Unforced Error by Michael Bowen

have expected Peter to keep this thing in mint condition.”
    Pulling his own gauntlets on, Rep worked a loose, broken wicker strut free from the chair back. He extended his right hand toward Melissa, who with some reluctance turned the saber over to him. Rep tossed the wicker into the air and slashed theatrically at it with the saber. Unfortunately, he missed, which somewhat diluted his gesture’s dramatic impact. He tried again and this time made contact. The saber sliced cleanly through half an inch of wood.
    â€œVery impressive, dear, but isn’t that what sabers are supposed to do?”
    â€œMine didn’t. These things are supposed to be props. Re-enactments aren’t intended to spill real blood.”
    Melissa realized that what she was about to do was manipulative, and reminded herself to feel ashamed later on. Her face formed an exasperated pout, which she turned away from Rep as soon as she was sure he’d seen it.
    â€œYou’re upset with my dogmatic, left-brained, patriarchal, stereotypically male logical empiricism, right?” Rep asked.
    â€œLet’s just say that if I gave you a swat right now it would be aggravation, not flirtation,” Melissa said. “Which wouldn’t be fair, because you’re right. Logically, things don’t look particularly good.”
    â€œWell, it’s not
all
one way,” Rep allowed. “There’s no blood on the uniform, which should have gotten thoroughly spattered from the kind of attack that killed Quinlan. Peter certainly didn’t seem coldly homicidal when he was retrieving his saber and talking to me. And with a guy like Quinlan seems to have been, there are probably several cuckolded husbands in the Kansas City metropolitan area who would have been happy to cut his throat.”
    â€œGo on,” Melissa said, her face glowing with ostensible admiration for her husband’s rhetorical brilliance. “You’re certainly convincing me.”
    With a mordant smile at his wife, Rep took the scabbard from her and decisively re-sheathed the saber.
    â€œYou don’t really think I’m swallowing that little routine, do you, Doctor Pennyworth?” he asked then.
    â€œUh oh,” Melissa said. “I rather thought you were, actually.”
    â€œListen,” he said tenderly, putting the saber back the chair. “I know how much Linda means to you. I know you feel that Linda confiding in you and you giving her advice means you have a special responsibility.”
    â€œBut,” Melissa prompted.
    â€œBut Peter had a sharp piece of metal there when someone he had a motive to kill got killed with a sharp piece of metal. You’re resisting the obvious. With anyone else I’d say emotional involvement got in the way of objectivity. But you’re too smart for me to blow your argument off like that.”
    â€œRep, dearest, ” Melissa said, “I know exactly what you’re up to.”
    â€œSo I want you to do something,” Rep continued. “Think about it for a minute, and then tell me how much of your attitude is coming from your heart and how much is coming from your head.”
    â€œYou’re not playing fair,” Melissa said.
    â€œThat doesn’t exactly set a precedent in this conversation, does it?”
    â€œOkay.” Melissa took a deep breath. She closed her eyes. She forced herself to think methodically for sixty seconds. “Okay,” she said again. “Time for a little dose of G.K. Chesterton.”
    â€œDose away.”
    â€œSuppose an eleven-year old girl told you that she’d seen a vision of the Blessed Virgin or Mother Teresa. Would you believe her?”
    â€œNo,” Rep said.
    â€œNeither would I. But would you be absolutely certain?”
    Rep opened his mouth for a hip-shot answer, then stopped and thought for a few seconds.
    â€œThis will sound like a cop-out,” he said, “but I don’t think I could