Paper-Thin Walls

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  “Hey, missy, you need to let me go first,” Gladys called from behind me.

  Without slowing, I hurried my stride to the back of the apartment. Passing by a bathroom, I kept on going until I entered their only bedroom.

  My gaze fell to an empty bed, neatly made with a solid navy-blue spread. Twisting my focus around the room, I saw matching curtains covering a window. Two nightstands flanked the bed, and a dresser was on the opposite wall. Dropping to my knees, I searched under the bed.

  “What do you think you’re doing? Get up! There’s no way Mrs. Simpson could get underneath there,” Gladys barked after catching up to me.

  “Hey, that’s private. Get out of there,” Gladys griped when I dug through their closet.

  But no matter how hard I searched, no one was in the apartment. Kenna wasn’t there.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ryan

  Ryan was irritated to no end that Hailey had cancelled their lunch. He wanted to work things out between them and get her and his son back home. But just when he thought he was making headway his wife had thrown up a wall.

  “Minor setback,” he muttered to himself. She would come around. She just had to because he couldn’t bear to think of the alternative. A life without Hailey was too unbearable to imagine. But what could he do to win her over? Ryan had never been a romantic man and it was a difficult chore for him to conceive a way to appeal to her heart. But even though he wasn’t mushy by nature, it didn’t mean he didn’t love his wife with all his heart. Because he did. He just needed to find a way to show her. She liked the flowers, he considered. Perhaps he’d send her a dozen every day. Picking up the phone, he ordered another delivery, hoping to chip away at Hailey’s stubborn wall.

  But he needed to go bigger. He needed to do something that pulled out all the stops. He wracked his brain until he had a headache. But finally, a plan developed. He’d take her to The Terrace. This was the high-dollar, highfalutin restaurant on the top of this building. Ryan had never eaten there before, but Jeff and Sarah had lunch there once. Jeff told him drinking only water with simple club sandwiches and a couple orders of fries had resulted in a staggering bill. Dinner would likely cost and arm and a leg. But what the heck. Hailey was worth it. After searching the Internet for the number, he pressed the call button.

  “The Terrace,” a professional male voice answered.

  “I’d like to make reservations for two … for this Saturday night,” Ryan requested.

  For a moment, he thought he heard laughter. “I’m sorry, sir, we’re booked solid through the weekend.”

  Ryan gasped. How could such an expensive place command such a crowd? Then he considered that every man in town most likely took their wives there whenever they were in the trouble. And Ryan was most definitely in the doghouse.

  “What about this Friday night?” Ryan asked. Would it matter to Hailey if it weren’t a Saturday-night date? He hoped not.

  “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t have anything available for Friday either.”

  “When’s your next dinner table available?” Ryan asked, thinking there must be an awful lot of men in hot water with their wives.

  “I can squeeze you in one week from this upcoming Saturday … at eight o’clock. That would be for the inside dining. We’re booked up on terrace seating for the next month.”

  “Yes, pencil me in. My name is Ryan Sinclair.”

  He pocketed his phone back in his jacket and reviewed his checkbook, hoping he could afford the meal and his mortgage. If only he’d gotten that promotion.

  His blood pressure escalated, thinking back to the Friday night party and his Monday-morning interview. Provoked by both anger as well as deepening guilt, he shoved back from his rolling chair, sending it crashing into the wall behind him. Storming across the room and down the hallway, he halted his strides at Shannon’s desk.

  “What happened that Friday night?” Towering over her with his six-one height, he glared down at her smooth complexion, silky blonde hair and stunning blue eyes, waiting for a response.

  “Don’t be silly. We had a few drinks and a few laughs. You came over to my apartment and we screwed our brains out.”

  Her casual demeanor came across as if the one-night stand had been no big deal. Ryan on the other hand felt his whole life had been ruined.

  “Aren’t you the least bit miffed that I banged your ass and then ignored you ever since?”

  She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Not at all. I didn’t expect anything from you, other than a good time. I know you’re married. It wasn’t like I thought we’d become an item. Forget about it.”

  “How come I don’t remember a damned thing after leaving the restaurant? Explain that.”

  She shrugged. “Beats me. You were a little tipsy on the walk back. But as soon as we made it to my car, you were shoving your tongue down my throat and pressing up against me with an erection. I invited you over and you eagerly accepted.”

  “No,” Ryan argued, shaking his head. “I would’ve remembered doing something like that … and I would’ve never gone to your apartment.” He glared at her, unblinking. “I don’t cheat on my wife. You’re lying.”

  “Think whatever you want to think. But you were all in that night … and I do mean all in.” She giggled at what she thought was a witty remark. Ryan did not see the humor.

  “This isn’t over, Shannon. You’ve caused me a lot of trouble and I will get to the bottom of it.”

  She laughed. “You were already at my bottom of it, then at my top, and everywhere in between. It’s too bad you don’t recall what a fun time we had. If you’d like a second chance, just let me know.”

  Ryan was fuming mad, but he wasn’t making any progress with her. He needed to figure out another way. He turned on his heel, heading to Jason Patterson’s office who had finally gotten back in town after a couple of days of overseeing a project out in Arizona. He didn’t bother knocking and as soon as he stepped foot inside, he slammed the door behind him.

  “You stole my plans. I don’t know how you did it, but I know you did.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Jason asked, putting on a puzzled look.

  “You know damned well what I’m talking about … the Clark Anders Development Center. You presented my renderings and claimed my design plans as your own.”

  “What on earth is wrong with you? I told you at the party that my plans for the Luxury Towers had accidentally fallen into the pool and I wouldn’t have time to reconstruct them. You said you’d cover for me, and I could use your project for the Clark Anders Development Center. You were going to use the Beldon Hotel workup for your interview.”

  Ryan faltered for a moment. There was a flash of memory about Jason’s plans falling in the pool now that he was reminded of it. Still, he wouldn’t have given away his own pitch. His eyes narrowed. “No, no way. We were in competition for that promotion. Why would I have helped you?”

  “Dude, because we both thought I was going to get fired … that’s why. Sure, you wanted the promotion, but you didn’t want me to lose my job.”

  “Then why haven’t you bothered to thank me for receiving a big fat promotion instead of losing your job? I didn’t even get a slap on the back and a better luck next time from you. You took all the credit and reaped the rewards. You didn’t even come to my aid and tell Campbell the truth when he threatened to fire me for presenting MY IDEA!”

  “How could I tell him it was your project when you said I could use it? We would’ve both been canned. As it turned out, neither of us were fired. I’m sorry you didn’t get the promotion, but I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you when the next position becomes available. As for thanking you, you know I’ve been busy with transitioning to my new position and closing out the project in Arizona. But thank you for helping me. I’m sorry it didn’t come sooner.”

  “You’re a chicken shit. I worked my tail off on that project and I wanted that promotion. There’s no way I would’ve given it
to you. You’re lying and I intend to prove it.”

  Ryan sneered at him, turned and stomped out the door, slamming it behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Hailey

  “Stop being nosy,” Gladys huffed. “Come on, before I drag you out of here.”

  I wasn’t just hunting for Kenna under the bed and in the closet, I had donned a pair of dishwashing gloves and was searching the place for signs of foul play.

  “Remake that,” Gladys barked when I pulled back the bed linens and checked for blood.

  It wasn’t because of her barking that I remade the bed. It was so that Bill wouldn’t know I’d been there. Next, I moved into the bathroom with her following on my heels.

  “What do you expect to find down there?” she asked, hovering over me while I checked the bathroom drain.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. I’d seen that trick performed on TV. Unfortunately, I needed some forensics tools. Otherwise, all I saw were a few hairs clogging the downflow.

  In the kitchen I carefully examined various pots and pans, and in particular the skillets, expecting to find Kenna’s hair stuck to one of them after being whacked over the head. In the living room, I eyeballed every one of those dumbbells, giving each one a scrutinizing inspection, looking for blood or brain tissue. All the while, Gladys was right on my butt. Finally, she had reached her tolerance limits.

  “Look, Mrs. Sinclair, clearly there’s no one at home. And with the bed made, it looks like Kenna is simply out and about. Why don’t you check back later in the day? I’ll bet you anything, she will have returned, all safe and sound. C’mon, you need to take those gloves off, and we need to get out of here. There’s nothing here to find.”

  “Fine,” I relented. But this wasn’t over by a long shot. Unfortunately, my lunch hour had ticked away, and I needed to get back to work.

  With little time left, I drove like a mad woman back to the office, even skipping lunch and hoping my boss didn’t notice when I straggled in a good ten minutes late. Thankfully, she was away from her desk. This was twice I had skirted a reprimand. I needed to be more careful because I needed this job.

  When my break finally arrived, I grabbed some crackers and a soda from the vending machines. Seated next to Sarah at a rectangular Formica table, I told her I was afraid something horrible had happened to Kenna.

  “If she’s not home later today, you need to contact the police,” she suggested with a worried expression on her face. “And you need to leave. You’re not safe there either.”

  “If Kenna’s home, we’ll both go to a hotel,” I agreed. “If she’s not, I’ll contact the police.” I didn’t say anything about leaving if Kenna wasn’t there, because I intended to find out what happened to her. And I couldn’t spy on Bill from a local hotel.

  The remainder of the day dragged on and on, making it seem as if quitting time would never arrive. When the secondhand finally clicked into place, I was nothing but a blur getting to the door. “See you tomorrow,” I called over my shoulder as I bolted for the elevator.

  Swinging by to pick up Adam was the only thing to slow me down. I had considered asking Sarah to do it, but feared she’d know I was planning on involving myself more than I should. At lightning speed, I hurried home. When Bill’s truck wasn’t spotted, I quickly helped Adam out of the car seat and dragged him by the hand across the parking lot and into the building. Passing by my place, I beelined it to Kenna’s door.

  “Kenna, open up,” I shouted after a few sharp raps on her door. “It’s me, Hailey.”

  “Is this where the funny-looking girl lives?” Adam asked.

  “Yes, it is,” I answered.

  After banging my fists several more times and shouting for her to come to the door, Adam said, “I don’t think she’s home.”

  “No, honey, I think you’re right. Come on.”

  Something was most definitely wrong. I could feel it in every bone. With a foreboding feeling, I turned away from Kenna’s door and went to my own apartment. After locking us safely inside and sending Adam to play with his toys, I called law enforcement.

  “Fort Worth Police Department. How may I help you?”

  “Yes, I’d like to report a murder.”

  After giving the male officer names and addresses and a brief background on the abusive situation Kenna had endured, he asked. “When was the last time you personally spoke with Mrs. Simpson?”

  “Yesterday afternoon about this same time. She came over and told me she was pregnant. She feared her husband’s rage and was worried if he attacked her again, she could lose the baby.” I went into detail about our plans to pack a bag and go to a hotel. “But her husband came home before we could leave,” I summed up.

  “And you say the landlord let you into her apartment around noon,” he noted.

  “Yes. She let me inside and together we searched the place. Kenna wasn’t there.”

  “I’m confused. Without finding a body inside, how do you know anyone was murdered?”

  “I know something happened to her. Her husband must’ve killed her in the middle of the night. A bump woke me up.”

  “Describe the bump.”

  Sadly, I couldn’t relate the noise with anything sensible. “I don’t know. It was just a loud thud. Then everything went silent.” I paused. “This morning I didn’t hear her voice, which seemed odd. I think he killed her and carried her dead body out in the middle of the night and disposed of it somewhere.”

  “I understand your concerns,” he assured me. “But at this point, you don’t really know if she’s been murdered. She may not even be missing. If everything was neat and tidy, she may be out running errands for all you know. Alternatively, she may have simply fled on her own.”

  “Well, hopefully she has managed to get away from Bill, but what if he killed her?”

  He sighed. “We’ll assign a detective to the case. He’ll speak to Mr. Simpson to see if he can explain his wife’s whereabouts. Either his story will check out, or it won’t.”

  “Will the detective interview me? Mr. Simpson has made it clear that I need to keep my nose out of his business. He went so far as to put his hands around my throat and then push me to the floor. If he finds out I’ve reported the murder of his wife, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”

  “I see. Did you file a report on this assault?”

  “No, I … I just want him to leave me alone.” And here I was stirring the pot.

  “Is there some place you can stay until we can find out Mrs. Simpson’s situation?”

  “Yes, I suppose I can stay with my parents, or at a hotel.” I wasn’t sure I was ready to go back to Ryan. And if I did, it would be because I wanted my marriage to work, not because I was afraid. “How will I know what Bill tells the detective?”

  “If your neighbor is alive and well, the detective will let you know everything is okay. If not, he’ll be in touch with you to find out more details about the Simpson’s marital relationship. In the meantime, get yourself somewhere safe until you hear from him.”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  After hanging up the phone, I couldn’t decide which was worse … another hotel room or spending the night with my parents. I weighed the pros and cons. If I went to my parents’ house there would be a certain amount of explaining required. And when they learned it was because a potential murderer lived next door, they’d probably ground me from ever returning to my own apartment. Then again, staying there would give Adam and his grandfather the opportunity to play trains before his bedtime. On the other hand, if I checked into a hotel, I wouldn’t have to explain myself to my parents. But at the same time, hotels were lonely and boring.

  After considering the detective would give me a condensed version, revealing only what he thought I should know, I opted to stay right where I was and eavesdrop on Bill. I wanted a firsthand account of what he had to say about his wife’s disappearance. And since I was a full-grown adult, I could do whatever I wanted … even if it meant
I didn’t have a lick of good sense.

  The problem was, of course, Adam’s safety. I wasn’t about to jeopardize my son’s welfare.

  “Dad, I need a favor,” I pleaded over the phone, prevailing upon my father who was much more of a pushover than my mother. “I’ve had something come up. Would you be willing to come get Adam so he can stay the night? I can swing by early in the morning and pick him up for preschool.”

  “It shouldn’t be a problem but let me ask Eileen. You know how your mother is.” His footsteps could be heard creaking over the wooden floors, leaving little doubt he had been in his train room. “Eileen, Hailey wants us to keep Adam overnight,” he yelled in my ear as he called out to my mother.

  “Sure, I don’t see why not.” Thank goodness for grandparents, I thought. “Why does she need us in the middle of the week?” she asked. Dang parents, I thought.

  “Hailey, why?” my dad asked coming back on the line. “Your mother wants to know.”

  “I have a project with my neighbor. I promised to help her,” I answered vaguely. I wasn’t about to tell my parents I was going to spy on a probable murderer. Heck, even I didn’t approve of my plan.

  Within thirty minutes, Adam and I had eaten a TV dinner and he was anxiously awaiting the arrival of his papa.

  “We’ll play trains,” he eagerly chirped. “Can I stay up late?”

  “No, you’ll go to bed whenever Nana and Papa tell you to.” His bottom lip pooched out. “Don’t get yourself in trouble Adam. Your punishment might be restricting the trains.”

  “What does ‘restricting’ mean?”

  “To take away … like when we take away your tablet.”

  “Oh,” he muttered. “I’ll be good then.”

  Loud pounding on the door caused my heart rate to soar.

  “Papa’s here,” Adam shouted, running for the door.

  “Don’t open it!” I screeched, fearing it might be Bill. Adam froze in his steps, reacting to the panic in my voice. I needed to calm myself down. “Sorry, Adam. I didn’t mean to scare you. But it’s always safer to look through the peephole to see who’s on the other side of the door before opening it.”