The Italian Masterpiece

The Italian Masterpiece

Nora's nose wiggled as she sniffed the air. She looked up at the recently acquired piece of decor and frowned. "Edwin." 

"Yes, dear?" The man lowered his book to look at her.

“I think we need to take it down,” she whined, clearly disappointed.

Edwin’s eyes wandered to the item in question, and he raised a single brow. “I thought you wanted to leave it up for the holiday.”

“Yes, but there is a smell.”

The man turned toward the fireplace. Despite going to great lengths to obtain firewood cut from an ash to fill the house with a fragrant and potent scent, the aroma was still inadequate for hiding the unpleasant odor from the woman’s sensitive nose. He closed the book and laid it on the side table before standing and slipping off his suit jacket.

“Then I will take it down.” 

He watched her pink cheeks as they rose with her smile and removed his coat and cuff links. After dropping the small accessories onto the table, he rolled up his sleeves and made his way to the back door. He would need a ladder to reach the art piece and some sturdy clippers.

Now where did he put those? Were they in the storage building?

He would have to wait and see. Nora knew where everything was at any given moment, but he didn’t want to ask her. She would no doubt sigh and become frustrated if he had misplaced something yet again.

Your memory is atrocious. She would say.

Yes, dear. He would reply.

There were times that she exhausted him. 

Edwin unlocked the building and adjusted his waistcoat as his eyes traveled over the wall of tools. An ax, a hatchet, a saw, and some mallets. A bit rusty and hanging from an old hook were the clippers.

“Ah, there you are.” He whispered to himself.

He lifted the large set of shears from their place on the wall and admired them. Opening and closing the blades a few times, he thought of Nora again. 

Yes, she utterly exhausted him sometimes. What if he were to... dispose of her? Would she put up a good fight? If he were honest with himself, there were many occasions he thought life without her would be better. 

Or would it?

He recalled the first time they met. The quiet girl in the corner of a room who caught his eye with her red dress and black curls. No one paid them any mind as they talked to each other there for hours and disappeared into the garden for a long walk in the moonlight. Every time he saw her, his heart swelled a little, not only in response to his love for her, but also because of the pride he felt. He was proud that she looked at him with such loving eyes. 

Beautiful brown eyes. 

Edwin sighed happily and shut the clippers. Life without Nora would not be better.

He would remove the unsightly abstract piece and set it aside until morning to enjoy the night indulging in her company and remind himself of that fact. Tomorrow he would get her something else to hang for the approaching festivities and enjoy the sparkle in her eyes as he hung it alongside the others. Grabbing hold of the ladder’s rungs, he hurried toward the house again, the hedges on either side of the path guiding him toward the gas-lit lanterns a dozen feet away. 

When he entered the sitting room, he quickly erected the ladder, but laid the clippers aside as he waltzed to Nora’s chair and beamed down at her.

“What is that clever grin for?” She eyed him with a suspicious smile.

“For you, dear. You might think it silly, but I was just thinking of how much I love you.”

Nora’s cheeks were painted a deep pink, likely in part to the blazing fireplace, but his words certainly contributed to her change in color.

“And I love you, Edwin.” She stood with his help and pressed her hand to his cheek. “When you get rid of that awful thing, we should turn in for the night.”

Her wink made Edwin spring into action. “I will make quick work of it!”

He climbed onto the ladder, and she passed him the clippers. Nora moved a few steps away and watched as the gentleman cut the noose from the rafters. The corpse fell to the rug below with a sickening thump, and the woman tilted her head as it crumpled over.

“Maybe it’s because he was Italian. Let’s not hang anymore of those.”

Edwin smiled down from his perch on the ladder. “Yes, dear.”

Thanks to my mom for the photo of my great-grandfather and his wife. 

Just to clarify they weren't serial killers (to our knowledge), but I thought it'd be nice to have a photo.