As soon as I helped Mrs. Jenkins and her bag of chicken into the car, we drove over to Betty Crandall’s small one-story, wood-framed house. Poor Betty. Her husband, Levi, had recently died from falling off a ladder while he was trimming some branches in their backyard.
“Mrs. Crandall,” I greeted, giving her a soft hug. Mrs. Crandall, a tall woman with protruding front teeth had lost considerable weight since her husband’s death and looked as if a firm hug would break her.
“Welcome Rachel,” she said, giving me a reciprocating hug. “Make yourself at home. I have coffee and tea. And there are finger sandwiches, along with cake and cookies.”
“We brought some chicken too,” Mrs. Jenkins told her, while I made myself at home and began sorting the tenders out on a plate.
“Oh, thank you so much. I’ve actually been craving chicken lately.”
While we waited for everyone to show up, I texted Jackson to let him know I had arrived safe and sound. He texted back and told me to enjoy myself.
There were four other ladies who arrived. Food came first and then we gathered in a circle in Mrs. Crandall’s living room to discuss this week’s book, The Hotel. Thankfully, the novel was intriguing and so I enjoyed discussing it.
“Would you recommend it to someone?” Mrs. Crandall asked.
We all nodded. “Absolutely,” I praised as we wrapped up the symposium.
“I hope this author writes more books,” Mrs. Jenkins added.
“Me too,” I agreed wholeheartedly, rising from my chair to help with cleanup.
While assisting Mrs. Crandall with putting things back in the fridge and washing up a few dishes, I began hunting for a dishtowel. “Oops wrong one,” I muttered after opening a drawer of paperwork instead of linens. Then I couldn’t help myself and yanked it back open to see an insurance card from Jarrod Dawson. My eyes fixed on Mrs. Crandall, thinking of her husband’s fall off a ladder. “Did your husband buy life insurance from Mr. Dawson?”
“No, of course not,” she assured me. “Levi had substantial coverage through Lockheed and so we didn’t need any other policies.” She paused and dipped her head. “Good thing, you know since...” She leaned against the counter, her eyes filling with tears.
“Were you here when he fell?” I asked more softly, seeing how upset the topic was for her.
She grimaced. “No, I had gone to the grocery store. I found him when I returned.” A few determined tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “It was already too late.”
“I’m sorry,” I apologized and gave her a meaningful hug. While I was full of sympathy, my brain was grinding in all gears, trying to put another fatal fall into perspective.
Sending Jackson another text, I let him know to expect me soon. Once everything was tidied up and we had said our goodbyes, I dropped Mrs. Tuttle off and walked Mrs. Jenkins inside. Because it was dark, I made sure she was inside and then I performed a search of her house to make certain nothing was disturbed.
“Rachel, I know it’s late, but can I get you to reach a box down for me from the closet?”
“Yes, of course.” I followed her to her bedroom closet, where she pointed up to a high shelf. “That one?” I asked with a frown.
“Yes, it has some old photos in it and I just wanted to look at them.”
“I need the stepladder.” Going down the hallway to the catch-all closet next to the bathroom, I reached inside and pulled out the apparatus. Going back to Mrs. Jenkins’ bedroom, I started up the ladder, but my long coat was in the way. Fearing I might trip, I removed the garment, which in turn caused my scarf to hang on a button and drag off with it.
“Oh my God, what happened to you?” Mrs. Jenkins screeched when she saw the marks on my neck.
My hand flew up to cover my secret. Then again, this was Mrs. Jenkins. “Richard,” I divulged in a powerless voice. Once I retrieved the box and replaced the ladder, we sat together on her couch and I told her everything.
“Oh, Rachel,” she choked out with tears rolling down her wrinkled cheeks. “Bless your heart.”
Mrs. Jenkins was my replacement mom. In some ways she was better than my mom. With Mrs. Jenkins, I could tell her anything and she was completely supportive. Sometimes my mother could be judgmental, like Mrs. Tuttle. It was no wonder my mother and Mrs. Tuttle had been the best of friends for so many years. I had always favored sweet Mrs. Jenkins. I loved her so much, and as I wept into her arms, I felt better.
“Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins,” I said after a nice long cry.
“Anytime Rachel, but your Jackson is right … you need to be watching your back.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Jackson
As Rachel gets ready to leave for her book club, my gaze cannot be peeled away from her as she glides around the room organizing her purse and iPad. My little man is admiring her well-rounded ass and imagining us together in her bed. A wild craving ignites, and my tiny brain perks up, imagining doing all sorts of fun things to her and I notice my pants tightening. My testosterone takes over and without thinking it through, I pull her into me. Rachel instantly takes notice when she warms up next to me and I feel embarrassed. I need to get my emotions under control. Rachel is not a one-night stand. I know this. Yet I crave her like a starving man.
Following her to the front porch, I watch as she leaves for her book club with Mrs. Jenkins and Mrs. Tuttle. She drives the long way down the block and at the end of the street, her brake lights come on and then she turns left, out of my sight. Not only is my heart crushed, I am worried sick to death about her. Stepping back inside, I frown at Rob.
“I can’t do it. I feel compelled to follow her to make sure she is okay. She is only going to be a few blocks away. Let me know if either Foster or Hutchins make a move and I can catch up with them. Or I’ll come back here to watch the house if they don’t both leave.”
Rob shakes his head at me. “Man, the love bug has infected you.”
“No!” I adamantly argue. “It’s dark out and Richard tried to kill her yesterday. I’m just being a protective cop.”
“Yeah,” Rob mouths sarcastically. “I’ll let you know if anything happens.”
Jumping in my car, I trail after Rachel, parking several houses behind her. Not smitten, I argue with myself … just cautious.
Two hours later, when she sends a text to let me know she is leaving, I hurry home and beat her by a mile because she has been forever inside of Mrs. Jenkins’ house. I cannot wait to see her again and I wish she would hurry up. Not smitten, I assure myself once again … just worried about her, that’s all.
“Hey guys,” she says in a friendly tone when she finally walks through the door.
“Did you have a good book discussion?” Rob remarks, making casual conversation.
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” she responds. “But the best part was when I stumbled upon a business card in Mrs. Crandall’s drawer. The Crandall’s were approached by Mr. Dawson about purchasing life insurance, but she claims they didn’t buy anything from him.”
“So, what’s the significance?” Rob asks.
“While she was at the grocery store, her husband, Levi, was supposedly trimming a tree branch and fell off a ladder to his death.”
“Anyone else around?” Jackson questioned.
“No, not according to her,” I admitted.
“Then I don’t get it,” Rob countered. “If he was alone, no one pushed him.”
Rachel shrugs. “I know, but I’ll bet you anything his untimely death is related to Mrs. Ramsey and Mrs. Hilliard’s fall.” She glares at Rob’s stoic face. “It’s still another fall case,” she barks at him. “Perhaps you should check to see if there was an insurance policy on his life that Mrs. Crandall didn’t know about.”
“Do they have any children?” I ask.
“Five, I think. It’s worth looking into … don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” I immediately agree, overtly taking Rachel a lot more seriously than Rob seems to be.
Jesus Christ, I am so glad Rachel wasn’t here to admire his overly handsome mug. “What did he want?” I say with a grudge and look at Rachel’s face to see if she looks sad about having missed him. I am thankful when her features remain the same.
“They found Eugene Smith’s car in a seedy part of town, off Rosedale … what was left of it. It had been parted out and the rest had been burned. There wasn’t any sign of Eugene Smith and there’s not much left to process. It’s doubtful it’ll tell us anything about what happened to Mr. Smith, but the chances of him being alive don’t look good.”
Rachel swallows hard. “How awful,” she mumbles. “I wonder if it will be on the news.” She checks the time and notes it is almost ten o’clock. “I’m going to go watch.”
The only TV in the house is viewed from my bed on the couch. I have left my clothing strewn all over the place. “I’ll go make a place for you to sit,” I quickly offer, hoping she is not going to jump my rear for being a slob. I still need to clean that burrito out of my car. It was gagging me to death all day long. You’d think I’d do something about it.
“Watch the news with her,” Rob calls after me. I know he is doing it only because he thinks I’ve been infected by a love bug. I haven’t. I’m in control. Rachel is special, but I don’t intend to take advantage of her. And no, I am not infected.
Bundling my clothes in my arms, I merely toss them on a chair. “There,” I say like I have truly handled the situation. “A spot for two,” I add, sweeping my hand over the couch, hoping to distract her from the pigsty I have created out of this room. Then I feel terrible. “I’m going to get organized back here,” I say apologetically. “It’s just there’s not any place to hang my stuff.”
“I’ll make a spot in the spare closet for your things,” she offers, and I feel like I am moving in. My heart smiles from the inside as I join her, sitting ever so close while we watch the news together. While we view the segment of Mr. Smith’s burning car in an undesirable neighborhood, I inch my hand over by hers and let our fingers touch. It feels like I am back in high school, trying to work up my nerve to kiss a girl. Alerted by the feel of her fingertips moving closer to mine, I remember I am not smitten and, furthermore, I am not going to take advantage of Rachel, and so I jerk my hand back and tell myself to get in control. One moment I want to throw Rachel on the bed and make love to her. The next, I want to run away so I don’t hurt her. What the heck is wrong with me?
Chapter Forty-Six
Rachel
“Goodnight,” I told Jackson and Richard and made my way to the bedroom. Turning out the light, I crawled under the covers and tried to sleep. But something was bothering me, and I couldn’t stop the niggling feeling. Trying hard to backtrack to a time when it wasn’t, I worked my way forward. My thoughts drifted to watching the news with Jackson. We had been seated close together on the couch and, at one point, our fingers were touching. Just when I worked up my nerve to hold his hand, he jerked back like I was a rattlesnake. It not only caught me by surprise, it was an obvious rejection. I wondered if I was unattractive to him. But hadn’t he made suggestive comments to me? After basically living with me, perhaps he had lost all interest. I had been OCD about the toilet paper and him leaving his towel on the floor. And I had come unglued when he left the seat up and I fell into the toilet bowl. Perhaps after a good dose of me he had changed his mind. Then a second thought occurred to me … he might have a girlfriend. While I had told him all about Richard, he hadn’t even hinted at his love life. While he had made those insinuating innuendos, he may have only been joking around. When it came right down to it, he might be committed to someone else. I needed to find out. But what did it matter? Surely, I wasn’t interested in the Geico man. And did I really want to lower myself to a roll in the hay? What the heck was wrong with me?
After a long reasonable talk with myself, I was convinced my relationship with Jackson wasn’t my vexation. Something else was eluding me. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. After taxing my brain – which only reminded me of all the tax returns I needed to accomplish – I felt myself drifting into slumber.
Far into the night, three a.m. according to my digital clock, my eyes popped open and I sat upright in bed. “Oh my God,” I muttered under my breath, realizing what had been pestering me. It had to mean something. It just had to. And as soon as morning came, I intended to check it out.
****
Unable to fully ease back into a deep sleep, my feet hit the floor the next morning. It was too early though, and Mrs. Jenkins would still be in bed. I needed to wait. But anxiousness had me on pins and needles. To while away the time, I took my shower and dressed, and then began breakfast. When I passed into the kitchen, I noticed Rob was seated at the dining table.
“Goodness, how are you still awake?”
“It’s part of the job. You learn to nap here and there whenever you can,” he explained. “Jackson took the first shift and I caught some z’s in my truck.”
I felt awful. It was cold in a vehicle and my couch was available. “I wouldn’t mind if you napped on the couch … as long as you don’t make fun of my snoring,” I warned.
“Ma’am, I wouldn’t want to put you out. That seems too invasive.”
“Well think about it. I don’t want you freezing in your truck.” I paused. “And it’s Rachel, not ma’am. Good grief.” Jesus, he had a date with Brenna, and we were the same age.
He smiled. “Thank you … Rachel.”
By the time I had breakfast prepared, Jackson came in, looking like something the cat dragged in with his wild hair standing out everywhere. “You’re up early,” he commented. “Are you trying to get some work done?”
“Yeah, I need to. But I want to check on something first.”
“What?” he played along.
“Let me see first. And then I’ll tell you.” But I already knew I was right. But did it mean anything?
Getting straight to work to occupy my time, I kept a constant check out my front window, peering out at a grim day. A white mist hung in the air, obscuring my view. Squinting past the moist thick veil, I noticed Mrs. Jenkins had finally opened her front curtains. It was always our sign to let me know she was fine. But today it meant she was up. “I’ll be back in a little bit,” I announced. “I’m heading over to Mrs. Jenkins’ house.”
It was another dreary Tuesday, just like last week when I went to lunch with Brenna and Catie. I supposed I would go today. Hopefully enough had happened during this past week that neither of them would be giving me a hard time about getting back with Richard. As I rang Mrs. Jenkins’ doorbell and waited for her to answer, I was thankful today wasn’t quite as cold as last week.
“Rachel is something wrong?” she asked, her soft gray eyes darting between me and my house. “Richard hasn’t come back, has he?”
“No. I know it’s early, but I need to check something if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, I don’t mind. Come on in.”
She swung the door open for my entry and I entered and shut it behind me. “Thank you. Last night when I went to get the stepladder, something registered with me, but not fully … not until three in the morning.”
“Oh, I know what you mean. It’s like trying desperately to remember someone’s name, and then sometime later it just comes to you.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “I just need to check your hallway.”
“Be my guest,” she said, waving a hand in that direction.
Flipping on her hall light and looking up at the ceiling, I saw exactly what I knew I would see … the attic access. Though I had never been in the middle unit of the three townhomes, I assumed it had the same floor plan, which meant Mr. Dawson’s was also located in his hallway and not in his garage. “Exactly as I thought,” I said, staring at the folded-up hatch door.
>
“Oh my,” Mrs. Jenkins muttered, the realization dawning on her. “David didn’t do a heating repair from the garage … did he?”
“I don’t think so. Have you ever been in the middle unit?” I asked, giving every benefit of the doubt.
“No, but I believe Iva has. You need to check with her.”
“I’ll go over to her place right now. In the meantime, keep your doors locked and be careful.”
“Yes, I will,” she said, a fearful look covering her entire face.
Leaving Mrs. Jenkins, I walked two units down to Mrs. Tuttle’s place. Before I could knock, Mrs. Tuttle opened the door for me to enter. “What’s going on?” she asked, knowing it was a rare occasion for me to be calling at her residence, though she was starting to grow on me.
Stepping inside her warm living room, I did a slight shudder against a chill seeping into my bones from the short walk over. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look at your attic access.”
“Holy Mother of God!” she cried out, immediately putting the pieces together. “It’s in the hallway as you might well already know.” She followed me to the hallway where I looked up and confirmed, once again, the trap door leading to where the heater and a/c unit were located. She bunched up her face at me. “Now tell me what noise I heard coming from his garage … because it wasn’t David losing his footing coming down the stairs and falling with a thud to the floor, which he claimed was last Monday night’s noise. And then I seriously have my reservations about Jarrod Dawson calling him a few days later, late at night, to install a heater part from his garage.”
“I doubt it too,” I agreed. “They could still claim the second noise was when David helped Mr. Dawson load the old unit into the back of Mr. Dawson’s vehicle for taking to the dumpster.”
The House Across The Street Page 21
