Marilyn K - The House Next Door

by Lionel White

  “The bastard,’’she was half crying. “The dirty bastard. Г11 teach him to hit me. I’ll tell the police just what I know.”

  The strangest part of the whole thing was that Howard, when he staggered into the bedroom a few minutes later, his face streaked with blood and the taste of blood and tears in his cut mouth, wasn't even thinking of Myrtle at all. Wasn’t even thinking of what she had done to him.

  As he searched frantically in the top bureau drawer for the twenty-two cal. target pistol he had brought some years back and never used, or even fired, a single idea kept going through his mind.

  “She’s trying to pin it on me,” he repeated over and over to himself. "That sweet-faced bitch is trying to pin the murder on me. She must have seen some-

  thing, must know something. And now she’s over next door, trying to find out more. She’s going to put me in the electric chair.”

  He didn’t bother to bandage the cuts or clean up before sneaking out of the back door and starting for the rear of the Tomlinsons’ house, across the shadowy back yard.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The thought kept going through her mind.

  These people, they simply can’t be as strange and unreal as they seem. The Swansons, the Doyles, the Julios and the McNallys. And now the Tomlinsons. It must be that she, herself, Allie Neilsen, was seeing things out of perspective. The events of the last few days had probably been too much for her.

  But still, no matter how she turned it around or analyzed it, they had all seemed so completely strange and weird. They had all been evasive and there had been that constant undercurrent of tension. It was almost as though they had contracted some fantastic emotional disease.

  The fact that each of their houses had been identical, yes, even identical to her own house where she and Len had hoped to find so much happiness, made it all even more unreal. How could people all live in the same house with the same design and the same rooms and almost the identical furniture and drapes, and still be so completely different from each other? So different from Len and Billy and herself.

  Even these last two, the Tomlinsons, were in their own way very odd. Not like the others. They had been friendly and had greeted her kindly. Tomlinson himself, sitting over there in his shirt sleeves and smoking a curved pipe, had been almost gentle as he’d answered her questions.

  And yet she sensed something strange and intangible in the very atmosphere of the house and its occupants. She felt it first when she asked about the little girl.

  “Your daughter,” she had said. “She wanted to play with Billy today and I am afraid I was a bit discourteous. The way things are, I didn’t feel that he should be seeing other children for a while yet. I hope she didn’t mind.”

  Allie couldn’t help but notice the quick look which flashed between the two of them. Tomlinson’s expression, as his eyes went to the woman, seemed to carry a sort of subtle threat. But then again the man’s voice was friendly when he spoke.

  "Patsy, that’s our little girl, shouldn’t be playing with anyone these days, he said. “She’s had a very bad cold and we’ve been keeping her home from

  school. Might be very catching, that sort of thing.”

  The woman said nothing. Allie wasjust a little surprised. The child certainly hadn’t appeared to be sick when Allie had spoken to her.

  The talk went on for a while then and suddenly Allie had the most peculiar sensation that everything which was being said was somehow studied and designed to deceive her. There was, for instance, his wife, whom he’d introduced as Marian. That great bandage over one side of her face and her frightened, whisper of a voice. He explained the bandage of course.

  “The missus had a little accident,” he’d said. “Fell against a fixture in the bathroom. Pretty bad blow she got, but it’s going to be all right.”

  Allie looked at the woman sympathetically. “It’s really a shame,” she said. “I’m so sorry. When did...”

  “Couple of days ago,” Tomlinson interrupted. “But it’ll be all right. Just a black eye and a busted nose.”

  Allie remembered then that she’d seen Mrs. Tomlinson sometime within the last two days; this very morning, in fact. She hadn’t been wearing a bandage then. But Tomlinson was still talking in his rather high-pitched sympathetic voice. Once more she concentrated on what she was saying.

  “And we’d really like to help you, Mrs. Neilsen,” the man said, “but the fact is we neither saw nor heard a thing. It we do remember anything, we’ll be very glad to tell you about it.”

  He stood up then and went to a side table. Reaching down he lifted a wine bottle and took a pair of thin-stemmed glasses and filled them. He carried one over to Allie.

  “Take a little of this, ” he said. “It will relax you, make you feel a little more easy, perhaps.”

  He held on to the other glass and went back to his chair. He didn’t offer any to his wife or comment on the fact that he didn’t. The woman sat like a statue in her chair. She had said less than a dozen words since Allie had entered the house. There had been only that shy, half nod and greeting as Tomlinson had introduced her.

  “Yes, it was a terrible thing,” Tomlinson said. “But the police will get to the bottom of it. Never fear, they’ll get to the bottom of it all right.”

  Allie opened her mouth to speak then, at the same time preparing to put the almost full wine glass on the table at her side. She wasn’t really watching as, almost instinctively, she reached for the table she knew to be there and that is why, as she set the glass down, she didn't see the ash tray. The glass, leaving her hand, half sat on the edge of the tray for a split second and then tipped and spilled. Some of the wine splashed to the floor, but a good part of it spilled across Allie’s lap.

  Instinctively she gave a little cry and leaped to her feet. Tomlinson was on

  his feet at the same instant.

  Allie flushed and turned to him.

  "Oh,” she said, “I'm sorry. I’m so sorry. Really, I don’t know what in the world...”

  Tomlinson smiled.

  “Please,” he said. “Please. It was an accident. Could happen to anyone. But I’m afraid you have spoiled your dress. ’’ He turned to the silent woman with the bandaged face.

  “Marian,” he said. “Get a rag out of the kitchen.”

  As Allie stood there, feeling the liquid soak through the fabric of her skirt, he moved toward her.

  "You’ll find a towel in the bathroom,” he said. “I’d suggest...”

  Allie nodded weakly.

  “Oh the dress will be all right,” she said, “but I’m afraid that I’ve...”

  “The bathroom is right down the hall. Go through the bedroom at the left.”

  Allie started for the hallway as the other woman hurried into the kitchen. She heard Tomlinson call directions about finding the bedroom light switch. But Allie didn’t have to be told. It would be in the same place as the switch in her bedroom.

  It took Allie two or three minutes to rinse out the red stain and she didn’t get it all out. She was really a mess and she gave a sort of half sad little laugh as she finished trying to dry the dress with tissue paper. Then she turned and started out of the bathroom.

  It was when she had walked halfway across the bedroom that she came to a dead stop and her eyes slowly widened.

  Allie was staring at the wallpaper.

  It was purple wallpaper, decorated with mauve roses!

  For a stunned moment she just stood there as the blood drained from her face. In spite of herself then, the small little cry forced itself from her constricted throat. She turned slowly and surveyed the room. The large double dresser sat opposite the bed.

  There couldn’t be the slightest possible doubt about it. Not one possible lingering question of a doubt. It was the room which Len had so adequately described. The room in which a dead man had lain on a bed with a small bullet hole neatly drilled through the center of his forehead.

  She was still standing there staring d
own at the neatly made-up double-bed, when the voice spoke.

  “Were you looking for something, Mrs. Neilsen?”

  Allie gasped and swung around.

  Gerald Tomlinson’s gaunt, rangy frame filled the doorway. There was a not unpleasant smile on his face, but the eyes were cold and searching as he stared

  at her. The smile did nothing to erase a peculiarly sinister tone which went with the man’s words.

  Standing there, not ten feet away from him, Allie felt the fear begin to rise in her. Her soft mouth fell half open and her eyes were wide and staring. Her hands made feeble, clutching gestures behind her back as her fingers opened and closed. She knew that in a moment the scream would come.

  Tomlinson took a couple of steps into the room. The scream was very close now; she could feel the cords in her throat as they tightened and her mouth opened wider. The smile left the man’s face.

  “Ithink Mrs. Neilsen,’’Tomlinson said, “that if you have finished you had better go. There really isn’t anything more that we can tell you. Nothing we can do to help you.” He stepped a little to one side and half turned, making a very slight bow as though to usher her out of the room. His eyes never left her face.

  He knows. It was the first conscious thought to penetrate her sudden terrible fear. Yes, he knows. He understands that I have discovered something. He’s standing there, staring at me, and I’m unable to conceal it.

  It took every ounce of effort to take the few steps which carried her past him and through the doorway of the room. She was unable to utter a word. Even if her life had depended on it, Allie couldn’t have sounded a single word. She was still pale and shaking as she reached the front door of the house and the man stepped beside her and wordlessly opened it for her. The woman was no longer in sight.

  Only by the greatest exertion of will power was she able to avoid running the few steps to her own front door. It was probably her keyed-up emotional condition which prevented her from observing the silhouetted figure of Howard McNally as he stepped from the driveway at the side of Tomlinsons’ and followed after her.

  It was only after she had locked the door of her bedroom that the fear began to fade and to be replaced by the peculiar sense of exaltation which the discovery she had made in the bedroom of the house next door created within her.

  Oh, God, he had been right. Len had been right all along. But the question now was what to do about it. Should she call the police at once? The temptation was great, but Allie took time to think about it. Surely, when the police saw that room they would understand. They would know Len had been in it.

  For a moment, then, her face fell. Yes, she could prove he had been in the room. But what about the dead man? Was the dead man still there in the house?

  Allie sat on the edge of her bed and her mind raced as she tried to figure it

  out. If Tomlinson had killed a man, certainly he wouldn’t leave the body lying around. And Len had thought someone had seen him in the room with the dead man. That person must have been Tomlinson. TomEnson, knowing he had been discovered, would hardly keep a piece of evidence Eke that in his house.

  No, the first thing he would have done was to have gotten rid of the corpse. There wouldn’t have been time to bury the body, no time for digging a hole in the basement or anything Eke that. The only thing he could have done was to have put it in his car and taken it some place. Or perhaps, just possibly, the body was still in the car.

  AlEe shuddered as she thought about it. And then she thought about Len. Suddenly she knew what she had to do.

  Mrs. Manning was in the living room watching television and she was so involved in following one of her favorite programs that she barely nodded as AlEe looked in on her. A minute later and AlEe was in her kitchen. She didn’t turn on the light but she needed no Eght to find her way to the drawer under the sink counter and find the flashEght. Quickly she opened the back door and slipped outside.

  The moon was behind a cloud and there were no stars in the black, overcast sky. It only took her a minute or two to circle around until she was in the back of the Tomlinsons’ garage. She had to be very careful, but she knew her yard well and was able to avoid obstructions.

  Trying the rear window of the garage, she found it securely locked. She walked around to the side of the garage. From here she could see the Tom-Ensons’ house. There were no lights in the rear windows.

  With a silent prayer on her lips, she found the knob on the side door. It turned under her hand and she gently pushed. And then she was inside of the garage.

  She was still shaken from her experience in the house and it was only the knowledge that at last she was on the verge of accompEshment which gave her courage to go on.

  Shielding the beam as best she could with the palm of her hand, she switched on the flash. At once she noticed several things. Heavy canvas tarpaulins had been hung over the rear window as well as the window in the side door of the building. The Tomlinsons’ car was standing dEectly in front of her. The double, overhung door was tightly shut.

  At once she breathed a sigh of reEef, knowing that no one would be able to see the reflection of the flashEght from outside the budding. At the same time, however, she experienced an odd, macabre sensation, almost as though she were locked in a tomb.

  Her chin quivering in spite of an iron effort at self-control, AlEe went to the

  car. It took almost superhuman effort for her to force herself to open the trunk. i A quick look as the searchlight swung around and illuminated the cavernous

  space, showed nothing but a spare tire, a few tools and a strange looking im

  plement which somewhat resembled a gardener’s spade or hoe.

  Allie quickly dropped the cover. She stepped to the side of the car and opened the rear door. Once more her fingers pressed the button and the light flashed into the interior of the car. The relief at not seeing a body was only offset by her sudden sharp disappointment.

  Carefully she lifted the flash up and down, examining the upholstery.

  The dead man had had a bullet in his forehead. Len had told her a trickle of blood was flowing from the wound. Perhaps, if Tomlinson had carried the body in the back of the car in order to get rid of it...

  But Allie saw no signs of blood. She was about to once more douse the light in disappointment, when she did see something else. Quickly she reached down and from the floor, just under the edge of the seat, she picked up the piece of paper. The light from the flash fell full on it. Allie was holding a fifty dollar bill in her hand.

  She was still staring at it, a perplexed look on her face, when it happened.

  The voice spoke as the overhead garage light flashed on. Allie didn’t need the light, however, to identify the owner of that soft, almost gentle voice.

  “Nosy—just like your husband, aren’t you Mrs. Neilson?”

  Allie gasped and swung around.

  Gerald Tomlinson stood with his back to the closed side door. There was a bitter smile on his long face.

  Allie stared wordlessly as he moved. He held a narrow red plaid scarf in his long-fingered, sinewy hands.

  “Yes,” hesaid, “nosy. Just like your old man.”

  It was like a dream, some horrible nightmare when you were drowning and a hundred people were standing around and you tried to cry out and attract attention and for the life of you, you couldn’t bring out a sound. Your mouth was open and you were screaming, but there wasn’t a sound.

  She could see the look in his eyes as he came toward her. She knew what he was going to do.

  And then at last the sound came, but it wasn’t a scream. It was barely a whisper.

  “No,” shesaid. “No. You can’t... can’tjust...”

  “But yes, lean. lean, Mrs. Neilsen,’’Tomlinson said. “You are trying to say I can’t kill you, but I can. The same way that I killed Arbuckle. The same way I killed that foolish girl who saw me as I was carrying his body in from the car, early Saturday morning. The same way I will kill anyone who interf
eres with me or who gets in my way. ”

  Allie at last found the scream which she had been unable to utter. But the sound of that scream never passed her lips.

  By then the scarf was around her neck and Tomlinson was leaning far over her, twisting the ends tightly together.

  It was then that Howard McNally, that little, fat, rather ridiculous man, did the one thing which went far to make up for many of the shoddy acts of his monotonous and uninteresting life; performed the single heroic deed of his entire thirty-odd years of selfish, self-centered living.

  Upon leaving his back yard, McNally had sneaked around the side of the Tomlinsons’ and had peered through the slit left where the curtain failed to meet the sill in the living room window. He had seen the Tomlinsons sitting there and he had seen Allie, leaning forward and talking with them. He had watched as she spilled the glass of wine down her dress. And he had seen her leave the room for the rear of the house.

  He’d watched as the light came on in the bedroom, and he’d gone to that window.

  What had happened in the bedroom and the words he'd overheard, meant nothing to him. But he had waited and watched and then later, as Allie left the house, he’d again followed her.

  He was still trying to make up his mind what to do when once more she had left her house. This time following had been harder, but his ears had replaced his eyes and he knew when she went to the rear of Tomlinsons’ garage and then circled to the side to open the door.

  McNally was on the verge of following her into the garage when his keen ears had heard Tomlinson’s footsteps. He barely managed to duck in time as the other man approached. The moment Tomlinson silently slid into the garage, McNally was back with his ear to the door.

  He still had the target pistol in his hand. It wasn’t that he was actually going to use it. He didn’t even think about that. No, there was just the one single thought in his mind. This woman, Mrs. Neilsen, was trying to frame him for a murder. He must find out what she was saying, find out what she was doing. And he must stop her from doing it at all costs.