Richard shook his head. He wanted to be rid of the threat Rachel posed, but did he want to participate in her murder? He just wanted to scare her to the point where she was afraid to talk. Not kill her. What if he was implicated in this guy’s sloppy work? No, he couldn’t take the chance. It was better to keep Rachel quiet and point the blame at that sloppy nurse he stupidly had an affair with. Conspiracy to commit murder was far too risky. He’d already made one huge mistake. Compounding it wasn’t the answer. “No, I’m sorry. You’ve misjudged me.” Richard pushed back in his chair and began standing.
Damn it, thought Jarrod. The one time he involved a third party, someone he thought already had murder in mind was getting cold feet. “I saw you trying to kill her,” he blurted out, now desperate to cover this conversation by pulling Richard in on his plan. Otherwise he’d left himself extremely exposed. What would Richard do … go to the cops? He couldn’t let that happen. “I’m surprised Rachel didn’t report you already. But I guess those gag orders really are working.”
“Excuse me,” Richard said. “You must be mistaken.”
“Through the bedroom window … I saw you choking her. For sure I thought you were going to finish her off. I can complete the job for you.”
Richard slumped back down in the chair, a glum expression on his face. “How would this work?” Richard dared to ask, hoping Jarrod wasn’t an undercover cop. But then again, if he were, wouldn’t he have already arrested him for strangling Rachel?
Jarrod explained the whole process, part of which included two life insurance policies. One covering Rachel’s life, which Jarrod would collect on as payment for his services. The other would be on the nurse, which Richard would collect himself through a bank account in the Caymans. “All I need from you are sample handwritings, including signatures on both Rachel and Elena. I’ll draw up the policies and forge their names to make it appear as if they took out the coverages. If the premium payment is made upon application, it takes twenty-four hours for the policies to become effective. Once they’re in place, I’ll make sure both parties disappear.”
“This is all you need from me … just the handwriting and signature samples?” It seemed so simple. “How does the banking work?”
“Once I have the death certificates, the claims can be filed. I’ll then instruct the insurance company to pay the proceeds directly into a special distribution bank account. Once it has been funded, I’ll wire your share of the money to wherever you direct.”
Richard was all in at this point. He’d make sure he didn’t have any fingerprints on the samples and he never intended to ask for his portion of the money. If his problems “went away” he had all the money he ever needed. And if his job remained intact, he could always make more. If he became a person of interest, he’d be sure to tell the police about Rachel’s weird neighbor who confronted him about a life insurance policy on Rachel and said something vague about distribution bank accounts. When the police checked it out, they’d find Dawson to be in possession of unjust funds. The insurance man could take the fall for him. He could come out unscathed.
“You’ll have the samples by this afternoon,” Richard firmly agreed. Richard had tons of documents written by Rachel at his house and he had access to medical records completed by Elena. This was all so easy. He hoped.
Once the men had parted ways and Richard had driven back to his house for the writings, his heart became heavy at the thought of losing Rachel. He did love her. But he had to do what had to be done. He’d resorted to desperate measures once before to ensure nothing blocked his path. Rachel had yammered for years, on and on about wanting a child. Richard hadn’t wanted the distraction. There wasn’t time for changing diapers, reading bedtime stories, or helping with homework. If he had a moment’s spare time, he didn’t want to spend it at a little league game, a school event, or a birthday party. Children would only get in the way of his success. It was better for him not to have any. He had placated Rachel by giving her everything else … expensive purses, nice cars, and exquisite jewelry. And, of course, their marriage had been filled with exotic trips to faraway places and he’d even purchased a second home in Aspen and a third in the Tuscany region of Italy. But no matter her lavish lifestyle, Rachel only pined for a snot-nosed, crying little brat.
Richard was shocked when Rachel told him she was pregnant, claiming her pregnancy preventative measures had been switched due to severe cramps she was experiencing. He believed she had deliberately gone behind his back and purposely became impregnated. He couldn’t believe she’d dared to do such an underhanded thing. Richard had come up with a plan though. He sat in on several abortions and learned the technique. Assembling one supply and implement at a time, he stocked the locking closet in his study with everything he needed. Then he waited for the right moment. It happened one night when they were scheduled to attend a charity event. Rachel had on some damned big heels to make her appear taller than her five-two height. He took hold of her arm as she descended the curving staircase in their two-story penthouse. After only a few steps, he made sure his foot was in the way of Rachel’s, and oops, she tumbled to the floor.
He bounded after her and when she reached the bottom of the stairs, taking advantage of her dazed and confused state, he immediately injected her with a powerful sedative, knocking her out immediately. Spreading out a plastic sheet on the kitchen floor, he performed the rudimentary abortion and afterward, he made sure to get rid of the evidence. When Rachel came to hours later, he tenderly and lovingly told her she’d miscarried the baby. Then he held her and cuddled her while she cried over the loss of her unborn child. Afterward, he never touched her again for fear she’d turn up pregnant once more. Rachel caused him to have an affair. Everything was all her fault.
After retrieving Rachel’s handwriting samples, he breezed by the hospital and procured Elena’s. Then, to keep anyone from spotting him, he used the alley behind Jarrod Dawson’s house to deliver the documents.
“Give me your number,” Dawson requested. “I’ll call you when it’s done, and you can give me a bank routing number.”
“No, I’ll be in touch,” Richard countered. “It’ll be safer for us both if we don’t have each other’s numbers.”
“Yes, of course,” Jarrod agreed. “We shouldn’t leave a trail between us.”
Richard nodded a goodbye. For him it was a goodbye. He never intended to get in touch with Jarrod Dawson again. And if things went awry, there was no way in hell he wanted that man having his number. It was bad enough they’d met in public at a Starbucks. Thank goodness Richard was able to spot Jarrod Dawson for the sloppy murderer he apparently was. Richard was going to be able to eliminate both his problems and point the blame at Rachel’s neighbor.
As Richard drove away, all his thoughts were on the future and how bright it suddenly looked.
But in his rearview mirror, he didn’t notice Mrs. Tuttle had just stepped into her alley to take out the trash.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Jackson
Rachel is back from her errands when I return home. She is in the kitchen cooking something and it smells delicious. Spaghetti and meat sauce, I believe, because there is a garlic smell twitching at my nose.
“Rachel,” I call out so as not to frighten her because I have used my key to gain entry. “Babe,” I say, working up my nerve for a pet name.
“Jackson,” she calls back. “I’m in the kitchen.”
I cross the dining room and find her with her head stuck in the fridge. When she stands back up with a bag of salad in her hand, she catches sight of me, drops the bag on the floor and freezes. I have had my hair cut and professionally styled, and I am clean-shaven. I look nothing like the person who left here this morning.
She brings her eyes up and studies me. My heart clinches and my stomach contracts in response. “Well?” I prompt, even though a smile has quickly spread across her face, letting me know she likes what she sees.
Her eyes sparkle like she has just wo
n the lottery. “I love it. I can’t believe it. My God you look amazing. Oh, Jackson, I just can’t get over the incredible transformation. Did I tell you I love it?”
She bounces over to me with a lot of enthusiasm and my eyes are on her jiggling boobs. “So, do you like it?” I ask stupidly.
“I love it.” She throws her arms around me and pulls me down to her and plants her lips on mine.
I am eager to reciprocate her kisses as I hold her tight against me. We are lip-locked together when someone aggressively pounds on the door. “Dammit,” I mutter as we release our hold and Rachel goes to see what the commotion is.
“Mrs. Tuttle,” Rachel announces as she swings open the door.
Mrs. Tuttle barges on in and makes her way over to the dining table and plops down in a chair. “You are not going to believe what I just saw. And if you don’t, I have a picture of it.”
Rachel and I take seats opposite her. “What?” Rachel asks.
She shakes her head and tuts. “I saw Richard meeting with Jarrod Dawson in the alley behind his house.” She gives us a moment to register what she has said and then asks, “What do you make of it?”
My heart thumps out of my chest and Rachel looks like she is going to be ill. “Did you hear them say anything?” I ask.
“No, I was taking out my trash when I saw them. I couldn’t believe my eyes, so I fished my phone from the front pocket on my dress and took a picture right as I saw him hand an envelope to that Dawson character.” She swallows hard and I note her hands are trembling. “My God, Rachel, you know this has to be about you. And it can’t be anything good. With Richard already trying to strangle you to death, there’s no telling what those two are planning together.”
Rachel runs the palm of her hands over her face and looks like she has aged since hearing the news. “It must be some sort of insurance scam,” Rachel concludes. “The other night at the book club, Mrs. Crandall was certain Mr. Crandall hadn’t taken out a life insurance policy through Mr. Dawson. Part of the paperwork I came across last night indicated there was a policy and it had been paid out.”
“The police are preparing a subpoena to obtain copies of several insurance policies,” I add.
“There was paperwork indicating a policy on Eugene Smith too,” Rachel tells her.
“My God,” Mrs. Tuttle mutters, twisting her gaze to me. “You have to do something. He’s going to kill her.”
I nod, knowing she is right. “My captain wanted to wait for the results on the insurance policies before a judge issued a search warrant. He believed it would be the persuasive evidence we needed prior to going to the District Attorney. But I’ll let him know things have escalated and we need to go in tomorrow.”
“Well see that you do,” Mrs. Tuttle admonishes me. “Rachel is an important part of my life and I don’t want to see anything bad happen to her.”
“She’s important to me too,” I say. “Rachel isn’t really my cousin. She’s my—”
“Girlfriend,” Mrs. Tuttle finishes. “Do you think I’m blind?”
“No ma’am. I just wanted to be upfront with you.” I respond.
“Well keep her safe. That’s all I’m asking.” She rises from her chair and heads for the door. “Congratulations to the two of you … on not being related.” She pauses. “And you look nice,” she says, meaning my freshly cut hair and smoothly shaven face.
“Thank you,” I respond as she heads for the door. “Oh, wait. I have something to secure your attic access. I’ll follow you home,” I offer.
Rachel goes with us and I install two large eyehooks, one on the attic hatch and the other on a nearby joist. Then I loop a small bit of chain through them and fasten it with a padlock. I do the same for Mrs. Jenkins. Then Rachel invites them both over for spaghetti and meatballs. They don’t tarry once they’ve eaten because the skies are turning dark and a bad storm is moving in.
We are first hit with a heavy wind, causing the trees to sway back and forth and create strange images on the walls. Within half an hour, a giant clap of thunder shakes the old windows and the heavens part with a torrential downpour. It is raining cats and dogs, as my father would say. Blinding bolts of lightning cause the lights to flicker on and off several times. Rachel and I have retreated to the back room, where the couch is located. It is also next to the bathroom in case the tornado siren sounds. The cable signal has gone out and Rachel has lit a few candles in case there is an interruption in the electricity as well. Every now and then I venture out to the front window to check outside. The rain is filling the streets and the drainage system can barely keep up with the flow of water. Rain pelts so hard against the glass panes it sounds like marbles of hail.
“Jackson,” Rachel calls when she thinks I have been gone too long.
“I’m here,” I assure her, returning to the back room to hold her.
The rain continues to pound down hard for over an hour. Once the wind has died down and the heavy part of the storm has passed, the rest of the night is a steady downfall. That night when I make love to Rachel for the second time, it is to the soothing sound of droplets on her rooftop.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Rachel
Last night when Jackson came home, he’d cut his hair and shaved his face. His clean-cut look had almost stopped my breath. Without an abundance of gnarly hair, his smooth facial features were strikingly handsome, and his styled hair looked amazing. Brenna was going to be jealous of my Neanderthal man.
As we prepared breakfast together, I couldn’t stop admiring how incredibly good looking he was. My eyes roved over him, from his smooth beautiful face, down to his well-cut jeans showing off his backside. It was a mystery as to how I missed this before. But once his face became visible, I could hardly peel my eyes off him.
He grinned as he scrambled the eggs and I swooned as I buttered the toast. For the first time, in an exceedingly long time, I was genuinely happy. And Brenna said I shouldn’t expect Mr. Right to simply knock on my door one day. Right now, I’d argue he had. Yes, Brenna was most assuredly going to be jealous.
“Mrs. Tuttle is on her way over,” Jackson said from the dining table.
I peered out the window. “It must be important. She’s still in her robe.” I answered the door and invited her inside. “Is everything okay?” I asked, closing the door behind her.
“Did you catch the morning news?” she questioned.
“No … what happened?” Jackson asked.
She frowned and bit at her lip. “Eugene Smith’s body washed up in the Trinity River after all that rain last night.”
“Oh no,” I cried out, though I had already assumed he was dead.
“I thought I should tell you,” she said. “As soon as I’m ready, I’m going down to Lottie’s to see if there’s anything she needs me to do.”
“I’ll help too, if there’s something I can do,” I offered. “Tell her I’ll come by in a little while.”
“I will,” she said, standing to leave. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Jackson and I finished breakfast. “Rach, I’m going down to the police station to see what the investigation has turned up on Eugene Smith. While I’m there, I’ll work on getting the search warrant issued on Jarrod Dawson.”
“Okay. Let me know what you find out.”
“Are you going to be okay here by yourself?”
“I’m going across the street to let Mrs. Jenkins know about Mr. Smith. Then I’ll probably run by Mrs. Smith’s to see if she needs anything. I also have a few tax returns needing signatures.”
Jackson frowned. “It sounds like a lot of running around. I’m not sure I like the idea of you being out alone after knowing Richard and Dawson are up to something.”
“Why don’t we try to hook up for lunch?” I suggested. “It’ll give you a chance to make sure I’m alive and well.”
His lips were pressed into a fine line. “Okay, but text me several times too.”
Once we were ready, he waited at his car unti
l I was inside Mrs. Jenkins’ house. After turning to wave goodbye to him at her door, he waved back and drove off. Once I’d told Mrs. Jenkins about Mr. Smith, we rehashed Mrs. Tuttle seeing Richard last night at Mr. Dawson’s house.
“I’m just so worried for you,” Mrs. Jenkins stressed.
“I’ll be fine,” I assured her.
She accompanied me down to Mrs. Smith’s residence. It was a madhouse down there. Her tiny house was crowded with every neighbor in the area and her whole family was there. After giving our condolences, Mrs. Jenkins and I left to make room for others that were dropping by. After taking Mrs. Jenkins back home, I touched base with Jackson.
“I’m going to run a few of these tax returns around to clients,” I told him.
“Okay,” he reluctantly agreed. “A rush has been requested on Eugene Smith’s autopsy. And my captain is going to talk to the D.A. to see if we have enough probable cause to issue a search warrant, or if we’re going to have to wait for the results from the insurance company. Hopefully, we’ll know something by this afternoon. In the meantime, watch your back.”
“I will,” I assured him.
Several stops later, I was getting hungry for lunch and called Jackson again. “Hey, I was wondering about lunch.”
“Me too, my breakfast is gone,” he acknowledged. “I’d forgotten to pay my apartment rent at the first of the month. I’m going by my place right now to pick up a few things while I’m here. I’ll call you when I’m done.”
“I’m on your side of town right now,” I said, remembering his address from when I did his tax return. “We could meet somewhere near there.”
“That would be great. Let me call you back … okay?”
After checking my location and realizing I was only about five blocks away from his apartment complex, I decided to swing by and see if he needed to put anything into my vehicle, or if he needed help carrying things. Besides, it seemed silly to wait in a nearby parking lot for him to call me back.
The House Across The Street Page 27
