26 Owen
I was nervous, and I was sure Andy was too. We walked casually across the street to Jenson’s house, trying our best to appear normal. We didn’t want people to think we were doing anything other than simply stopping in to see an old man. Essentially, that’s what we were doing. We were stopping in to see him, though what we really wanted to see was what he was doing inside his house. I wasn’t expecting to see anything, but I knew Andy was. So to pacify him, I agreed to visit Jenson.
I would’ve never agreed to such a thing if I hadn’t picked up on Andy’s growing need to know. It was really more than just a need now; it was more than a desire even. It seemed to be inching closer to becoming an obsession. I hoped that once he was satisfied that Jenson wasn’t a killer, he’d let it go.
I rang the doorbell and waited. On Andy’s face, I saw a strange combination of nervousness and excitement.
I had to ring the doorbell again. Just before I rang it a third time, the door opened.
We stood face to face with Jenson. There was no turning and leaving now.
“Yes?” he asked. His voice was frail, not at all what I’d been expecting it to be. “Can I help you boys?”
Andy was clearly as taken aback by the friendly voice and the lack of calculating eyes he’d been expecting. When I saw that Andy was too shocked to speak, I did.
“Mr. Jenson, we live across the street from you, and we decided it was time to visit. Maybe get to know you. We feel terrible that we haven’t done this sooner.”
Jenson looked at us, looked across the street at our houses, and then back to us. He nodded, then turned and walked into his house, leaving the door open. We took that as a cue to follow him.
Without looking back at us, he said, “You boys sit on the couch there and I’ll get us something to drink.”
We looked around, taking note of anything out of the ordinary.
Everything seemed normal. A faded couch with a floral print, a matching loveseat, and a well-worn tan recliner were positioned around a wooden coffee table. There were lamps on end tables, coasters on the coffee table, throw pillows on the couch, and a television in the corner. There were rugs on the floor and pictures on the wall. It all seemed perfectly normal to me.
We sat on the couch as instructed and waited for Jenson to return. He came in quietly carrying a wooden tray. After sitting it on the coffee table in front of us, he sat in the recliner.
“Sorry, boys. That’s all I’ve got. I don’t get company around here, so I don’t keep the kitchen stocked for such occasions.” When we hesitated, he added, “It won’t hurt my feelings any if you don’t want it.”
I looked at the tray. There were two cups of milk and a plate of oatmeal cookies. I saw nothing wrong with this spread. He did more for company than I did, and I had visitors far more often than him.
“This is fine. Thank you,” I said, picking up a cookie. Andy elbowed me in the ribs and shot me a wary glance. I ignored him and took a bite. “This is very good.”
“It’s my wife’s recipe.”
“You’re married?” Andy asked quickly.
“Was. She passed a few years ago.”
“Sorry to hear that.” I could hear the empathy in Andy’s voice and imagined he was thinking about Jill.
“Do you not have children?” Andy asked.
“Andy. That’s not polite,” I said curtly.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind. No, we didn’t have any children. She had one before we got married. After Linda died, that girl came and took the house. That’s why I had to move here. That girl of hers never visited us or anything, but as soon as she found out her mother had died, she was right there with her hand out.” He shook his head sadly.
“Bummer,” Andy said.
No one said anything for a few minutes. I ate another cookie and washed it down with one of the glasses of milk. Andy sat silently. I felt him watching me as I ate. I didn’t care. The cookies were very good, and the milk complemented them perfectly.
Finally, Andy asked, “So what do you do to pass the time?” Had I been eating a cookie then, I probably would’ve choked on it at Andy’s boldness.
“Oh, I manage to find things to do,” Jenson answered.
After not getting the answer he wanted, Andy asked to use the restroom. Jenson told him which door it was, and Andy excused himself.
I made small talk with Jenson, getting a better feel for him. He was very friendly. I felt bad now that I saw he was a lonely old man. I could’ve – no, I should’ve been visiting with him all along.
When Andy came back, he didn’t come as quietly as he’d left.
He burst into the living room and shouted, “I knew it!” His face was nearly as red as his hair. His eyes were wild. Even from across the room, I could see him trembling.
I stood quickly. “You knew what?” I did my best to remain calm.
Jenson didn’t stand, but he turned to face Andy.
“I opened the door to the basement, and I saw it. I saw it, old man!” he shouted, thrusting his finger toward Jenson.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, raising my voice. I didn’t want to add to Andy’s panic in any way, and I was hoping that a stern tone would snap him back to reality and maybe calm him down a bit. He was nearing hysterics. I’d never seen him behave this way.
In a shaky voice, he said, “Down there, in the basement, is a huge...vat of blood!”
27 Carla
After breakfast, I went outside with the kids. They wanted to play on the swing in the backyard. I wanted to catch up on some reading.
It was a nice day. Too nice to stay inside. The niceness of the day wasn’t entirely dependent on the weather. A lot of it had to do with Owen. Making love to him had made everything nicer. It didn’t seem that anything could wipe the smile from my face. It had been so long since I’d felt this good.
I sat in the rocking chair on the porch with one leg folded under me. I looked out at the kids before I started to read. They were swinging and giggling as always.
My eyes fell slowly to the book, and that’s when I saw it.
There, on the porch near the steps, sat a beer bottle. Just one bottle. Not on its side as if it had been thrown. It stood upright as if it had been placed there.
Which I was sure it had been. And there was only one person who might’ve done it.
Bernie.
Just thinking his name made my skin crawl. My heart was beating faster. I quickly looked over at his house, scanning windows for him. I didn’t see him anywhere.
But he had been here. At my house. While my kids and I had been upstairs asleep. If that bastard harmed my kids...
I couldn’t seem to still my racing heart. I was going to have to do something about this. But what? I could call the police, but what would I say? My neighbor gives me the creeps, and I think he left a beer bottle on my back porch? They’d laugh at me for sure.
I had to do something.
I looked back at Ethan and Shelby. They were having so much fun. I wanted to go inside and do some research on self-defense, but I didn’t want to make them go inside on such a nice day. I wasn’t about to leave them out here alone. Not with Bernie right next door.
I would just have to wait until later.
Unable to concentrate now on my book, I rocked back and forth slowly, my eyes darting from the kids to Bernie’s house to the beer bottle and back again.
28 Owen
“Andy, calm down. What are you talking about?”
“I’m telling you, Owen, he has a vat of blood in his basement. I saw it!”
We both looked at Jenson, who didn’t appear to be concerned at all about the accusations being made against him. He slowly got up from his worn recliner and turned to Andy.
“Come on,” he said, motioning for us to follow as he walked out of the living room. When he motioned for us to follow him, I noticed the red under his fingernails. In fact, his whole hand had a red tint to it.
And I had eaten
two cookies made by those hands. My stomach rolled.
Andy and I exchanged a quick look. His was full of fear and panic, mine full of questions. I didn’t want to doubt my best friend. If he said he saw it, I had to believe him.
We followed Jenson anyway. He led us down a hallway. Andy was between Jenson and me, and he was keeping several feet behind the old man. I could see that his muscles were tense. He was ready for anything.
The basement door stood open, as Andy had left it in his frenzy. Jenson stepped through the door and walked down the steps.
We hesitated, but followed. Is this how the old man lured all his victims to their deaths? So easily, with a wave of a red hand?
I was only two steps from the top when I saw what Andy had seen. Yes, there was a large vat in the basement. And yes, it was full of blood.
We froze on the steps. Now it was my muscles that tensed. I fought my instincts, which were telling me to get the hell out of there. For some reason, I couldn’t leave. I wanted to know. I wanted to know, and I wanted him to tell me.
“Come on down, boys. Nothing to be afraid of here.” The old man certainly did have a friendly voice. Add to that my morbid curiosity and I knew I had to go down there.
I urged Andy forward. He reluctantly took a step, then two, and finally we made it to the bottom.
The old man stood there amongst a large machine and several big vats. He looked around, as if trying to see it for the first time. He laughed.
“I can see why you’d think that was blood.”
“If it isn’t blood, what is it?” Andy asked without disguising his anger and distrust.
“It’s red dye.” He motioned to the large machine behind him. “It’s cheaper to buy white and dye it red.”
Still confused, I asked, “What are you talking about? White what?”
He motioned for us to come closer. We did.
“Fabric. White is cheaper. I dye it the colors I want. In this case, red in this vat, and blue in that one over there.” He indicated one of the other vats. “I’m making flags this month.”
I looked around at his equipment, closer now, trying to make it make sense.
He must’ve seen the confusion on our faces.
“Quilts, boys. I make quilts.” He turned on the large machine behind him. It started to hum, a noise I recognized from the previous evening, and began quilting a gorgeous quilt. Raisins his voice to be heard over the machine, he said, “This was my wife’s hobby. When she died, I had so much free time I took it up as my own hobby. It makes me feel closer to her.” He held onto the handles and moved the needle over the fabric, stretched taut on the frame.
Looking at him, this frail old man with his thin white hair, it was hard to imagine him making quilts. Partly, because he was a man.
“Quilts?” Andy asked, trying to make it sound right.
“What do you do with them?” I asked, clearly a step ahead of Andy.
“I donate them. Sometimes to homeless people, sometimes to children’s hospitals, and sometimes to veterans. That’s why I’m making flags this month. They’re going to the Am Vets.”
That’s when Andy laughed like a fool. Admittedly, I had to join him. We’d been so far off base about Mr. Jenson.
We told him about wondering what he had in those heavy black bags.
He furrowed his brows together and said, “You boys watched me struggle with all those bags and didn’t offer me any help?” It wasn’t funny then. It was sad. “Well, I suppose if you really thought I was killing people, it only makes sense that you wouldn’t want to be any part of it.”
We had a nice visit with Mr. Jenson after that mess was straightened out. We apologized many times for suspecting him and for not offering help with the heavy bags. Once Andy told him about Carla’s two-year theory, he laughed. He agreed that it certainly had made him look suspicious. He also agreed that it was a lot of deaths to have occurred on one street in such a short amount of time.
The ironic thing was that Jenson had noticed the uncanny amount of horrible happenings on this street, even though the rest of us had failed to see it.
29 Andy
Jenson agreed with us that three deaths on one street in two years was a lot. Of course, his agreeing with us didn’t change the fact that we still didn’t know the answer to the mystery.
Maybe there was no answer. As I walked to my house from Owen’s, I realized that maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe there was no mystery to solve, no riddle to keep me awake nights. No reason to be suspicious of others. After all, we’d cleared Jenson. That only left me and Jill, Owen, Bernie, Hazel, and Louis. Carla just moved here, so she was innocent. Hazel was the sweetest little old lady you could ever meet. There was no way she’d be capable of anything like that. And Louis was rarely ever here.
That only left Bernie.
I opened the door to my house, but before entering, I turned and looked across the street at Bernie’s. Was it possible? Could that guy be the one responsible for the awful happenings that had occurred on Hewitt Street?
I’d never liked that guy. I not only thought it was possible, I was starting to think it was probable.
I went inside. I stopped in my tracks briefly, as I thought that maybe – just maybe – Jenson was the killer. It was a perfect cover, his quilt hobby. It would give him a great cover-up story if he was ever a suspect. But I dismissed that thought almost as soon as it popped into my head. It wasn’t Jenson.
But Bernie, now that was possible. Elaine was his next-door neighbor. He could’ve easily broken into her house at night, raped and killed her, dumped her body and returned home. Why? Who knew? But it was possible.
I found a note from Jill saying she’d be back and that she loved me, which I already knew. I hadn’t had a chance to spend much time with her the past few days. Running around trying to figure out the whole Jenson thing had monopolized my time. Of course, that was over now. I needed to spend some quality time with my wife.
After I wolfed down a sandwich, I showered and went to bed. Though I was done with night shift and had the next couple days off work before beginning day shift, I still needed sleep. Switching over to sleeping nights again was the hardest part of swing shift.
I fell asleep thinking of Jill.
30 Carla
I’d spent the afternoon researching online the different ways to defend myself against Bernie. I’d gone over techniques and methods. I’d even stood in my living room, practicing my moves while the kids napped. I’d read and studied everything I could find on the subject. Though I didn’t have a live person to practice on, I felt somewhat secure in what I’d learned.
The next step was to gather up anything that could be used as a weapon. I didn’t want to scare the children, so I put that off until later. Once they went to bed, I’d go around the house and find anything I could use. In the meantime, I made mental notes of what would work and what wouldn’t.
My studying was interrupted momentarily when Owen called to say he was going to sleep, but would be by later. I felt bad for him, having his sleeping schedule thrown off. I couldn’t wait for him to be back on track. I liked it when he spent the day with me.
I couldn’t believe I’d found someone so quickly after moving here. Not just someone I liked so much, but someone that my kids liked also. It surprised me because I hadn’t been looking for someone. I’d always heard that love finds you when you aren’t looking and when you’re not expecting it. I see now that’s true.
I had gotten really lucky. Even though it was sad that my aunt died, and was horrible to have lost her, it was a blessing that she’d left me her house. If not for that, I would never have moved here, would never have met Owen, and would never have fallen in...well, it was too soon to say that, but that’s what it felt like.
Of course, I also wouldn’t be worrying about defending myself against my neighbor, but if that was the only bad thing in the midst of so much good, then I’d take it. It was worth it.
After dinner,
I watched TV with the kids for a while, and then put them to bed. I read them each a story before kissing them goodnight and tucking them in. The lamp that sat on the table between their beds cast a faint, cozy glow on the room. I told them again that I loved them from the doorway.
I was glad they went to bed early. It gave me a chance to gather up my weapons.
I went through the house looking for anything I could use. I didn’t have much. I had a baseball bat belonging to Ethan. I had knives from the kitchen. I had a golf club that had belonged to my ex-husband. I hoped that would be enough. Actually, I hoped I wouldn’t have to use them at all. I hoped that Bernie would forget all about me and hoped even harder that he would move away. If he didn’t, I would undoubtedly have to. And I didn’t want to leave. That would mean leaving Owen. We were just getting started, and I would hate to have things end that way.
I put the golf club beside my bed. It was lighter and I figured I could swing it more efficiently. Then, I put the baseball bat in the living room, hidden beside the couch. If I had to, I could get to it quickly, and it couldn’t be seen by anyone other than me.
I scattered knives throughout the house, hiding them where no one would be able to see them. I also had to make sure there weren’t any that could be accidentally found by the kids. Each time I hid one, I walked away, and then turned and ran past it, grabbing the knife from its hiding place as I ran by, just to make sure I could do it easily. I hid all the knives but one. I carried it with me from room to room.
I had just finished testing the hiding spot of the last knife when someone knocked on the door.
I peeked through the curtains on the door to see who it was before blindly opening the door. The memory of Bernie trying to force his way in after beating on the door was still fresh in my mind. Opening the door without first looking to see who was on the other side was a lesson learned the hard way, and a mistake I wouldn’t make again.
I opened the door and smiled at Owen, happy that he was finally here. I felt safer and more secure with him in the house.
The Good Neighbor Page 9
