by Erin Lanter
And she was the one who had to figure out what to do about it.
17
Lois Simmons wiped her hands on her apron and placed them on the edge of the kitchen counter, leaning closer to the window above it.
“I knew it!” she whispered to herself.
That same handsome man was stepping off the front stoop of the neighbor woman’s house again.
He’d been there the past two nights, and she’d seen him leaving early in the morning wearing the same clothes he’d arrived in the night before.
“Good for her,” Lois said to the empty kitchen. While she didn’t believe women should be easy conquests, she was glad to see that Tessa might not be so lonely after all. “At least she has one person in her life,” she continued.
Walter left for work an hour ago, and since then she’d been making conversation with an empty room. Walt always told her she didn’t really need him to have a conversation, but he had no idea how right he was. All day long, she carried on conversations with thin air, but she’d never tell him there wasn’t much of a difference between talking to him and talking to nobody at all. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him, after thirty-five years of marriage, he was a bore to talk to. That would hurt his feelings.
While she was busily working to fill orders for her rapidly growing home-based bakery, Lois’s Loaves, she had plenty of time to watch the neighborhood.
Without a commercial oven, she already had to scramble to get orders to her customers on time, and she certainly didn’t have a moment to spare. On the other hand…
Curiosity getting the better of her, she again wiped her hands on her apron and patted her perfectly bobbed hair. Of course it looks okay, she reminded herself on the way out the kitchen door. You just had it done yesterday.
She rushed into her side yard just in time to hear the man answer his phone as he slid behind the steering wheel. As he backed out of the driveway, Lois put her hands on her ever-expanding hips.
Apparently, she wouldn’t find out what was going on with him and her next-door neighbor after all. Not today, anyway.
18
Drew groaned as he glanced at his cell phone. He answered after the third ring, just before the call went to voice mail.
“Good morning, Camille,” he said as he slid behind the steering wheel.
“Where have you been, Drew?” Camille demanded. “I stopped by your house this morning on my way to work, but you were already gone. Did you go to work early?”
He took a deep breath. He hated lying – was morally opposed to it, actually – but telling her the truth would start a conversation he didn’t have the energy for. “I had to run out. I’m on my way back home now to get ready for work.” That’s not exactly a lie, he rationalized. I did run out. Last night.
“Well, I thought I’d surprise you with dinner last night, but you weren’t home then, either. I called, but you didn’t answer.” Camille’s voice was missing its usual playful tone. Drew suspected she knew something was up.
He pulled the phone away from his ear and checked the call history. Sure enough, she’d called three times during the movie when he’d had his phone on silent.
“Is everything okay?” Camille’s voice was softer now.
“Yes, of course,” he assured her. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind these days.”
“Okay.” Camille paused. “So, where were you?”
Here we go, Drew thought. Whether he liked it or not, this conversation wouldn’t wait. “I needed to meet somebody.”
Silence floated between the two of them before she asked, “Is there someone else, Drew?”
He felt a stab of regret. Camille sounded hurt. “Not exactly…” That wasn’t a lie, either. Tessa didn’t seem to want him.
“Then where were you last night?” she asked for a third time.
“With an old friend.” His vague answers were bound to confirm her suspicions.
“Who is she?” Camille demanded.
Drew got the impression Camille had been in this position before.
“Tessa.”
“Tessa!” Camille shouted. “You mean your ex-wife, Tessa?”
“Yes.”
“From the way you talked about her, she sounds like a nightmare.”
Anger rose in Drew’s chest. He and Tessa had definitely had their problems – this morning proved it. But hearing someone else call her a nightmare, made him feel both angry and ashamed. Why had he ever told Camille the reason they split up?
“She’s not a nightmare, Camille,” Drew said defensively.
“But what about her trust issues? You told me all about them. And what about her temper?”
“What about them?” he challenged. “She knows me and understands me more than anyone else ever has.” He hesitated, then said quietly, “Or ever will.”
The sharp intake of breath on the other end of the call told Drew that Camille understood what he meant. This relationship was a dead end, and now she knew it. He was relieved that it was finally out in the open.
“Did you spend the night with her?” Camille asked. Her voice was gentle, like a child’s.
What a way to start the day, he thought. I’ve made two women mad at me in the span of thirty minutes, and I haven’t even had breakfast.
“Yes, I stayed the night.” He didn’t elaborate. There was no need. Camille would feel betrayed no matter what.
She was crying softly in his ear as he pulled into the driveway of his house. He glanced at the clock on his dashboard. “We’ll have to talk about this later. I’ve got a meeting and I’m running behind. How about we meet for lunch at the deli near your office?”
Through sniffles, Camille agreed.
Drew dreaded lunch but was looking forward to his relationship with Camille being over. He needed room to breathe, and he wanted to convince Tessa to make a go of it again.
As he rushed up the front steps of his house, he told himself that this time, no matter what happened, he wouldn’t back out on Tessa.
19
Camille Walker disconnected the call with Drew, dropped her phone in her purse, and pulled a tissue from the box on her desk. She blew her nose and sniffed, a tear dropping from her cheek and wrinkling the new account paperwork on her desk. Dabbing her eyes, she shook her head.
This can’t be happening, she thought. Drew is breaking up with me. I’ve finally found the kind of man I want to spend my life with, and he’s on the verge of kicking me to the curb.
She tossed the used tissue into the trash can and grabbed a new one.
Here she was, in her early thirties, and for the first time in her life in a meaningful relationship. She’d relished the last three months. Drew, a man like none she’d ever met, treated her with respect. Ever since she was a teenager, she’d had a string of boyfriends who looked at her like she was a sports car they couldn’t wait to drive.
But Drew was different. He opened doors for her and everything. For the first time in her whole life, a man wasn’t just interested in taking her for a test drive.
Another tear plopped onto the paperwork.
Straightening her spine, she clenched her teeth and thrust her jaw forward. She wouldn’t let him go without a fight. There had to be something more she could offer. Something Tessa couldn’t.
Camille wasn’t as successful as Drew, she knew, but she made a decent living, and she had one of the highest new account rates of any relationship banker at her branch. She’d been especially successful at getting men to open new or additional accounts they really didn’t need. Her mouth curved into a slight smile. She’d used the tools at her disposal to make it almost impossible for clients to refuse, and those tools didn’t have anything to do with low interest rates or high rates of return. No, Camille used the tools she’d been working with all her life: her looks and a low-cut neckline.
The way she wore them was almost an art. Few women appreciated it, but their husbands certainly did. Leaning close when talking, as if she were sharing a s
ecret just between the two of them; looking up through expertly mascaraed lashes; leaving just the slightest hint of perfume in the air when she left a room. All those things worked like magic.
Except on Drew.
Oh sure, he appreciated her beauty. He’d have to be blind not to. She rarely had days when she felt unattractive, and that confidence was just another tool in her arsenal.
After blowing her nose one last time, she tossed the tissue in the trash can, slid her phone out of her purse, and punched the number for her best friend.
Beth would know what to do.
She knew what was coming at lunch, and no matter what it took, Camille wouldn’t let Drew get away.
20
Detective Al Jefferson mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and tugged on the front of his suit, trying to get air flowing through his clothes. The hottest day of the year wasn’t the time to be beating the pavement looking for a possible killer. The day was scorching, and he longed to be in his air-conditioned cruiser. Instead, he was following up on the lead Tessa James had given him the day before.
So far, he’d hit nothing but dead ends. Not that he was surprised. Even she’d doubted herself.
Most of the residents on the street were at work. Of course they are, he mused. They have to pay for this lifestyle somehow. A few housewives opened their doors, but he didn’t get much from them.
He smirked again, thinking of them as housewives – he doubted any of them even lifted a finger around the house. The ones he’d actually gotten to talk to were either on their way to play tennis at “the club,” about to go shopping, or out to lunch.
Of course, many of the women could have been executives, but they weren’t home to be questioned.
Al fought off a pang of jealousy. For sitting around in an air-conditioned office all day, these people certainly were raking in the dough.
“Where’s the justice in that?” he’d often complained to Darlene, his long-suffering girlfriend, when his choice of career had been put down by old schoolmates who went on to get multiple degrees and ended up working for Fortune 500 companies. “I get paid peanuts for putting my life on the line every day, and these guys sit around looking at paper all day and are worth millions.”
Darlene would nod along, pretending she wasn’t sick of hearing him complain, then end the conversation by telling him what a strong, handsome man he was, and that he didn’t need to have a ton of money to make her happy.
It worked every time. When she got through with him, his insecurities were gone.
He stood on the sidewalk in front of the house at the end of the cul-de-sac, the one Tessa James had described. Even if she was wrong about what she saw, she was certainly right about one thing: the house definitely had a creepy vibe. He suddenly felt uneasy.
Walking up the front steps, he pressed the doorbell with his thumb. Chimes ding-donged inside. He waited for somebody to answer – not that he really expected them to.
Just as he gave up and began to descend the steps, the door swung open. In the doorway stood a man of average height with a slender build. His overall appearance was unremarkable. Except his eyes. There was something peculiar about them. If this was the guy, he knew what the James woman meant. As he looked at the man, her story gained credibility.
He extended his hand toward the man who opened the door. “Hello, sir. I’m Detective Al Jefferson. I’d like to ask you a few questions about something that might have happened here two nights ago,” he said as a bead of sweat rolled from his side burn and down his jaw line. “May I come in?”
“Actually,” the man said, squeezing through the narrow doorway, “I was just going back to work. Do you mind if we walk and talk?” he asked, motioning toward a sleek silver sports car parked at the curb.
“Sure,” Al agreed, eying the car.
“What can I do for you, Detective?” the man asked politely, turning to lock the front door.
The two men fell into step as they walked toward the car. “We had a report of a crime on this street Monday night. I’m questioning all the residents to see if they know anything about it.”
“Crime? Here? I’m afraid not. Every home on this street has state-of-the-art security systems. A criminal wouldn’t stand a chance here, I’m afraid,” the man offered. He placed his hands on his hips and squinted into the sun.
“Well, sir,” Detective Jefferson continued, “someone has come forward to say she witnessed a crime, and I have to check it out. You understand, I’m sure.”
The man laughed a tight, high-pitched laughed. “Impossible. Nothing ever happens here. This is probably the safest street in the city, but I do understand that you have to poke around.”
Al clenched his teeth. Poke around? “Okay. Thank you for your time. If you think of anything, please call,” he said, extending a business card in the man’s direction.
“Of course,” the man mumbled as he pressed the button on his key fob to unlock his car. It beeped twice.
Al walked toward his own car, and behind him he heard the thump of the man’s car door slamming shut. The engine roared to life, then the car sped past him, the driver never glancing at him as he drove by.
The detective opened his car door and slipped into the cruiser, turning the air-conditioning on full blast. As he pulled away from the curb, he made a mental note to take a closer look at the owner of that house.
21
For the third time in thirty-six hours, he gripped the steering wheel with sweaty hands, cursing himself for his carelessness. How had he let this happen? That woman had seen him, and in that moment of surprise he’d let his guard slip. They’d made eye contact and now he was being questioned by the police. Had anyone else seen him that night, too?
Did the detective believe him? He wasn’t lying when he said this was probably the safest street in the city. It was – or at least it would be if he didn’t live there.
It had been a stroke of luck that he was getting ready to go back to work after lunch when his doorbell rang. Theoretically, he should have been expecting a police officer to stop by, but he’d been genuinely surprised, and he was struck by momentary panic that the house hadn’t been cleaned thoroughly.
That was ridiculous, of course. Nobody would find evidence there no matter how hard they tried.
Still, his carelessness made him doubt himself, and he didn’t want that detective to have the chance to snoop around. As far as he was concerned, if there was any investigation at all, it was still in the beginning stages. His lips pulled back into a smile. It would be pretty hard for them to get any proof of a crime with no evidence and no victim.
Even so…
He slammed his palm against the steering wheel. “This is not the way it was supposed to go,” he growled. “She would have never been missed if that nosy woman hadn’t been on my street.”
Then he’d been stupid enough to drive all over the place last night looking for her.
What if she’d seen him? She’d go to the cops again before he had a chance to take care of her.
As he pulled into the parking lot at his office, he vowed that she wouldn’t get the chance and assured himself that she wouldn’t be a threat much longer. This time, though, he was going to make sure he did it right.
22
Tessa’s palms grew sweaty as she held the phone to her ear. “What do you mean, you haven’t found anything? I saw it.”
“I know what you saw, Ms. James, but we haven’t found a body matching the description you gave us. It’s been more than twenty-four hours since you came to us, and so far, we haven’t found a single thing suggesting there was a crime.”
“That doesn’t mean nothing happened,” Tessa countered. “There are a lot of places a person could stash a body.”
“That’s true. I’m looking into this, and I’ve questioned the people who live on that street, including the owner of that house. Most of them were incredulous that anyone would even suggest anything bad could happen in their own little corner
of paradise.”
“That only means those people can’t face the idea that they’re not as safe as they think they are,” Tessa said, her face hot.
In a soothing tone, Detective Jefferson said, “I’m not saying I don’t believe you; I’m saying that I haven’t come up with anything to support your claim.”
Tessa heard the detective take a deep breath on the other end of the line before he continued. “There have been no new missing persons reported in the last day and a half. So, as you can see, my hands are tied. Until we find a body or get a report that a woman matching the description you gave us is missing, there’s nothing else I can do. I’m sorry.”
Activity buzzed around her. Business as usual in the newsroom. A cameraman and a reporter were heading out the side door to a news van, on their way to a breaking story. Tessa squelched the hope that the body of a young woman had been found. From the way her conversation with Detective Jefferson was going, she doubted whether anyone was even seriously looking.
“Of course, I would be grateful for any more information you have,” he added in what Tessa assumed was a feeble attempt to appease her, “but at the moment we have nothing to go on.”
“I see,” Tessa whispered, feeling small and insignificant. The detective’s meaning was clear: until they had some kind of evidence, they weren’t going to keep looking.
Feeling completely helpless, she pushed away the image of a field mouse scampering through the grass, desperately trying to get away from the bird of prey waiting to swoop down and grab her. The room spun. Tessa grabbed the edge of her desk to steady herself, angry at herself for being so scared and angry at Detective Jefferson for not doing more to protect her.
I’m not crazy! she wanted to scream. I know I saw it! Maybe if she said it loud enough, she’d be able to convince herself. She bit her lip to stop herself.
Until something turned up, though, she’d feel like a nut for going to the police with something she wasn’t even sure of.
