The Long Way Home

by Richard Chizmar

  “I would be delighted to.” Mrs. Cavanaugh glanced next door. “How are you and your husband liking the neighborhood so far?”

  Bingo, Lily thought. There’s my way in.

  “Oh, we love it here. Everyone’s been so nice and friendly, and the house is wonderful.”

  The older woman beamed. “Our family moved here in 1983, and my husband and I knew it was our forever home from the first night we spent in it. It’s a fine place to raise a family and grow old.” Mrs. Cavanaugh winked. “Trust me, I know all about the growing old part.”

  “Goodness, you’re not old at all, Mrs. Cavanaugh.” Lily placed an affectionate hand on the older woman’s arm. “Just look at you out here with all these beautiful roses. And didn’t I see you taking a walk the other afternoon?”

  “Well, I do try.”

  “Can I ask you something, Mrs. Cavanaugh?”

  “Sure, honey, anything you want.”

  Lily lowered her voice a notch. “Can you tell me anything about the neighborhood homeowners’ association?”

  The warm smile on Mrs. Cavanaugh’s face faltered. It was just for a split second, and then the smile was back, but Lily saw the whole thing.

  “Why…why do you ask?”

  Lily shrugged in an effort to look casual. “I was just wondering. The other day I was going over the papers from our settlement and I noticed the fee for the homeowners’ association.”

  Now it was the older woman’s turn to lower her voice. “I really don’t know much about the association. My Ronald handled all that business. What I can tell you is that, according to longtime gossip, only the original founders of the Broadview neighborhood and their offspring are allowed to be board members, and they take their duties seriously. Very seriously. My husband kept a printed copy of the bylaws in his den, and he knew most of it by memory.”

  “The whole thing sounds kind of mysterious,” Lily said and smiled.

  Mrs. Cavanaugh surprised her by nodding in agreement. “I suppose it is, dear. I suppose it is.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “Not even a clue. It’s just always been that way.” The older woman sighed and glanced nervously at her house. “I’m feeling a little bushed now, dear. I think I’ll head inside for a nap. Thank you so much for stopping by to say hello.”

  Lily waved after her. “Thank you for the lovely chat. Hopefully we can do it again sometime soon.”

  ****

  Harold walked across the street and waited on the sidewalk while Chuck Noonan finished mowing his side yard. When he cut the final strip and turned the corner into the front yard, Harold gave him a wave and gestured: do you have a minute?

  Chuck waved back and steered in Harold’s direction. It took him maybe thirty seconds to reach the sidewalk. He cut the engine, and the mower burped black exhaust and went mercifully quiet. Chuck stood up and stretched. The vinyl seat and his Grateful Dead tank-top were both soaked in sweat. “What’s up, Harry?”

  Harold didn’t bother to correct him. To guys like Chuck Noonan, he would always be a Harry. “Couple things, actually. First, I wanted to tell you that I’m having a poker game in a week or two. Just some friends from the office. Thought you might be interested in joining us.”

  Chuck hopped down from the mower, grinning. “You’re damn right I’m interested. Bunch of rich accountants like you, I’ll make a bundle.”

  “I’m actually a broker. I handle—”

  Chuck waved him off. “Accountant, broker, same thing.” He slapped Harold on the back. “Anyway, it’s damn nice of you to invite me. I’ll be there with beer and chips for the whole gang.”

  “Thanks, I’ll let you know the date once we set it.”

  “You said there was a couple things. What else you need?”

  Harold glanced across the street and saw Lily talking to Mrs. Cavanaugh by her rose garden.

  “… to Harry, Earth to Harry.”

  He blinked and looked back at Chuck. “Sorry about that. Caught me wool-gathering.” He cleared his throat. “The other thing wasn’t anything terribly important. I was just wondering what you could tell me about the homeowners’ association around here.”

  Chuck’s face clouded over. The smile disappeared and his eyes went dark. “Why you asking about the association? You in some kind of trouble?”

  Harold stepped back involuntarily. “No, no, nothing like that. I was just curious.”

  Chuck waggled a sausage finger in Harold’s face. “Bullshit. Tell me why you’re asking or I’m done here.”

  “I…I…”

  Chuck lowered his hand and glanced around the neighborhood. “You got a warning, didn’t you?”

  Harold was at a loss for words, caught completely off guard by his neighbor’s odd reaction. He didn’t know why, but he blurted the truth. “Yeah,” he said, nodding, “I got a warning.”

  Chuck took a deep breath and lowered his head. His entire torso jiggled with the effort. “I fuckin’ knew it.” He looked up and the sausage finger flashed in front of Harold’s face again. “Listen to me, neighbor, and listen to me good. I’m only saying this once. Read the bylaws and obey them to the word. Don’t get any more warnings, but if you do, pay the fine and keep your nose clean after you do.”

  Chuck turned and climbed onto his riding mower. He fired the engine and it roared to life with another loud burp of black exhaust. Without a backward glance, Chuck Noonan swung a U-turn and drove away.

  ****

  “So that was a big fat waste of time. We’re no better off now than before we started this whole thing.” They were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table. Lazy afternoon sunlight slanted through the window above the sink. Springsteen’s “Jungle Land” played softly from a radio sitting on the counter.

  They’d taken turns recounting their side of the story, Lily first, then Harold. When they were finished, Lily had poured them each a big glass of red wine. They’d needed it.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Lily said. “We know a little something about the origins of the association now. And we definitely know that everyone else around here is just as weirded out about it as we are.”

  “Chuck Noonan was scared.”

  Lily nodded. “I think Mrs. Cavanaugh was, too. I felt bad for bringing it up.”

  “So what do we do next?”

  Lily didn’t have an answer.

  ****

  Two days later, in the middle of a busy Monday morning, Lily was carrying a load of clean laundry up from the basement when she heard a noise coming from the back of the house. She paused at the top of the basement stairs and listened. After a moment, she heard it again. A stealthy scraping noise, like someone was trying to pry open the sliding glass door or one of the ground-level windows.

  She placed the laundry basket on the floor and tip-toed into the kitchen to look for her cellphone. It wasn’t on the counter and it wasn’t on the table. She remembered then that she had left it in the basement on top of the drying table. She was just about to head downstairs when she heard the scraping sound again. Closer this time.

  She grabbed a dirty pan from the sink and crept to the entryway leading into the dining room. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and peeked around the corner.

  A dark shadow shifted in the far window and quickly disappeared.

  Lily stood there, heart pounding in her chest and hands shaking. She wasn’t sure if it had been a trick of the sunlight or her imagination or something else. All she knew was that one second she thought she’d seen something at the window, and the next it was gone.

  She dropped the pan with a clatter and scampered back into the basement to get her phone. Once she had it tucked safely in the palm of her hand, and 911 was dialed, and her finger was resting directly above the SEND button, she carefully approached the window again.

  There was no
one there.

  She quickly checked the other ground-level windows.

  Once again, she found nothing out of the ordinary.

  She was almost convinced the whole thing had just been her stupid imagination when she reached the sliding glass door that led to the back deck.

  She had wiped the glass door clean not an hour earlier with Windex and a roll of paper towels. It had been spotless when she had finished.

  Now, it was covered in greasy fingerprints.

  Lily retreated to the kitchen and called Harold at the office.

  ****

  Harold lay in the dark and listened to the slow rhythm of his wife’s breathing. Sleep had been a long time coming tonight.

  He’d cancelled two meetings and come home early from the office that afternoon after Lily had called him in a state of panic. He’d spent the next hour searching the house and back yard until she’d felt secure they were alone and safe. They’d talked about calling the police, but ultimately decided against it. The lock to the sliding door appeared untouched, as did all of the windows. What exactly were they going to report—a glass smudger?

  Harold thought about when he had pulled into the driveway earlier that afternoon. Chuck Noonan had been walking across his front lawn toward his pick-up truck. Harold had tooted the car horn and waved. Chuck had completely ignored him, gotten into his truck and driven away without any kind of acknowledgement.

  What the hell is going on here? Harold thought. Everything was so perfect just a month ago.

  Harold reached over to the nightstand for the remote control and his eyes caught on the bedroom window. He considered it for a moment, then quietly got out of bed and walked to the window. He used a finger to part the curtains and peered outside.

  The yard and street were bathed in moonlight. Everything looked still and silent.

  Harold stared out the window for several minutes longer and was about to return to bed when he saw it—a dark shadow shifted and then detached itself from the thick trunk of an oak tree in the front yard. And started slowly walking down the street.

  Harold didn’t hesitate this time. He took off out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He hurriedly unlocked the deadbolt on the front door, flung it open and ran across the lawn and out into the street. The only sound in the night was his bare feet slapping against the cool concrete. He ran to the south end of Brooks Road, where it intersected with Tupelo Avenue. Looked in both directions.

  There was no one in sight.

  He jogged back the way he had come, passing his house on the right, and didn’t stop until he hit the four-way intersection at the end of the block.

  Once again, the street and lawns were empty.

  Harold started walking back to the house, trying to catch his breath, when he remembered the front door. He had left it wide open in his haste.

  What if …?

  He started jogging.

  He rounded the bend in front of Mrs. Cavanaugh’s and saw someone standing on the porch of his house. He took off sprinting.

  The person frantically waved and started toward him, and Harold realized it was Lily. She had woken up and was probably confused and terrified.

  He met her halfway across the lawn.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice shaky. “What happened?”

  “Someone was watching the house. I chased after him, but he got away.”

  Lily smacked him hard on the shoulder. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

  Harold rubbed the tender spot. “Ow, that hurt.”

  “Promise me, you dumbass.”

  He put up his hands. “Okay, okay, I promise.”

  They started back to the house when Harold had a thought—a very bad thought. “Hold on, let me check something.”

  “What?”

  Harold didn’t answer. He hurried to the mailbox and opened it. He reached inside and pulled out a pink slip of paper.

  “No fucking way,” Lily said.

  ****

  “First offense: failure to utilize clearly marked trash receptacle for recyclable matter.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lily interrupted. “We recycle, it’s just not marked!”

  “See clause 23A for additional details. Amount of fine: $5,000 …”

  Lily gasped and sat up on the sofa beside Harold.

  “…payable within five business days of this notice.”

  “We’re not paying.” Lily got up and started pacing back and forth across the living room. “We’ll hire a lawyer if we have to, but we’re not paying those bastards one penny.”

  “Lawyers cost money, too.”

  She stopped and stared at Harold, her eyes burning with anger. “So you think we should just pay it?”

  “I’m not saying that. All I’m saying is that lawyers are expensive and homeowners’ associations usually have deep pockets. Fighting them could be costly.”

  “Yeah, and how do you think they get those deep pockets? By ripping off honest people like us.”

  “I have an idea.” Harold held up the pink slip of paper. “We’re supposed to mail a check to the P.O. Box listed on the notice.” He got up from the sofa and walked to the small writing desk tucked in the corner of the living room. He grabbed a pen and scribbled something along the bottom of the notice. “Why don’t we mail this instead?” He handed the pink-slip to Lily.

  “‘We would like to discuss this matter with you as soon as possible. Please contact us at 410-679-2928. Sincerely, Harold and Lily Anderson.’” She looked up at her husband. “This is your plan?”

  Harold shrugged. “At the very least it might buy us some time. And, who knows, maybe we can talk some sense into these people.”

  “They don’t exactly strike me as reasonable folks.”

  Harold put his hand on Lily’s shoulder. Gave her a reassuring squeeze. “C’mon, honey, what do we have to lose?”

  ****

  They got their answer two days later in the middle of breakfast.

  Harold was skimming the Sports section of the newspaper and Lily was pouring a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice when someone pounded on the front door. Harold jumped in his seat. Lily squealed and dropped the half-filled glass onto the kitchen floor, where it shattered into dozens of sticky pieces.

  “What the hell was that?” Harold asked, getting up from the table and heading for the front door.

  Lily tip-toed around the mess on the floor. “Wait for me.”

  Once they reached the foyer, Harold leaned close to the door and looked out the peep-hole. He started to unlock the deadbolt and Lily stopped him. “Be careful.”

  “It’s okay, there’s no one out there.” He opened the door.

  The front porch was empty.

  He walked out and looked in both directions. A dog was barking somewhere down the street, but there was no one in sight.

  “Honey…”

  Harold turned to find Lily standing behind him on the porch. She was pointing to a pink slip of paper fluttering in the morning breeze. Someone had used a hammer to nail it into the door just above the peep-hole. The carved wood around the paper was dented and scarred.

  Harold ripped the note off the door and read aloud:

  “‘Reminder: remit payment within 72 hours of this notice or your fine will be doubled.’” He stared at the pink-slip for a moment, and then handed it to his wife. “I guess we got our answer. Check it out.”

  Lily read the handwriting at the bottom of the note. “‘We have nothing to talk about, Mr. Anderson. Pay the fine or suffer the consequences.’ Jesus.”

  “I don’t think Jesus wrote that,” Harold said.

  Lily gave him a look and Harold lowered his head. She stepped back into the foyer and reappeared a few seconds later with the car keys in her hand.

  “Where
are you going?” Harold asked.

  “We’re going to the post office.” She headed for her car in the driveway. “Get in.”

  ****

  Lily braked hard at a red light and looked in the rearview mirror. “I don’t think anyone is following us.”

  “Following us?” Harold glanced back over his shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

  The light turned green and Lily hit the gas. “There was a black truck behind us for a while. I thought it might be tailing us.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little paranoid?”

  “Someone just hammered a fucking nail into our front door, Harold. I don’t think much of anything qualifies as paranoid anymore.”

  “Slow down, honey.”

  Lily hit the horn and swerved around a red Jeep. The teenaged girl behind the wheel stuck her arm out the window and flicked them the bird.

  “Please slow down.”

  The traffic light ahead turned yellow. They had plenty of time to stop, but instead Lily accelerated through the intersection.

  “And you just ran a red light.”

  “I’ve had enough of their bullshit.”

  Harold braced his hand against the dashboard as they changed lanes again and bounced through the next intersection. “And I think we just got air.”

  Two blocks later, Lily finally slowed and swung into the post office parking lot. She turned off the engine and reached into the back seat for her purse. She pulled out a black magic marker and an envelope.

  “C’mon,” she said, climbing out of the car.

  “What are you gonna do?” Harold asked, following behind like a puppy.

  “You’ll see.”

  They walked inside to one of the tall packing tables. She uncapped the magic marker and scrawled the P.O. Box address on the front of the envelope. Then she printed along the bottom of the pink slip of paper in big capital letters:

  FUCK YOU AND YOUR STUPID FINE!

  &

  FUCK YOU AND YOUR STUPID RULES!

  “Lil, honey, you think that’s a good idea?”

  Lily ignored him. She folded the slip of pink paper and stuffed it inside the envelope and sealed it. She walked over to the stamp vending machine and inserted a handful of coins. The machine spat out a single stamp, which Lily licked and affixed to the top right corner of the envelope. Then, she dropped it into the mail slot and turned around and left.