gustatory ensemble dropped off by neighbors after the funeral. Mel and Freida are so welcoming. Leo had been hesitant at first, ill at ease, then actually smiling at a remark Freida made, later laughing out loud at a story Mel told about a boyhood escapade.

It is a glorious evening. Leo thinking this may be exactly what he needs.

He knows he’ll have to work on his problem. It won’t be easy. He knows he may be overly optimistic, but Leo feels as if he’s making progress already.

* * *

In their bedroom, Mel and Freida lie under the covers in the darkness. Freida speaks quietly into Mel’s shoulder. “It went well,” she says. She can feel Mel nod.

“We’ll do our best,” he says quietly.

“The police will be wanting to talk to us again,” she says. “Now that the funeral is over. Leo, too.”

Freida rolls over to face the wall. “But I don’t want you to worry about it too much, Mel.”

Mel’s eyes are open in the darkness, thinking maybe it will work out. Maybe it will be okay.

He can hear the comforting sounds of the grandfather clock. It brings a smile of contentment to his face.

* * *

In the guest bedroom Leo is more relaxed than he’s been in ages. He turns off the bedside lamp. The comforting choral lyrics of “Rock of Ages” run through his mind, the verses repetitious, over and over, the accompanying organ perfect in tone.

Repeated. Over and over, over and over.

Leo in warm repose savors the sensation.

* * *

In the master bedroom, Mel has fallen asleep.

Freida is still awake. She lies there looking up at the ceiling.

So much has happened.

After the police look into it, after they learn of Leo’s history, he will almost certainly become the primary suspect. Especially after they find the Wusthof boning knife, still covered with blood and gore, that she left in Leo’s toolbox in the garage.

Leo will go to jail.

Leo will be gone.

The old lady is already gone.

She and Mel will receive the entire estate.

And Mel? Who knows what misfortune might befall a man of his age?

Freida lets out a huge sigh and falls into a deep, untroubled sleep.