by David Bell
Her smile returned in all its glory. “I will, Ryan.”
She stood in the door, waving, silhouetted by the warm light from inside the house, until I started the car and drove off.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Blake knew I was looking for him—how could he not? Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he didn’t want to talk to me.
Or Samantha.
So I drove home. It was after eleven when I pulled into the alley that led to our driveway, and I expected to see a darkened house, Amanda long asleep with the baby monitor on the bedside table.
What I saw instead made me slam on my brakes.
Every room on the first floor of the house glowed, casting yellow light out onto the lawn and against the trunks of the trees in the yard. The same was true in every room upstairs, except for Henry’s, which was dark, the blinds closed.
And a police car sat in the driveway, blocking my way.
I froze in place behind the wheel, my thoughts swirling like a swarm of insects.
Amanda. Henry. What had happened?
I parked at the curb and jumped out, starting for the house and slamming the driver’s-side door behind me. I forgot everything that had happened, driven forward only by my desire to know that Amanda and Henry were okay.
I ran across the lawn, the dew cold and wet kicking up against my shins, and I yanked open the back door and went into the brightly lit kitchen, where Amanda was leaning against the counter, wearing a light jacket over her sweatshirt and yoga pants as though she was about to go somewhere. She’d exchanged the flip-flops for running shoes.
“What’s happening?” I asked. “Are you okay? Is Henry?”
“It’s about time you got here,” she said. “The police were just leaving.”
“The police?”
I’d been so intently focused on Amanda that I hadn’t looked around the kitchen to see the two uniformed cops standing on the other side of the room. I turned to them, and they both looked back, their faces solemn, their silver badges glinting under the lights.
I faced the cops but asked Amanda, “Is Henry okay?”
“He’s fine,” she said, calm as anything. The eye of the storm. “We’re both fine. You can relax.”
“Then why . . . ?”
My mind raced to another place, somewhere it hadn’t gone since I pulled up behind the house. Were the police there for me? Had they learned I was in Jennifer’s house earlier? Had Blake told them something?
My heart, which had been a block of ice since I’d pulled up, started beating again. I didn’t care. Better me than Amanda or Henry. As long as they were okay, I didn’t care.
“I called them,” Amanda said.
“To find me?”
“No.” She moved to the window above the kitchen sink and turned that light off. She pressed her face against the glass. “What did you see out there?”
“Out where?”
“In the yard.” She pointed out, her face still against the glass. “I heard someone out there. Just ten or fifteen minutes ago. That’s why all the lights are on. That’s why I’m up. And dressed. I thought I might have to grab Henry and run. That’s when I called them and they came. It’s crazy.”
“What did you hear?”
“Sir?” one of the cops said. He was tall, with a goatee, and had razor burn along his neck. “Your wife called us because she thought she heard someone outside. A possible burglar.”
Amanda backed away from the window and unzipped her jacket. But she left it on. She folded her arms across her chest. “Something bumped against the garbage cans. I heard them knock together. And it’s not really that windy tonight. Not enough to rattle the cans like that.”
“Maybe it was a cat. Or those raccoons we saw last week. Once they find a food source, they’re going to come back.”
“Of course I thought of that, Ryan. And if that was all that happened, I wouldn’t be worried. But then I heard the back door rattle.” She pointed to the door I had just come through, the one we used the most to enter and exit the house, the one that led right out to the driveway and the detached garage. “Ryan, someone was trying to get in here. I swear. They pulled on this door handle a few times.”
Every nerve and fiber in my body was pulled as tight as an overtuned guitar string. I’d expected to find peace and quiet at home. Not more craziness.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Amanda gave me a withering look. Her head cocked to one side, and the corners of her mouth turned down. “You know I don’t get riled up over stuff like this, Ryan. I’m not a scaredy-cat like some people we know.”
She was right. Amanda had a friend named Jane who had called the police three different times when her boyfriend was out of town and she thought someone was breaking into her house. Once it was a branch rubbing against the roof. Once a cat. And once she called the police because a piece of siding had come loose and fallen into the backyard. She no longer stayed home alone when her boyfriend went out of town. She spent those nights sleeping in her childhood bedroom just down the hall from her parents.
“We looked around outside,” the cop said, the one with the razor burn. “We saw some tracks out there, ones that went along the back of the house. Was there any reason for someone to be out there?”
“I don’t know. Who knows when the tracks were made?”
“It’s been raining a lot lately,” the cop said. “They must be pretty new. Did you see anything just now, when you were coming in?”
“I ran in. I saw your car, and I thought the worst.”
“Have you seen or heard anything unusual recently? Anything at all?”
Had I seen anything unusual? Yes, I wanted to say. A dead woman. On the floor of her bedroom. A dead woman who sent me a ghostly Facebook friend request.
Stone dead.
“Nothing,” I said. “Nothing.”
“No one suspicious hanging around? No property missing or signs of a break-in?”
I felt every breath I took. My heart rate slowed ever so slightly. Dawn Steiner. She was suspicious and odd. But she’d never been to the house. Not as far as I knew. But her deadline loomed . . . two days away. Had she grown impatient and come by to force the issue?
“Sir?”
“No. Nothing like that. It’s safe here.”
“You haven’t had any problems like this any other night?” the cop asked.
“Nothing at all,” I said.
Both cops considered me without speaking. They were big men—like linebackers with gleaming badges—and younger than I was. They looked eminently capable and smart, which set me on edge.
“Well,” the only cop who had spoken said, “we can file a report, and we’ll be sure to mention the fresh tracks. If anything else happens, feel free to call us. We’ll be patrolling all night.”
“Thank you,” Amanda said. “I hope this wasn’t a wild-goose chase for you all. I know you’re busy.”
“No problem, ma’am,” the second cop said, finally speaking. He had a thick head of hair perfectly sculpted into place. “That’s what we’re here for.”
“Your wife said you were at a basketball game tonight,” the first cop said.
“What’s that?”
“You were at a basketball game, right? At the Y?”
“Yes, that’s right,” I said.
“Must be the Thursday night league,” he said. “My brother plays in that.”
“That’s right.”
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
My eyes moved between them. They both kept the serious looks on their faces.
“What happened?” the second cop asked.
My throat went dry. I looked at Amanda, who was watching me.
I tried to swallow and couldn’t. “What do you mean?” I asked.
Bo
th the cops smiled.
“At the game,” the first one said. “Your wife says you’re not very good. How did it go?”
Then they were both laughing. And so was Amanda.
And I tried to laugh too, although it felt like coughing up rocks.
“She’s right,” I said. “I’m not very good.”
The cops moved forward, and the second one clapped me on the shoulder.
“Like we said, if you need anything else, just call. We’ll be around.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
When the cops were gone and we were alone, Amanda looked at me, her face growing serious. “Tell me you know I wouldn’t overreact to something like that.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I know you’re not like that.”
“Will you go look around and make sure everything’s okay?”
“Didn’t the cops do that?”
“They did. But you know our yard better than they do. You can tell if things are out of place or missing. Just take a quick look.”
But I really didn’t want to. Given Amanda’s usually calm demeanor and tendency not to exaggerate such things, it seemed there was a very good chance that someone had tried to come in the back door. And if that was the case, then who was it?
The same person who had killed Jennifer?
Did that person know where I lived? Had they come to the house to harm Amanda and Henry?
I couldn’t believe it was just a random coincidence that on the night I stumbled into the middle of a murder scene, some burglar also decided to try to break into our house.
Should I have told the cops about all of that?
How exactly would I have explained that to them?
“You just had the cops here,” I said. “They dealt with it. They weren’t too worried. They wanted to talk about basketball. I don’t need to go out there like I’m Han Solo or John Wick. You always say the police are there for a reason. We pay taxes. So we put them to work. You heard that cop—he said they’d be around.”
“I know. They are. But just look yourself, okay? It would make me feel better if you did it. Check to make sure that entrance to the crawl space is secure. You know it comes loose sometimes. And make sure nothing’s missing. Or I can do it and you can stay in here with Henry.” Amanda watched me, her arms still crossed.
“Will this make you feel better?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay, then I’ll do it. For you. And you’re sure Henry’s okay?”
“I went up and checked on him before you came home.”
Before I went back out the door, I opened a closet in the hallway and brought out the battered aluminum bat I used in my summer softball league.
“Please don’t lock the door behind me once I’m out there,” I said.
Amanda didn’t hesitate. “I won’t.”
“You’ll help me if I scream. Right?”
“Of course. Unless you’re being chased by the boogeyman. Then you’re on your own.”
I opened the door and went back out into the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The bat rested on my shoulder, and I kept two hands wrapped around the handle in case I suddenly had to swing.
Did I really think I’d be willing to swing a baseball bat at somebody’s head? With the intent to harm or kill them?
And if I was right, the person who might have been sneaking around and trying the back door had already killed someone. They might be carrying a real weapon, a gun or a knife.
Maybe they’d seen me in Jen’s house and came by to polish me off for being a witness. Maybe they wanted to peek in the windows and watch my response to getting mystery friend requests.
I felt like I was in way over my head. Like I’d stepped onto a frozen pond, and the ice around my feet had started to crack in all directions. And the freezing water was sloshing over my shoe tops as I stood there, watching it rise.
We lived in an older neighborhood near downtown where the houses, most built around World War One, were in the process of being renovated and sold to young couples and families. The houses were close together, and our yard backed up to a narrow pothole-pocked alley that saw a decent amount of pedestrian and vehicle traffic. Could someone have just been passing by? A kid playing a prank even that late at night?
I willed myself forward and walked around the perimeter of the garage. At each corner of the building, I expected a giant man dressed in black to come at me, menacing me with a knife or a club or a gun. But no one emerged from the shadows. Still, by the time I made it back to the house and the door I’d come out of, my heart had swelled like a balloon and was cutting off air in my throat.
I continued past the back door and headed for the other side of the house. We’d been drenched with rain a day earlier, a spring soaker, and when I stepped off the patio, my shoes squished in the soft grass. It was darker over there. Light from the kitchen windows provided some illumination, but that only went so far. Holding on to the bat with one hand, the taped grip rough against my skin, I took out my phone with the other and activated my flashlight. I directed it in front of me, a cone of brightness cutting through the dark, and adhered to the belief I’d held since childhood that the boogeyman and monsters disappeared when light hit them.
I really hoped that was true.
I squished along the back of the house, my phone casting light into the yard, and stopped only when I reached the far corner, where the property was bordered by a wooden fence. I saw no one. Heard nothing. A measure of relief passed through me at seeing and hearing nothing, and released some of the pressure from my heart. I told myself I’d done enough, and it was okay to return to the safety of the house. Amanda wasn’t someone who overreacted, but since Henry’s birth, she and I had both become bigger worriers, anxious about germs and car seats and chemicals in food.
I told myself we could only handle one crisis at a time, and the one with Jennifer and Blake was more than enough to keep me occupied.
As I came back to the door, the beam of the flashlight revealed the ground around the edge of the patio. The cops had been right. I saw footprints that weren’t mine, deep and fresh. They went in two directions—away from the back door and toward it, as though someone had paced outside, perhaps looking in one of the kitchen windows before or after trying the back door.
My heart, which had been going back to its normal size, swelled again. It felt like it might burst out of the center of my chest. Someone had been there. Without a doubt.
I went back inside and quickly closed the door. Then I made sure to throw the bolt and use the chain, making the house feel like Fort Knox.
When I turned around, Amanda was walking back into the room. I figured she’d gone to look in on Henry and come down when she heard the door opening and closing.
“Well?” she asked.
“I didn’t see anyone.”
“So you think I’m crazy?”
“I didn’t say that, did I?” I still held the bat, so I put it down in the corner of the kitchen by the back door. “The tracks were there, just like the cops said. Looks like someone in sneakers. It’s pretty eerie. In fact, I’m going to go around and make sure all the doors and windows are locked. Just to be safe.”
“And the crawl space entrance?”
“Secure. I looked.”
“So I did the right thing calling the police?”
“Yes, of course,” I said.
And I meant it.
“If we hear anything else, let’s call them,” I said. “Like I said, I’ll check everything. Oh, and then I’ll post on the neighborhood Facebook group. Did you check that yet?”
“No. I didn’t think of it. That’s your thing.”
“Maybe somebody else saw or heard something. Or, at the very least, everyone else can be on high alert.”
Amanda listened
to me and then nodded. She seemed mollified.
“Are you going to bed now?” I asked. “Can you sleep? Or are you too amped-up?”
“I better. Sir Henry might be getting me up soon.”
“I’ll secure the place and then post in the group. I’ll come to bed after that. You’ll probably be asleep.”
“Probably.”
I went over and kissed her good night, letting my lips linger for a second. I wanted to do more. I wished the night were so simple I could lead her by the hand up to the bedroom and we could slide under the covers together like we used to do all the time before Henry was born.
I wished it were a night like that.
But it wasn’t. I focused on my task of securing the house.
“I’m sorry I interrupted your game,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“I feel silly that I called you during the game. I should have just rolled with it.”
I’d forgotten about her call. “No worries. I wish I hadn’t gone too.”
“Why? Did you lose?”
“No,” I said, trying to be casual. “I just think everything would have been better if I’d been here with you.”
She studied me for a moment, the light catching the green in her eyes. She seemed to be searching my face, wondering if something deeper lay beneath my words.
I’m not sure what she saw, but it must have been enough, because she nodded and said as I turned away, “I wish I hadn’t gone to the store earlier.”
I stopped and looked back. “Why? Did something happen?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m just being silly. I just wish . . . I should have been at home.”
She turned then and went up the stairs without looking back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Once I heard Amanda’s footsteps recede up the stairs and move into our bedroom, I went into the small office I kept at the back of the first floor. I pulled out both phones—mine and Jennifer’s—but before I looked at them, I did what I told Amanda I would do and opened my laptop to look at the neighborhood Facebook group.
