by Blythe Baker
A ripple of discomfort ran up my spine. That was the Jenkins house. A good amount of time had gone by since my encounters with the Jenkins twins, but the memory of them was still fresh in my mind.
They had been a pair of oddballs from the get-go. Angela had turned up in the koi pond at my tea garden, drowned. Her sister, Agatha, was later taken away in handcuffs for attacking me, after blaming me for Angela’s death. Who knew what else that woman would have gotten away with, had I not been in the right place at the right time to stop her.
Now, it seemed the sisters’ home had been sold and someone new was moving in. Whoever it was, I hoped they would be better neighbors than the previous occupants.
But I wasn’t going to trot over there and introduce myself in a hurry. I knew how it felt to be the new kid on the block in a town where everyone else knew one another. The last thing you want when you’re trying to make your house your home is a bunch of interruptions from overly-neighborly neighbors.
So I sipped my tea and watched the movers walking back and forth from the truck. They reminded me of ants. I couldn’t tell from this distance what kind of furniture was being unloaded. I realized I didn’t hear any children running about. If the family had kids, they’d be in and out of the house, exploring their new property and probably some of mine over at the tea garden too.
“What are you doing out here?” Mamma Jackie called out the door.
I pointed with my empty mug of tea. “New neighbors.”
Mamma Jackie walked out, crossed the yard, and stared down the street at the movers. I wanted to laugh because I could only imagine the view from their side.
“You’re very discreet, Mamma Jackie.” I chuckled. “Go ahead and let our new neighbors know that the creepy old lady down the road will be watching them.”
She pulled her lips down in a scowl.
“Those movers look suspicious,” she grumbled.
“As opposed to you standing at the edge of the yard, staring at them. They’re the ones who look suspicious?”
I walked over to my ex-mother-in-law and slipped my arm through hers. Thankfully, she let me lead her away but that was because she had an ulterior motive.
“I’m out of birdseed.”
“And you expect me to run to the store for you?”
“I’ll pay you back,” she huffed as she turned and headed toward the house.
I thought about pointing out that she had a car and could go get her own birdseed. But then, I decided maybe it would be just as well to make a trip to the grocery store. I’d pick up some ingredients, as well as Mamma Jackie’s birdseed, and bake a little welcome to the neighborhood apple pie for the new neighbor.
Anyway, I was curious as a cat. I wanted to know about the person or people who had moved in next door to my garden. We were sharing a property line, after all.
11
The apple pie I had baked turned out fine. It might not have been the prettiest thing, as the scalloped edges turned out uneven. The slits in the top were supposed to make a pretty flower pattern but it ended up looking like an “L” with an equal sign next to it. On the bright side, the crust was golden and it smelled so good that I almost kept it for myself.
“What are you doing with that?” Mamma Jackie asked.
“Taking it to our new neighbor,” I said proudly.
“Nice. You’ll bake for a total stranger.”
“Are you jealous?” I was surprised those words came out of my mouth.
“No,” she said without skipping a beat. “But neighbors can be like feral cats. If you feed them once they’ll keep coming around.”
“With that generous attitude of yours, how can you be so popular at the community garden?” I asked.
“Ppfft.” She snarled and waved me away like I was an annoying fly.
Without saying another word, I scooped up the pie and a little card that said, “Just to Say Hello” on the inside. It wasn’t much but I thought it was a nice gesture. Regardless of my ex-mother-in-law’s opinion.
It was ten o’clock in the morning. I thought even if the new neighbor had been tired from moving, this was late enough in the day to just pop over for five minutes to say welcome.
I had always liked how the Jenkin’s house looked. It wasn’t as nice as mine. My grandmother made my front lawn and porch beautiful with flowers and shrubs that complimented each other. The trees had been planted many years ago, so now they were thick and strong, providing so much shade that the house stayed fairly cool during the hotter months.
I had bamboo wind-chimes that were four feet long hanging from the trees. They made soothing sounds when they clanked together. Colorful gazing balls and sun catchers were scattered around, popping up only if you were on the lookout for them. There were also bird baths and feeders. It wasn’t the best maintained yard, as the grass often got too high and the bushes would grow at wild angles. But I couldn’t help but be proud of it.
By comparison, as I approached the Jenkins’ house I thought that it had a more rustic feel to it. The paint was peeling in places. The flower bushes had grown wild and climbed high against the side of the house. It gave the home a mysterious, romantic look. Plus, knowing the history of that place made it seem all the more interesting.
Mamma Jackie and other people might have a different view. They might have thought the property looked run down, like the Jenkins sisters themselves. But since the new owners were taking on the tragic history as well as the mortgage, the least I could do was be a polite neighbor.
When I climbed up to the porch, the wooden steps made a threatening groan and cracked in a few places as my weight shifted the boards slightly. The doorbell was a round white disk that faintly glowed orange. When I pressed it, I heard the bell inside the house.
After a brief pause, there came the sound of footsteps approaching the door. A slight shift of the lacy curtain covering the door’s glass front indicated someone was inside, looking out.
I smiled and waved.
“Hi,” I called loudly. I held up the pie as if it were a magic offering to gain entry. “I’m Maddie Morgan, your neighbor.” I jerked my head in the direction of my own house.
“What do you want?” The female voice filtering out through the door wasn’t angry. But I got the feeling it wouldn’t take much for it to get there. The person who went with the voice remained invisible behind the curtain.
“I just wanted to introduce myself. I baked you this pie.” I held it higher, waiting for the door to crack open. After all, I was offering food. Who didn’t welcome an opportunity to not have to cook?
“No thank you,” the voice replied.
That was a shock. I didn’t know what to say.
“It was no trouble,” I stated.
“I said no thanks. Now please get off my porch.”
“But…?”
“Off my porch. Or I’ll call the police.”
I thought I heard the sound of footsteps leading away from the front door.
After the initial shock passed, I turned and began my descent down the groaning stairs. Before I went, I set the pie and the card down on an empty planter that I was sure my new neighbor could see from the front door.
As I walked away, scolding myself for being so pushy and maybe frightening the new neighbor, I had to turn around and look to see if she’d come to the door. When I did, I caught a glimpse of an eyeball and half a face before the lace curtain fell back into place.
“If she thinks there’s something wrong with me, just wait until she gets a load of Mamma Jackie,” I muttered.
I went back to my house and was intent on not saying anything more about it. But curiosity gnawed at me.
“I don’t even know her name, Moonshine,” I said when I walked in.
Moonshine, in his cage across the room, squawked unsympathetically.
“Maybe she came from some kind of abusive relationship and is in hiding. Or maybe she witnessed a crime and is in the witness protection program.”
My
mind whirled around what could be the reasons my new neighbor was so unfriendly. Maybe she was wanted by the law or maybe she had a horrible disfigurement that made her hide from society. Maybe she suffered from agoraphobia and was afraid to go outside…
The inspectors arrived at the tea garden at two-thirty. Two fellows in jeans and button-down shirts showed up. The older fellow had a weird eye tic that caused him to blink rapidly, then stretch his eyes wide every couple of minutes. The other guy was almost statue-like in his demeanor.
Normally, I’d have been friendly, offering them some tea or coffee and asking how their day had been so far. But I had to pay for this mess when I knew my property had been thoroughly inspected once before already.
This time I told the guys what had happened, where the near accidents had taken place, and that I had already had an inspection prior to the accidents. Over the phone earlier, Drake had suggested I offer full disclosure to these inspectors.
“Who was it that did the initial inspection?” Twitchy asked.
“I’d rather wait to tell you when you’re finished.” I said, remembering Drake’s instructions. “My lawyer will be comparing both inspections.”
I didn’t mean to sound snarky but that was how it came out.
Both men looked at each other, and then turned to begin their work.
I knew these guys were just doing their job. But someone was out to close my doors. The time had come to stop being so polite. In fact, as I handed the inspectors a map of the grounds to follow and left them to do their job, I had the notion to go back next-door and reclaim my pie.
“No. I’m not going to be like that,” I argued with myself. A weird neighbor wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
Instead, I followed the inspectors at a distance, checking my plants and the birdfeeders in the process. For all my angst and tough talk, by the time we made it through the garden I was feeling much better. So much so that I thought of offering the guys some tea now that they were finished and could tell me what they had found. But, when I came up behind them and asked how it had gone, they both jumped guiltily. What were they up to?
“Well, Miss Morgan, there were just a few minor repairs you’ll need to address.” Twitchy did the talking as his eyes blinked and stretched. “But, all in all, your place looks like it’s in good shape. We’ve made some recommendations here.” He showed me his clipboard that had a bunch of chicken-scratch notes and checkmarks where he had ticked off things being satisfactory or needing work. Nothing was in the red or requiring my garden be closed down indefinitely.
“So, you inspected the pagoda and the bridge?” I asked.
“We did. We also spot-checked a number of the trees that were near the sitting areas and the borders around your ponds. We even had a look at some of your birdhouses and feeders.” He pointed to the notes where he had apparently written this out. I couldn’t read a word. “Things look satisfactory,” he finished.
“Thank you so much.” I tried to keep my cool demeanor but the softer side of me thought it might not be a bad idea to have a couple of inspectors on my side. “Would you guys like a bottle of water or some tea? It’s pretty warm out here.”
“I’ll take a bottle of water,” the non-blinker replied.
I nodded and waved them to follow me. Out of habit, I asked if they had more spots to visit, if they enjoyed being outside for work, and how long they’d been doing this kind of thing.
“Too long,” Twitchy replied with a chuckle.
“Sure.” I smiled as we approached the gift shop. “Just wait here and I’ll get you guys a couple of water bottles.”
In a moment, I came back outside with two cold bottles of water and handed them to the inspectors.
“We just need you to sign a couple documents for us and then we’re all finished.” Twitchy said, after thanking me for the water.
I scribbled my name on the bottom of the papers on the clipboard, took my copies, and escorted the inspectors to the parking lot. I waved good-bye, folded the documents up, and stuffed them in the back pocket of my jeans.
Everything was looking up. But I should have known that wasn’t going to last.
12
I called Drake to tell him the inspectors had just left. Or rather, I spent a lot of time on hold for Drake. He had to answer several calls as I told him what the inspectors had said.
“Did they ask about the previous inspector?”
“They did and I told them I’d tell them later. Once the inspection was done they didn’t ask again.”
“That’s good. If they had any kind of relationship, good or bad, with the previous inspector it could have influenced how they looked at your property.”
“That’s a little paranoid but you might be right.”
“It’s your garden, Maddie. You can’t be too careful when you’re running your own business.”
We talked a few more minutes. Well, he talked and I listened as he gave instructions on the improvements to be done, according to the inspectors’ notes, and how much things would cost. I could tell he was subtly trying to find out if I had enough money to complete everything.
“Okay,” was my only reply.
“It’s going to cost. You just had those renovations done on the house.”
“I know, Drake. I’ll handle it,” I said into my cell phone, as I walked from the parking lot back up the hill to the shop.
“I’m just saying you’re going to have to pay out of pocket.”
“Okay. I’ve got to go to the shop now, Drake.” I was distracted as I approached the little building and saw an envelope taped to the door. “Thanks for your help.”
I hung up and suddenly my previous feeling of satisfaction swirled down the drain like bathwater.
Nervously, I snatched the envelope off the door and tore it open. The words inside were written in black block letters. There was nothing special about the paper, the envelope or the ink. I read the words:
I KNOW ABOUT THE ACCIDENTS. I KNOW ABOUT THE TRESPASSING. MEET ME AT THE SAN JUAN CAPISTRANO MISSION TONIGHT AT MIDNIGHT. COME ALONE
I looked around but didn’t see anyone. I wondered if the inspectors had anything to do with this. They could’ve stuck the note to the door for me to notice later, while I was inside earlier, grabbing their drinks. There was no proof but I added them to the file of suspects I kept in my head. Mentally, I put their names right below Zane Jones. I folded the note, locked up the gift shop, and went home.
It was going to be a long time before midnight rolled around.
The San Juan Capistrano Mission was an ancient tourist attraction. I believed it must have been beautiful at one time, with desert flowers in pots at its magnificent doors and a comforting sound to the huge bells that rang Sunday service to the faithful of the area. But, as with so many of the old missions, it had lost its shepherd, the flock had dispersed, and now the only ones to pay their respects were a few people interested in historic buildings.
It was located on a section of parkland. The green grass lead to its entrance and lush trees tried to peek inside the two bell towers.
I looked at my watch. It was five minutes to midnight. My theory was that if I waited long enough I might see my informant walk inside the structure before me. I could see if it was a man or woman and if they looked threatening or like they were really trying to help. But no one approached the mission.
“Maybe they’re already inside. Maybe they’re waiting for me,” I whispered to the shadows and the cicadas around me. My heart began to gallop as I emerged from the shrubbery where I’d been lurking and began walking toward the structure.
With only one simple light over the doorway, the blackness of the night sky was breathtaking. It looked like a blanket of sparkling diamonds. The little noises of nocturnal critters and insects were the only sounds, other than the padding of my gym shoes on the sidewalk, followed by the whispering of the grass as I crossed the lawn.
Once I finally reached the entrance, I pulled the thick handle
and the heavy door opened slowly. I had to slip inside quickly. As the door closed behind me, I leaned against the sturdy wood, letting my eyes adjust to the even darker interior.
There was nobody inside. When my eyes were finally accustomed to the dim setting, I carefully stepped further indoors. There were only two rows of eight dilapidated and eroded wooden benches facing a spot where an altar must have long ago been removed along with all the religious statues and relics.
The marble floor was a maze of cracks. The carvings over the doors and along the walls that still remained standing had been worn and bleached by the Texas sun and winds. Since the roof had collapsed, probably many years ago, looking up made me feel incredibly small. It made me think that the starry night might have been a more appropriate ceiling than anything made of stone and wood.
Then I remembered why I was there. While holding my breath, I stepped gingerly into the mission, listening for any sound that might indicate where my contact was hiding.
“Hello?” My voice caused something in the furthest corner of the room to shuffle quickly to a darker shadow. Whatever it was, it had been enjoying the silence of the building. I had ruined it.
Other than that, there was no answer.
Maybe whoever wanted to talk to me was in another part of the mission. The whole place was accessible to the public. There were also a couple of smaller structures on the property. Maybe my contact was there?
As beautiful as I had initially thought the mission, I was starting to see the dark shadows shifting. The deafening quiet made any tiny sound, the scrape of my shoe, a deep breath, or my heart thudding in my chest sound like an explosion.
I swallowed hard, even though there was barely any spit in my mouth, and began to explore the building.
