Paper-Thin Walls

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  I was dumbfounded. But at the same time, the story made logical sense. Kenna had said Bill was a decent guy up until a month or so ago when he started hitting her. Everything had been quiet that night, except for the bump. Maybe they did talk things out. Kenna had said she didn’t have any friends or family. If that were true, it was conceivable that Bill’s mother might have been someone to turn to.

  “Oh,” I muttered, feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time. But I’m glad Kenna’s safe and sound.” I managed a thin smile.

  “Don’t worry about it. This is what I do.” He smiled, showing a lot of pretty, white teeth. Dang, he was good looking. I couldn’t help but swoon again. “For once, everything turned out to have a happy ending.” He paused to make a note and then closed his file. “If you have any questions, just give me a call.” He produced a business card. “I’ll see myself out,” he said, standing.

  I stood with him. “Thank you for letting me know. I appreciate your time.”

  “You bet. It was nice meeting you,” he added in closing.

  Once he left, I dropped back into the chair and stared into space. He had delivered good news. Kenna was alive and well. It should’ve eased my mind and made me feel good. But it didn’t. In fact, the worry knot in my stomach began to grow.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Hailey

  “My God, that detective was the handsomest man I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Sarah squealed to me once I returned to my workstation.

  “Oh, was he? I didn’t notice,” I said, lying through my teeth.

  She cracked up laughing. “Yeah, right. I’m sure you didn’t. Even Carter noticed his good looks.”

  My gaze went to Carter, who fancied himself as a real ladies’ man.

  “Hey, I can hold my own,” he grouched.

  “Mmhmm. But you noticed him.” Sarah pushed.

  Carter chuckled. “Whatever.”

  “Everything okay?” Ms. Davis asked, coming out of her office to check on me.

  I shrugged. “The detective said my neighbor turned up at her mother-in-law’s house. He told me she was okay.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Ms. Davis said, her blue eyes lighting up with happiness. “At least your story had a happy ending.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “It seems I was worried over nothing.”

  “You were right to contact the police. Sometimes it’s best to be cautious. Don’t ever let your guard down, Hailey. You can never tell what people are thinking. One minute everything seems perfectly okay, the next you’re fighting for your life.”

  “I’ll be vigilant,” I agreed, taking her warnings to heart. She knew. From what I’d heard, she was speaking from experience.

  As soon as the day ended, Sarah and I shared an elevator down to the parking garage. She pressed the button and then leaned against the wall. “You don’t look too happy about finding your neighbor is alive and well.”

  “It just doesn’t feel right.” I hesitated. “I mean, it does make sense. When he went to hit her, she screamed out that she was pregnant. Possibly he took her to his mom’s house to keep her protected from himself. But…”

  “But, what? Let it go Hailey. You’ve done your best to help the girl. You’ve offered her brochures, a place to stay, you’ve called the police twice when you thought she was in trouble, and now an investigation has resulted in finding her safe and sound. What more do you want?”

  The lift stopped and three people boarded. Sarah and I shifted to the back.

  “You’re right,” I whispered. “Ryan gave me a gift certificate to a spa,” I said, deliberately changing the subject.

  “Oh wow, how thoughtful. He’s really trying, isn’t he?”

  I smiled. “Yeah, he also made reservations for The Terrace.”

  She let out a low whistle. “Holy moly. You two could take a small vacation for what a meal will cost at that place. He really is pulling out all the stops.”

  “It seems that way,” I said with another smile.

  Our car landed at the garage level and the doors parted. We all stepped off. The three strangers went in different directions. Sarah and I headed for the same parking area.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said in parting.

  “See ya,” she said.

  After picking up Adam, I debated on what to do with him. Was he safe in the apartment with me? Was I safe there? Bill had threatened to kill me. However, he was under the impression I was going to find a place to live this weekend. Did that mean I had a reprieve? I hoped so because it would be hard to explain why Adam needed to spend another night with my parents. It wouldn’t make sense for me to be spying on Ryan two nights in a row, according to what my parents believed. At the same time, I wasn’t quite ready to give up on eavesdropping on Bill. Surely, we’d be safe in my locked apartment. All I had to do was avoid any future encounters with Bill. With that in mind, after arriving home, I drove around the parking lot three times, making sure he hadn’t beat me home.

  “You’re making me dizzy,” Adam said, laughing as I did my last circle.

  “Oops, sorry,” I apologized for my crazy antics.

  We went straight up to the apartment, and I bolted the locks in place, sighing in relief as soon as I felt safe.

  “Something stinks,” Adam pointed out.

  “It sure does,” I agreed, wrinkling up my nose. “It must be the trash.”

  “Get it outta here before I puke,” Adam cried.

  I had to get it out before I puked. It was surprising that something had turned so foul in such a short span of time. Hurrying to the pantry, I proceeded to yank the bag from the trash can, but as I did so, I noticed a huge dead rat in the corner. The critter had gotten himself stuck on one of the glue traps and hadn’t managed to free himself before he ultimately died. Finding it to be the culprit causing the putrid odor, I scooped it into the trash bag using a dustpan and tied the bag in a knot.

  “Come on, baby. You’ll have to go with me,” I said, gathering my keys.

  “I can stay by myself. You’ll only be gone a minute,” Adam pleaded.

  “Nope, sorry. Let’s go.”

  He frowned but fell in beside me while I locked the front door. Together we headed down the stairs and to the back of the apartment complex where the garbage dumpster was. Sliding a side panel open, I tossed the bag inside, watching it tumble to a place of rest amongst the other sacks of rubbish.

  “What!” I screeched, hardly believing my eyes.

  “What is it, Momma?” Adam asked, too short to see what I was looking at.

  “A pink suitcase,” I responded.

  Bill’s words came crashing back in my head: That empty spot is where her suitcase was. Like I said, she’s at my mother’s.

  Inappropriately dressed. That is what I was. But there was no way I was leaving the luggage behind, not even to run and change clothes.

  “Baby hold Momma’s jacket and the house keys,” I requested of Adam. “Mommy’s going in.”

  Looking all around for others who might be watching me, I noted there weren’t any younger kids playing on the merry-go-round. Two teenagers were over by the swings, but they were busy kissing. Slipping off my dressy heels, I took a step in the squishy soft ground. After the recent rains, the weather was a bit chilly, with temperatures in the mid-sixties. With my bare feet, I climbed up on a piece of cold metal that jutted out just below the opening. Leaning forward and stretching my arms as far as they would go, I tried my darndest to grab hold of the handle. But with my short height, came short arms, and though I gave it a best effort, I couldn’t reach the suitcase.

  Looking everywhere, I tried to find anything that could be used as a fetching stick. There was nothing. I really was going dumpster diving.

  Fruitlessly, I tried getting a leg up and in, but my pencil skirt was too tight. Faced with little choice, I hiked it up to the point my underwear was probably showing. One leg went in and then the next, resulting in my butt being precariously poised on
the edge of the sliding hatch.

  The whole bin smelled of rancid stench, making the dead rat smell like a fragrant bouquet. To the left of me was a pile of something green and gooey. Over to the right was a busted bag of soiled baby diapers. The suitcase was on the far side of the dumpster, as if it had been thrown to the furthest point possible.

  “You stay right there and don’t go anywhere,” I cautioned Adam, giving him a stern look.

  “Okay, Mommy.”

  Pushing off the edge, I landed right in the middle of a closed trash bag, much like I had landed on a trampoline. I gave myself a ten for my gymnastic maneuver, feeling a little proud of myself. The suitcase was now only a few feet away and I was already patting myself on the back.

  Reaching out to snatch it, the bag underneath me shifted, causing me to sink like quicksand. Bags of trash swallowed me whole and I felt something wet and cold running along my legs. Horrendous odors came at me from every direction, making me gag and I hoped I didn’t vomit. To make matters worse, last night’s storm had left everything wet and soggy, giving a boost to the horrid smells.

  Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, suddenly three rats scampered up from nowhere. The largest of the three didn’t know which way to go and ran straight at me, running up the length of my arm and over the top of my head. Unable to control myself, I let out a harsh scream.

  “Momma,” Adam cried in a panicked voice from outside.

  “I’m okay, baby,” I reassured him, though I sure as hell was not.

  Wading through the bags of trash, I made my way over to the suitcase, thinking I needed to hurry because Bill could be home any minute now. By the time I climbed, pushed and swam to the other side, I was covered in every imaginable slimy, mucky, scummy piece of waste one could possibly dispose of in a garbage bin. For a moment, I wondered if Kenna might be among the contents.

  At last, I was within striking distance of my target. Ripping a piece of plastic from a broken bag, I used it as a glove to clutch the suitcase by the edge, thinking it might preserve Bill’s fingerprints on the handle. Dragging it along with me, I worked my way back across the sewage. When I was almost back to the opening, a truck rumbled past and turned into the parking lot.

  Please don’t be Bill.

  My thoughts were also filled with concern for my little boy who I had left unattended at the back of a ne’er-do-well apartment complex. He stood out. In my head I imagined every pedophile within ten miles eyeballing him. Rusty Thornton popped into my immediate thoughts. My fears served to speed my exit. Like an Olympic swimmer, I glided through the debris and to the other side.

  Arriving at home plate, I found the clumps of bags had settled and now I couldn’t reach the exit window. With quick effort, I stacked a few bags back into place, grabbing some of the green goo in the process. Finally, I made myself a ladder-like pile that could be used to climb out.

  Balancing my weight, I clambered my way upward from one container of trash to the next. Once again, I pulled my skirt up to allow one leg at a time to get into position, bringing the luggage up with me. Turning myself around, I inched my foot down, searching for that piece of metal. Then I lost my balance. Instantly, I let go of the luggage, searching for a grip hold. Instead, I flailed about, fell to the ground and landed on my rump. The suitcase hit me in the head, then bounced to the ground beside me.

  “Momma,” Adam yelped.

  “I’m fine, honey. Perfectly fine.”

  I sure as hell was not. Feeling like a piece of human garbage, my clothes were soaked through and through with multiple stains, liquids and sappy substances. My hair had some of that green slime in it. And I was certain my left arm was covered in baby poop. And frankly, it felt like I’d broken my tailbone.

  “Let’s hurry inside,” I said scrambling to my feet, despite the pain. Grabbing the suitcase, I told Adam to keep up with me as I sprinted back inside, hoping another encounter with Bill wasn’t forthcoming.

  Plowing up the stairs, still in my bare feet and carrying my dress shoes, with Adam struggling to keep up with my jacket and the keys, we finally made it to the front door.

  “Give me the keys,” I demanded, picturing Bill coming up the landing and spotting me with what I suspected was Kenna’s suitcase.

  Just then a door to my left slammed shut and I just knew it was going to be Bill. While my hands fidgeted, trying to get the key lined up, I dared to peek toward Bill’s apartment. Relief overtook my emotions seeing that it was only Mrs. Henderson.

  “Good afternoon,” I called to her. She turned up her nose, presumably at the atrocious sight of me … or the atrocious smell of me … or both.

  The key clicked into place, and I shoved open the door, dragging Adam in with me and not bothering with any small talk. Slamming the lock into place, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Momma you stink. And you look terrible.”

  “Yes, I do,” I agreed, already starting to peel my clothes off on my way to the kitchen. Taking a clean trash bag, I dumped in my skirt, blouse, bra and underwear. I hated to lose the skirt as it matched the jacket which was still perfectly fine. Possibly it could be professionally cleaned. Using another trash bag as makeshift clothing, I made my way back into the living room. Adam was on the loveseat and had the TV on.

  “Mama is taking a shower. Don’t go near that suitcase and do not open the door for anyone. Do you understand?” I gave him strict look. “I mean it, Adam. This is extremely important. Stay away from that luggage. And. Do. Not. Open. The. Door.”

  “Okay, I won’t. I promise.”

  It was times like this when I wished Ryan were here. Leaving Adam unattended, next to a murderer was beyond unnerving. So, I hurried, which turned out to be impossible. Even after I washed, rinsed, washed, rinsed, washed and rinsed, I still felt filthy and smelled faintly of rotten eggs.

  After toweling off, I used everything I had to mask the unsavory aromas. Coconut body spray. Apple-spiced hand lotion. Vanilla perfume. Citrus hair gel. And even a lemon-scented Lysol. If it smelled better than me, I used it.

  Pulling on a pair of jeans and a solid gray T-Shirt and slipping into a pair of house shoes, I made my way back to the living room, comforted to find Adam still on the loveseat. Spying the suitcase by the door where I’d left it, I put on a pair of plastic gloves and headed for it.

  “What’s in that?” Adam asked curiously.

  “Probably nothing,” I said, trying to downplay my own curiosity. “Keep watching your show.”

  Placing the faded pink, hard-shelled case on the card table, I took a step backward and gave it a wary look, imagining there being a severed hand inside, or maybe just some fingers. It took me a full minute to brace myself for what might be inside.

  With a deep breath, I flipped open the latches which caused a spring-loaded mechanism to send the lid up in one swift dynamic. I jumped at the sudden, unexpected motion.

  From a good three steps back, cautiously I peered inside but didn’t see anything. Taking a closer look, I still didn’t see anything. There wasn’t a damned thing inside. And I had waded through literal shit to get to it. I was utterly and totally disappointed. My assumption was that Kenna had been filling it with clothing for our getaway when Bill caught her. Then he killed her and dumped the suitcase with the articles still contained therein. If so, it certainly dispelled his story of taking her to Hillsboro. But no, it was completely void. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. What a frigging let down.

  Still, I wondered if it might be useful. Both Kenna and Bill’s DNA might be on it, or in it. It was evidence in my opinion and needed to be turned over to the authorities. But how should I do it? If the police came to collect it and Bill saw them, he’d kill me. If Bill caught me lugging the case out, he’d kill me. A quick look out the kitchen window let me know he still wasn’t home. But fearing he could be at any moment and knowing time was of the essence, I grabbed up the suitcase to take it directly to the police station.

  “C’mon, sweetheart, we’re going
for a ride.”

  Adam looked up at me and frowned. “Where are we going?”

  “The police station. We’re taking this luggage to them.”

  His eyes brightened. “I’m gonna see a real policeman?”

  “Sure enough. But we need to hurry.”

  He was off the loveseat in seconds, eager to go. Unlocking the door and careening my neck up and down the hall, I made sure the coast was clear, then quickly locked up behind me. With a suitcase in one hand and my son’s hand in the other, we made a mad dash for the stairs and hauled butt to my car. We were pulling out of the parking lot when Bill’s truck turned the corner from the other end of the block. Close call.

  Driving four miles and stopping for five red lights, I pulled into the parking lot of the downtown police station and came to a stop. Searching my handbag for the detective’s card, I gave him a call.

  “Detective, this is Hailey Sinclair. We spoke earlier today,” I began once he unbelievably answered the phone. I had assumed my call would be routed to a call station. It was nearing seven o’clock. Didn’t the man ever rest?

  “Yes, what can I do for you?” he politely inquired.

  “I’ve found Kenna’s suitcase. I’d like to turn it in.”

  “Her suitcase? Where?”

  “In the dumpster. I think Bill must’ve thrown it there.”

  “If it was in the trash, how do you know it was Kenna’s?”

  “Uh … I guess I don’t know that it was hers. But what if it is?”

  “Then, if it is hers, I’d think she meant to throw it away. I’m not sure I understand why this is of any concern whatsoever. I told you I spoke personally with her in Hillsboro. Our file on this matter has been closed. Why does the luggage matter?”

  He had me there. I couldn’t come up with a single, logical reason why it mattered. It probably wasn’t even Kenna’s to begin with. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll just throw it back in the trash. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”