I rolled my eyes at him. “You wish,” I said with a small laugh.
He put on a cocky face. “Maybe you wish.” Then he chuckled. “I better get these tacos back before they get soggy. Thanks for picking them up.”
“You’re welcome,” I said as he went out the door.
After devouring my tacos, I decided to read for a while and then take a break to go visit Mrs. Foster at the nursing home. Going to my bedroom to get the book, I decided to read in bed from a propped-up position. Grabbing a throw, I snuggled under it, opening my iPad.
Last night, I had read about a third of the book before falling asleep. It was an interesting book and I couldn’t wait to get back to it. Barely reading into the next chapter, I heard the front door creaking opening and then slamming shut. Thinking it was Jackson, I hollered. “Did you forget something?”
“Where the hell is he?” I heard Richard’s voice.
My God, I had forgotten to lock the door when Jackson left and now Richard was in my house.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Rachel
In a split second I jumped off the bed and tried to decide what to do. Before I could even think, he was thundering down the hallway toward me.
“Where is that fucker,” he thundered, immediately searching for Jackson, looking around to his satisfaction to see if he was here.
My defiant chin came up, alluding to bravery that wasn’t there. “What do you think you’re doing? This isn’t your home.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw and his almost black eyes bored into me. “Answer me!” He pushed me down hard on the bed and hovered over me, threatening me. “Damien told me all about your new boyfriend. I know he was here this morning, along with Brenna. I watched from down the street and waited for her to leave. Then you left and before I could confront him, he left and followed you to church. I’ve been circling the neighborhood ever since, waiting for him to get back.”
“Then you know he isn’t here,” I stupidly pointed out.
“Don’t get smart with me,” he said in a menacing tone, causing me to cower on the bed. “Is he living here?” he accused. Turning his back to me, he flipped the light on in the back room and stuck his head in. “Looks like it,” he concluded, seeing Jackson’s belongings strewn everywhere.
Thank goodness Jackson, or Rob, had stowed the spy equipment in the pantry before leaving. While Richard was preoccupied, I took the opportunity to haul my feet to the floor and run down the hall, thinking I needed to get to Mrs. Tuttle’s house. She’d be quick to open the door, unlike poor, slow Mrs. Jenkins.
He took out after me, catching me before I even cleared my desk area. “Going somewhere?” he snarled, gripping hold of me like a vice and dragging me back to my bedroom, away from the front door, my only means of escape.
“Let go of me! Help anyone!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, kicking and fighting against him as he tightened his hold on me. “Richard, let go. You’re hurting me,” I shouted.
He chuckled. “I couldn’t begin to hurt you … not like you’ve hurt me. It wouldn’t be possible, now would it!”
“Please Richard. Why can’t you just move on? You can find someone, anyone, who’s better than me. You deserve the best. She’s out there, waiting for you. Cut the ties with me.”
“I can’t imagine you think you’re fooling me. I need you Rachel. You’re the lucky one. Believe it or not, everything boils down to you and that bitch nurse.”
“Elena Johnson,” I reminded him of his fling’s name.
“She’s going to testify against me,” he growled. “So, Bitch Nurse is now her name.”
“Then what do I matter?” I posed, hoping I could be out of the middle of everything. “If she isn’t going to cover for you, then how can I make a difference?”
“Let me put things to you a different way … my trial will go much better if she’s not a part of it and you look like the doting, caring, concerned wife. If you aren’t willing to stand beside me, maybe my trial would go much better without either of you around … at all.”
“Are you threatening my life?” I questioned, worried he might be.
He placed his hands around my neck and began choking me. “Now would I do such a thing?” he said sarcastically, squeezing harder. Against the deepening pressure, I struggled to break his hold, hardly believing we were at this point in our relationship. Things had deteriorated before … even a few slaps to the face. But right now, my air was completely cut off. I pushed and kicked and tried to wriggle free. But my five-two, tiny self wasn’t a match for his six-two, muscled-up strength.
Gagging and choking and unable to speak, I couldn’t even manage to swallow. An intense pain in my neck and throat had me feeling nauseous and seeing white stars as if I were about to pass out … or die. It felt like my eyes were going to pop out of my head. For sure, I thought he was going to kill me. I looked at him, my eyes pleading for my life. Then he dropped his hold on me and I collapsed to the floor, struggling for a breath.
“You think about it, Rachel. We’ll talk in a few days to see if you’ve come to your senses.”
Choking and gasping for air, I rubbed my hands over my inflamed throat and looked up at him with what I knew was a surprised look on my face, having truly expected that he was going to kill me.
Without another word, he turned and left, leaving me huddled on the floor. For months now, Richard and I had problems but, until now, I never thought he’d kill me, or even attempt to kill me. Then again, I think he killed my baby.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jackson
For hours, Rob and I have sat together in his truck – he says my car smells. It does. I need to find that burrito and get it out … or it might be some leftover pizza. Either way, it’s pretty rank. From down the street we have watched Foster and Hutchins repair a fence. It is beyond boring.
“Do you think we have this all wrong?” I pose after another hour. “They’re working pretty hard as actual handymen. Maybe we’re going about this possible murder theory in a completely wrong direction.”
“I don’t know … maybe,” Rob ponders. “It doesn’t make any sense for either of them to be murderers if neither one benefited from killing someone.” He pauses, reflecting on the case. “You said nothing was taken from either house?”
“Nothing, according to the two detectives working the case. But in both instances, Foster was the handyman and whoever killed Norma Ramsey and Martha Hilliard gained entry without force. There was another guy, Arnold Wilson, in California who died similarly. Hutchins was the handyman there and, coincidentally, Foster’s parents live in the same area. And we can’t forget about Eugene Smith. Foster claims he was supposed to have helped put up a porch swing, but the old man was gone when he showed up. Smith has been missing since last Monday. The case may not be connected, but I have a feeling it is. It can’t all be circumstantial.”
“True,” Rob agreeably nods. “But there has to be a motive.”
“Sometimes people kill people just for the sake of killing people,” I point out.
“This is also true,” Rob concurs. “But I can’t imagine two guys working in tandem and laboring their asses off all day on a fence, are just out to kill someone. If it’s them, they’re getting on the inside for a reason.”
I sigh. “I wish I knew what it was.”
“That my friend, is for the detectives. Lucky us, we just sit and watch.”
“I want to become a detective,” I admit. “I have my credentials and have put in for a position. It would be nice if I could solve these murders. It might make me a shoo-in.”
Rob gives me a stunned look. “Oh wow, I had no idea.”
“Yeah, I’m lonely in the field. I’ve been rethinking my life lately.”
“Rachel?” he instantly brings up.
I shrug. “I don’t know. We’ve only recently met. But I do think she’s extra special.”
“Are you thinking of a commitment?” Rob keeps his stunned look. “M
an, I never in my wildest dreams would’ve believed you’d ever consider settling down to one girl.” He shakes his head. “You, with only one girl … the thought blows my mind.”
I chuckle. My friend knows me so well. Many would label me as a player. Just a quickie will do to satisfy my primal male urges. My view has always been to enjoy the sex and then move on, especially if some gal ever brought up marriage. I can’t even imagine myself entering a monogamous commitment. I’m a lone wolf, and most definitely not the relationship type. It’s never been one girl for me. Women are like assorted candies and I’ll take a sampling from each. My opinion has always been that marriage is nothing more than an absurd piece of paper, unnecessarily binding two people together. Most marriages will fail, especially considering there are no guarantees when it comes to being faithful. It is beyond me why two people willingly promise to be stuck with the other, no matter how much arguing there is or how bad the circumstances become. It doesn’t make sense to either put yourself in a living hell, or, alternatively end up divorced – case in point, Rachel has filed for a divorce. No everlasting love for them. This brings me back to the rationale for ceremonial vows to begin with. They certainly didn’t mean anything and weren’t worth the paper the unity was written on. Personally, I can’t see the reasoning behind a pledge to be with only one mate. People are human. People cheat. I would cheat. I can’t even picture myself strapped to the same girl for the rest of my life ... for better or worse. Forever. My philosophy is: when there’s nothing left worth saving, it’s best not to have a contract in the middle of getting the hell gone.
I look at Rob and consider his comment of me being with one girl … only. “I said I wanted to be a detective. Rethinking my life doesn’t mean I’m willing to forgo a smorgasbord of lovers. You know me, variety is the spice of life. I’m not sure I want to give up my dream of having a different girl in my bed every night. I’m used to my reputation as being the love ’em and leave ’em type. I doubt that I could commit to Rachel. Commitment is such a demanding word. I need to be wild and free to be who I am. And I don’t like the idea of being hooked up with someone forever, permanently tied down. Not in a thousand years can I picture myself bending over backwards to make her happy. I’d fail miserably to meet her expectations. It wouldn’t last.”
After only a few days with Rachel, I have already learned she is adamant about a few things. Like, the front curtains must be pulled shut at night, even though we’re in the back of the house. After a last check on the house across the street, I’m always careful to close them up until the morning, because that’s when they need to be opened, according to her. Also, my towel must be hung from the hook on the back of the door and never simply left on the floor. It goes without saying, the toilet seat will be left down so she will not fall in, which she did once. Then there’s the toilet paper. It can only roll in a certain direction. Man, I had no idea it went a specific way. At this point, I find myself doing everything the way she wants it done, and I don’t even mind doing it. But how would I feel about those quirks several years from now?
Rob gives me the once over, like he’s not buying my protest. “Yeah, I saw the way you were looking at her. You’re smitten.”
“Smitten? Have you lost your mind?” I argue.
“Mm-hmm, smitten. You couldn’t take your eyes off her.”
My mouth refuses to cooperate, falling into a dead silence. I am lonely. I do like being around Rachel. But does it mean I want a commitment? Maybe I should watch myself around her, keep a little distance between us when we’re on the couch watching TV. Rachel is like a bad magnet, attracting me in the worst way. It is super easy to be taken in by her many attributes. But do I want to get myself completely attached to her? I’m not sure I want to be involved … as in involved. And I certainly don’t want to hurt her. Then again, I think of Rachel all the time and with every thought I feel a hot pulse wanting to explode in my jeans. Yes, that’s it. I’m only thinking of sex … not a commitment. I’m perfectly okay.
“I’m only thinking about having sex with her,” I proudly announce after my self-assessment.
Rob gives me the benefit of the doubt. “She is a sexy little number.”
My brows bunch together. “Hey, keep your eyes off my Rachel. You have a date with Brenna … remember.”
Rob laughs and I think it is at me. “Jealous?” he accuses.
“No,” I deny, remembering how jealous I was of Sutton. And this was only right after I first met Rachel. Perhaps I am attaching myself to her. But how would I know? I’ve never been in a relationship before in my entire life. I wouldn’t know what hit me, even if I was smitten.
Rob lets the topic go. “I’m looking forward to a roll in the hay with Brenna. As an attorney, I imagine she will take control of the bed and lead me through every position like she would handle a witness in a court of law.” He sniggers at the thought. “She’s pretty too.”
My thoughts bounce back to Rachel, thinking she is beautiful. I miss her right now and wish Foster and Hutchins would get the fence repaired so I could go home. Home. This is a scary thought. Is my home with Rachel … or Veronica? It’s not with Veronica, I quickly assure myself. I haven’t even contacted her since I went to stay with Rachel. And she hasn’t contacted me either. There is obviously no love lost between us. For a moment, I imagine a choice between returning to my apartment without Veronica in it, versus going to Rachel’s house. Which would I prefer? Without a doubt, I know I can’t go to an empty apartment. But does this mean I want to always go home to Rachel? Deep within my gut, I think I want to go to Rachel.
For two more hours, I ponder my feelings about Rachel. Then finally, I decide nothing needs to be decided right now. We have only met. And it has been under exigent circumstances. Instead, I peer out the front windshield to see Foster and Hutchins packing up their tools. “Thank goodness. It looks like they’re finally calling it a day.”
Rob and I sit tight until they leave and then we go talk to Mr. Cox.
“You think those two may be behind those other murders?” he chokes out with a scared look on his face. “My God, they seemed so nice.”
“Did they finish the job?” Rob asks.
“Yes,” he answers in a shaky voice.
“I wouldn’t hire them for any more jobs,” I warn. “And don’t open the door for them.”
His head wobbles all around. “I won’t. Thanks for the heads-up.”
After talking for a few more minutes, to be on the safe side, Mr. Cox decides he is going to spend a few days with his daughter who lives in San Antonio. He makes the call to her and she is excited about his upcoming visit. Rob and I linger while he packs a bag, locks his house and leaves. Then Rob and I part ways and I go home to Rachel.
****
It surprises me when I arrive at the door and find it unlocked. Upon entering and not immediately seeing Rachel, I feel uneasy. Looking all around, I don’t see anything out of place, but the lights are off, giving me an eerie feeling. “Rachel,” I call out, thinking she may be over at Mrs. Jenkins house and simply forgot to lock the door. But Rachel is adamant about the door being locked when she’s away, so I highly doubt this scenario.
“Jackson,” I hear a thin voice coming from her bedroom.
My feet cannot get to her fast enough. She is sprawled over her bed, lying in the dark and I get the feeling she has not been napping. I flip on the light to check on her. When she lifts her face to me, I gasp. She has been crying long enough for her eyes to be red and her face to be swollen. She inhales a deep breath and sniffles, confirming that something is terribly wrong.
“Rachel,” I say softly, sitting down next to her. “What’s happened?” In my mind, I imagine it is something to do with Mrs. Jenkins. Or perhaps Mr. Smith’s body was found. But there is no way I am prepared to see red marks around her throat when she turns completely to face me. “My God, what happened?” I screech out. She instinctively covers her throat with her hand and says nothing. I pull her hand
down and take a damned good look. “Did Richard do this?” I immediately accuse.
“Yes,” she croaks out. “But I’m okay now. I was just shaken up.”
“Don’t cover for him. We need to report this to the police. I’ll go with you.”
She blinks her watery eyes at me and begs, “Please, Jackson. I can’t. Everything is so complicated.”
“You have a mountain of convincing to do to make me believe that.”
“Just stay with me for a bit, then we’ll talk,” she pleads.
“Okay,” I agree, fluffing a pillow behind my head and taking her in my arms. She snuggles into me and I smell strawberry shampoo. She smells delicious. She feels delicious. Normally, in situations like this, I would take advantage of a woman’s vulnerability and make a sexual move. I don’t with Rachel. Right now, all I want to do is soothe her until she recovers from what happened to her. Until then, I am content to hold her next to me. It makes me wonder if there is more to us than I am willing to admit.
It is an hour later before Rachel breaks the silence, filling the thick air in the room. “You overheard Brenna this morning when she said Richard was upset about my being on a date with you. Well, she wasn’t lying.”
“So, he strangled you because you went out with me?” I know this may be a part of the picture, but it’s not the whole of one. “Tomorrow I’ll go to the courthouse and read the case files, unless you’ll trust me enough to confide.”
She breathes out a deep sigh. “If anyone asks, you have to say you researched the file.”
“I will,” I agree, promising to lie for her. Lying is not my thing. So, to make it a truth, tomorrow I will look at the court cases. If anyone asks, I will protect Rachel and tell only about reviewing the pleadings.
“First off, I want to say Richard was a loving, caring, charming, wonderful husband for all of our years of marriage, until several months ago … when Richard stopped having sex with me.” She hesitates and already I have a feeling she is leaving something out. “After a while, I guess he decided to satisfy his needs elsewhere. He began an affair with Elena Johnson, a surgical nurse who assisted him during his heart surgeries. I didn’t know about the two of them at the time.”
The House Across The Street Page 17
