The Woman Next Door

by Barbara Delinsky

  “David told the insurance company that I might have done it myself.”

  “Did he really?” Amanda asked, astounded. “He obviously hasn’t talked with you. He wasn’t here to see the look on your face when this first happened.” Dismayed, she went to stand in front of La Voisine. It was a sick sight. But something held her there, something Rorschach-like. Looked at a certain way, there seemed to be a pattern to the knife marks at the top, though, for the life of her, she couldn’t interpret it.

  Behind her, Gretchen told the lawyer, “That’s the angle those two people were looking into. That’s why they were taking pictures of other things. They were trying to get evidence against me.”

  “They won’t anymore,” Oliver said. “I’ll make sure of it. Lee also told David that you were pregnant. You should have told me.”

  “Why? This doesn’t have anything to do with the estate.”

  “I’m the executor. I’m supposed to be watching over you. I was surprised when David told me. I might have known more what to say.”

  “About what?” Gretchen asked. “This isn’t David’s business either.”

  Amanda glanced back at them just as Oliver lowered his eyes. Head down, he pushed the swatch of hair back from his brow. Then he sighed, looked up, aimed sad eyes first at Amanda, then at Gretchen. Quietly, he asked, “Should we talk alone?”

  Gretchen said, “I trust Amanda.”

  After a silent beat, seeming emboldened in turn by her force, Oliver replied, “Fine. The pregnancy isn’t sitting well with David and Alan. They think—”

  “They think,” Gretchen cut in to complete the thought, “I was having an affair with someone before Ben died. That doesn’t surprise me. Tell them I wasn’t. Tell them that if they don’t drop it right now I’ll sue them.”

  “Sue them for what?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the lawyer. Libel. Slander. Whatever I can. I have the money to do it. If they smear me, I have nothing to lose.”

  Amanda wanted to look back at the painting. Something about the way it had been slashed was registering—like seeing animals in clouds. But she was fascinated by this side of Gretchen, who seemed vulnerable but determined, and wholly genuine. And the subject matter held her riveted.

  “Are you dating the baby’s father?” Oliver asked.

  “That isn’t your business, either.”

  “It would help if I could give them a name.”

  Gretchen gave a slow headshake.

  Oliver ceded the issue. More gently, he said, “Forget David and Alan, then. You’re right. It isn’t anyone’s business but your own—and mine, since I was Ben’s attorney and he placed his trust in me. Do you need anything?”

  “No,” Gretchen said. Her voice was as firm as ever, but Amanda sensed a dent. “I’m fine.”

  The lawyer studied her for another minute, then ceded this issue, too. “Well, let me know if something comes up. I can take as much money from the trust fund as you need.”

  “I’m fine,” she repeated.

  He pressed his lips together and nodded. As he started for the door, he seemed to remember the paintings. He stopped and looked back into the living room at the two that had been slashed there. “Would you like me to hire a private investigator to look into whoever did this?”

  “No.”

  “Would you like me to talk with the police?”

  “There’s no need. They don’t suspect me.”

  “I don’t either,” he said. “I just thought a man’s voice would help.”

  “She has one,” Amanda said, coming forward at last. “My husband knows the officers who came here. He’ll make sure they stay on top of the case.”

  Oliver looked oddly deflated. “Oh. Well then, okay. But if Gretchen needs anything, the estate is there for her.”

  He had barely let himself out the door when Gretchen rounded on Amanda. “The estate is there for me? It is not. It’s there for Ben’s sons. That man would take me to court if they asked.” She made a sound of disgust, threw a hand in the air, turned away. In the next instant she turned back. “Ben said I could rely on Oliver. Fat chance. He’s shown his true colors. I wouldn’t be caught dead calling him.”

  She was already pale. Suddenly, though, she became even more so. She put a hand on her belly, drew herself straighter, took a deep breath.

  Amanda, who had lived and breathed thoughts of pregnancy for the better part of the last four years, felt her discomfort. “What’s wrong?”

  Gretchen eased herself down on the sofa and gently rubbed the band of muscle that supported the baby. She breathed in and out, in and out.

  “What is it?”

  Gretchen released a slow breath. “Braxton-Hicks contractions. The doctor says they’re normal. There. That’s better.”

  “Are you sure? Can I get you anything—water or something?”

  “No. Thank you. You’ve already done enough.” Easing herself to her feet, she went off toward the kitchen.

  Amanda wondered if she was being dismissed, and felt the same hostility that she had often felt from Gretchen. Then she caught herself and wondered if it was hostility, or a less negative aloofness, or even a simple wariness. Lord knew, given her lack of a relationship with the neighborhood women, Gretchen had cause for wariness now.

  Wanting to make sure that she was all right, Amanda followed her into the kitchen. She walked in just as Gretchen was filling a glass of water from the dispenser on the refrigerator door, but Amanda’s attention was drawn to the kitchen table. It was covered with papers and books.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  Setting her glass on the counter, Gretchen quickly gathered the papers together. “Nothing,” she said, seeming more embarrassed than secretive.

  But Amanda had seen something that surprised her. “That looked like French.”

  “I was thinking of learning it,” Gretchen said quickly as she shifted the books and papers to the counter. “I loved hearing the language spoken when I was in France with Ben. It isn’t so easy, though.” She retrieved her water, took a sip, then seemed to remember that Amanda was there. “Would you like something— water—or pineapple juice—I have that.”

  “No. I have to get home. I have reports to write.”

  Gretchen walked her back to the front door. “I did get caller ID. I bought a box this morning. There haven’t been any calls yet, though. But it was a good idea.”

  “It can’t hurt.”

  “Thank you for coming over.”

  “I’m glad I could help. Three against one is unfair. Are you feeling all right now?”

  Gretchen nodded and held open the screen. “Thanks again.”

  ***

  Amanda was feeling quite proud of herself as she walked across the street to her own house. Reaching out to Gretchen felt good on several counts. She was eager to tell Graham.

  That was before he called to say he would be late for reasons that proved to be bogus.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Karen was standing on a corner of the porch, hiding a cigarette by her thigh, when Amanda came from Gretchen’s house and crossed the street. She watched her warily, wondering what was going on. The more she wondered, the more uneasy she felt. Taking a final drag on the cigarette, she stubbed it out on the underside of the porch rail, then tossed it into the shrub bed as she headed down the steps.

  “Mommy?” Julie called out from her bedroom window.

  Karen called, “I’m running to Amanda’s for a minute, sweetie. I’ll be right back.”

  “But what about our pie?”

  “I’ll be right back,” Karen repeated, wondering what had possessed her to suggest that they bake. But she knew. The supermarket had been running a special on the plumpest blueberries she’d seen in a while, and—sucker that she was—she had thought her family might appreciate a home-baked pie. Julie would. So would the twins. Jordie probably wouldn’t care one way or the other. He had been a walking zombie since Quinn’s death. And Lee? Lee didn�
��t like a blueberry pie any more than he liked blueberry pancakes.

  But Lee was working late. Or so he said. She would never know if it was true or not. She could study the bill from his cell phone all she wanted, but it wouldn’t tell her where he was when he made a call. She hadn’t seen Gretchen’s phone number on the bill, and their home phone line didn’t give a breakdown of local calls. So maybe he was calling her from the office. That shed a new light on the idea of his working late. Phone sex was big. She read about it all the time. As far as she was concerned, it wasn’t any less of a betrayal than the real thing.

  Just as well that he wasn’t here tonight, though. She had a list of parents to call about helping with the graduation lunch for seniors. She wouldn’t have had time for Lee. She barely had time to bake a pie. She certainly didn’t have time to be running to Amanda’s. But she couldn’t let it go.

  ***

  Amanda was dropping a grocery bag and the day’s mail on the kitchen table when Karen trotted up the back steps and opened the screen. “Hi, Karen,” she said with a smile.

  “Was that you I just saw at Gretchen’s again?” Karen asked, sounding nonchalant about it, though Amanda suspected she was anything but. The lines running from her nose to the corners of her mouth were marked.

  “It was.”

  “She had quite a crowd over there. Anyone I should know about?”

  Amanda took a head of lettuce and a bell pepper from the bag. “No. Two of the cars belonged to insurance adjusters. The other was Oliver Deeds’. They were here about the paintings.”

  “But why did she come to get you?”

  Amanda put the produce in the refrigerator. “She isn’t used to dealing with people like that. She needed moral support.”

  “Are the insurance people involved in the investigation?”

  “Only for the sake of processing a claim.”

  “She’s asking for money, then,” Karen remarked. “That puts a different slant on her talk about how much that painting means to her. It makes you wonder who committed the crime.”

  Amanda had taken a bunch of asparagus from the bag. She paused with it in hand. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, she wouldn’t be the first person to destroy something she owned for the sake of the insurance.”

  The insurance company had suggested a similar thing, but Amanda’s gut said it wasn’t so. She might fault Gretchen for being closer to the neighborhood men than to the neighborhood women, but she didn’t take her for a scam artist. “Oh, Karen, I don’t think she did that. She wasn’t even the one who called the insurance company. David Tannenwald called them, and only after Lee called him.”

  “Lee?” Karen asked in alarm. “Why on earth would Lee call David?”

  Amanda shook her head, shrugged, pulled a bunch of broccoli from the bag.

  “So,” Karen went on, “do they know anything? Are there any suspects?”

  “Not yet. Graham left me a message earlier. He talked with the police. There haven’t been any other break-ins in town. The people on the other side of the woods haven’t seen anyone strange.”

  “What does that mean?” Karen shot back. “That whoever it was came from our side? From right here?”

  Amanda tried to calm her. “No. It just means that they don’t have any leads.”

  “What about fingerprints?”

  “They dusted. But too many other people had handled the doors.”

  “How does Gretchen feel about that?”

  “No suspects? Not happy.”

  “Is she going to push it?”

  “Push the police? I don’t think so. She’s just heartsick about the painting.”

  “So do you think she’ll move?”

  “Because of this?” Amanda asked in surprise. “She didn’t mention it.”

  “What does she mention?”

  “The baby” Amanda said, because it seemed a positive thing to discuss.

  Karen put a negative spin on that, too. “She talks about the baby, knowing what you’ve been through? That’s selfish. And you keep going back for more? You’ve been there three times in two days. How come? Do you like her?”

  As she put the veggies in the refrigerator, Amanda tried to verbalize what she felt. “I don’t dislike her. I never disliked her. I never got to know her much. I thought she was aloof.”

  “Are you becoming friends?” Karen asked, sounding as though that would be a betrayal of the highest order.

  Amanda understood where Karen was coming from. If she was married to Lee, she might agree. But she was married to Graham. Graham didn’t have a history of cheating. Taking the high road— the one that her mother would not have taken—Amanda was working under the premise that nothing had happened between Gretchen and him.

  “I’m not sure we’re friends,” she told Karen. “But there may be more to her than we know.”

  “Yeah. Husband stealing.”

  Amanda had actually been thinking about the fact that the woman was learning French. The idea that she did something like that in her spare time was far different from the idea that she sat around watching talk shows on TV

  But she didn’t want to tell Karen about the French stuff. She didn’t want Karen to find something negative about that, too. So she simply said, “Gretchen’s a human being. She’s a woman. She’s been through a hard time. She could probably use our support.”

  Karen made a disdainful sound. “And you don’t think her being vulnerable is an act?”

  “Why would it be?”

  “Because she may want allies. God, Amanda—wouldn’t you do the same thing if you were in her shoes? What better way to put the wife off the scent than by getting so close that she simply takes the scent for granted?”

  Amanda was totally put off. Yes, she wanted to be compassionate, but she didn’t like Karen very much just then. “That’s a cynical view,” she warned as lightly as she could while still making her point.

  “Well, she still won’t say who fathered the baby. Why’s she keeping it such a secret? If it was just anyone, wouldn’t she say?”

  Amanda took napkins and paper towels from the bag. “I don’t know. She may have reasons. She may be protecting someone.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Karen, that someone may be a man we don’t know at all. There may be a whole other set of circumstances revolving around this baby’s conception.” She paused, thinking about what Gretchen had said about her family in Maine, wondering if there was more that she hadn’t said. But Amanda wasn’t telling any of this to Karen, either. “She may be keeping it a secret to protect herself. For all we know, she was threatened.”

  Karen looked as though she didn’t buy that. “I’d be careful of her, if I were you.”

  “On the other hand,” Amanda reasoned, reaching for the big brown grocery bag, “if I get to know her, she may confide in me.”

  “She may tell you lies, too.”

  Amanda folded the bag and sighed. “Well, it feels like the right thing to do, showing her a little compassion. She didn’t ask for someone to ruin that painting.”

  “Are you doing this to please Graham?”

  “No. I’m doing it to please me. Lately, all I seem to feel is helpless. Like I have no control. With Gretchen, it’s like I’m doing something. Taking control of something. Reaching out. Helping someone. That’s refreshing. Y’know?” She thought about Quinn. She had felt totally useless in his instance. Then she thought about Karen’s own son and the appointment he had missed that day. Appointment? Meeting. They were keeping it informal. Quiet. Certainly confidential. “How’s Jordie?” she asked gently.

  “He’s fine,” Karen said, but those facial lines deepened. Her voice held an edge that went beyond simple conversation. “Why do you ask?”

  “He was Quinn’s friend. Lots of the others have dropped in to talk. They’re having a tough time getting back to routine.”

  “Jordie’s fine. He’s upset. But he’s fine.”

  ***
>
  Calling home from Kansas City a short time later, Georgia knew that Allison was feeling down the instant she heard her voice. Just that morning, she had been with her daughter at home. They had talked, and talked well. Given the events of the past week, though, her imagination went wild. “What is it, honey? Did something else happen?”

  “I just had a fight with Jordie. He says that everyone’s gone back to the same old same old, and it’s like nothing ever happened, only

  Quinn is gone. But what’re we supposed to do, Mom? No one’s forgetting Quinn. Kids are still talking about him. But we still have classes, and there’s other stuff going on. You can’t talk about death every minute.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “Yes. He said I was cold. Am I cold?”

  “No. You’re one of the warmest people I know.”

  “Jordie is so out of it. Like, you talk to him sometimes, and he doesn’t hear. He thought Quinn was the greatest thing in the world. But the guy killed himself. Would the greatest thing in the world kill himself?”

  “No.”

  “Like, Quinn was a nice guy, okay? I’m the first one to say that. He was smart. He was a great baseball player. But he wasn’t perfect.” She snorted. “So how do I get that across to Jordie?”

  “Have you tried just telling him outright?”

  “Sure. He says I don’t know what I’m talking about. Then he turns around and walks away. I mean, like, we’re all suffering, but he just walks away. How can you be friends if he isn’t there when you need him? Isn’t that what friends are about—being there when times are rough?”

  “I’d say so,” Georgia acknowledged with more than a little guilt. She wanted to be there for Allison, and not only as a mother. Allison was on the verge of womanhood. Georgia wanted them to be friends. Yet here she was, away again.

  “Dad says that there’s a pride thing involved with men, and that I have to come at it from the side, but I don’t know what that means, and if I don’t know what it means, how can I do it?”

  “Talk with Amanda. She’ll know what to do.”

  “Well, I would, but lately she’s over at Gretchen’s all the time.”