The Girl Next Door

by MacDonald, Patricia

  Nina knew better than to be offended. Accepting rejection gracefully was the first thing an actor learned to do, although it never got any easier. “Thanks for seeing me,” she said.

  I don’t care, she thought, as she pulled on her jacket and headed out the doors of the white loft to the elevator. I’m not a model. I’m an actress. But she knew that residuals from TV commercials could be lucrative, and it was hard to convince herself that it was for the best. She really could use the money.

  Especially now that Keith was thinking about settling down in L.A. He could change his mind any day about keeping the apartment. It would be just like him to change his mind completely, and if he did, how could she argue with him? He didn’t owe her a thing. If she had more money, she could help her father get a nice place—maybe something big enough for both of them.

  That’s not what you want, she reminded herself. You’re supposed to be getting on with your life. But how was she supposed to do that? Ignore Duncan’s problems and isolation? Her father deserved some happiness now. Some measure of comfort after all those years in prison.

  Around lunchtime, she went to the table reading of a new play that was being held at a church in Chelsea. The actual production would be Off Broadway, and she fell in love with the part the director gave her to read. He seemed pleased with her, but he had several other actresses to see. He promised to get back to her.

  That afternoon she had another commercial audition. This one was held at the ad agency. She rushed home beforehand and changed into a gray designer pantsuit that she bought half-price at a discount store. It looked businesslike, but fit her perfectly, showing off her figure to good advantage. The product was a new kind of floor cleaner, and the part was a housewife, which didn’t require quite as much in the way of glamor as the cosmetics audition. She read for the director, who liked her. He called in the account manager and she did it again. The two men put their heads together and nodded.

  Please, she thought, let me get this one.

  “Miss Avery,” said the director. “The product manufacturer is going to be in town tomorrow for lunch. We want him to meet you before we make our final decision.”

  Final decision. That sounded promising. But lunch tomorrow? Nina thought. She wouldn’t get back to Hoffman until almost dark tomorrow night. Worrying about her father, she hesitated. What if he was lonely and got discouraged? What if the cretin who put that sign on Aunt Mary’s door decided to come back and harass him? What if they defaced the house or, worse, tried to hurt him? Doomsday scenarios crowded her mind. And then she chided herself. Her father had been alone in prison for fifteen years. He could certainly handle one extra day on the outside without her. Besides, he’d be furious if he thought she gave up this job just to rush back to Hoffman.

  “Sure,” she said. “I can be here. I’d love to meet him. What time?”

  8

  OVER an early lunch, Nina met the product manufacturer, a cheerful, down-to-earth businessman from Des Moines. He announced right there that he thought Nina would be ideal to represent his floor wax, and so the deal was concluded with handshakes, and contract discussions were directed to Len Weinberg. There was even some optimistic talk of multiple commercials, and Nina left the meeting feeling happy and hopeful.

  She rushed back to the apartment to change and pick up her bag, and she was able to get to Port Authority and make the three o’clock bus to Hoffman. She stared impatiently out the window, wondering how everything was going with her father. Last night, when she realized she would be spending another night in New York, she had called her aunt’s house, but there was no answer. Maybe he had met up with an old friend, she told herself, and gone out to dinner. She had tried calling several times, and then forced herself to stop. He had been so adamant about her not hovering over him that she knew he would be angry when he finally answered and she pounced on him. But she felt as if she were holding her breath all the time she was away from him, and she felt an immense relief when the bus reached the stop nearest Aunt Mary’s house and Nina was, at last, deposited on the sidewalk.

  Maybe we’ll go out to dinner tonight, she thought, as she walked up the sidewalk through the dry, shifting leaves. Somewhere really nice. She thought about the places she knew around here. Patrick had taken her and Jimmy out to a steak house that was chic, but the food was hearty and unfussy. Maybe they could try that. She wondered briefly what Duncan would wear to such a place. She had kept some of his clothes when they sold the house. She’d packed his shirts, ties, and jackets in boxes and stored them in Aunt Mary’s basement. He’d be too thin for the jackets now, but he could wear the gray windbreaker with a shirt and tie. Nina came around the corner and began to approach the house. She could see that there was an unfamiliar car parked in the driveway and that her aunt’s old Volvo was gone. As she came up the front walk she saw a man standing on the front doorstep, ringing the doorbell. He was a dark-eyed, olive-complected man wearing a black open-necked sport shirt and a burgundy jacket.

  “Can I help you?” she asked suspiciously, coming up the steps behind him.

  “Are you Nina Avery?” he asked.

  Nina frowned. “Yes. Why?”

  “Is Duncan Avery your father?”

  Nina was instantly on her guard. “Why? What do you want to know for?”

  “My name is Bill Repaci. I’m your father’s parole officer,” he said. The man pulled a plastic folder out of his jacket pocket and showed her his ID badge with his picture on it. “Your father had an appointment scheduled today.”

  “I know,” said Nina.

  “He never showed up. I’m here looking for him.”

  Nina did not want the man to see how much his words alarmed her. She reached into her bag and pulled out the keys to the house. “Let’s go inside,” she said, putting the key in the lock with a trembling hand.

  She opened the door and turned on the lights. The house looked normal. Just as she’d left it.

  “Sit down, Mr….”

  “Repaci,” said the man, and he remained standing.

  Nina put her bag down. “I’ve been in New York the last few days. I just got back. Did my father let you know we … he was living here?”

  Repaci nodded. “He called me about it. He explained the situation and I said it was all right, subject to the committee’s review, of course.”

  “I can’t imagine that he would forget about his appointment this morning.”

  Bill Repaci shook his head. “We spoke about it on the phone yesterday. He said he would see me this morning just before he hung up.”

  “He’s probably at work right now,” said Nina.

  Repaci shook his head again. “I went over there when he didn’t show up at my office. He didn’t show up at work today either. Or call.”

  Nina stared at him. “He didn’t?”

  Repaci looked at her grimly. “Nope. He was there yesterday, and the day before. But today, nothing.”

  Nina’s knees suddenly felt as if they were going to give way. “Excuse me, I …” She sat down on a nearby chair.

  Repaci finally sat down on the couch. “You all right?” he asked.

  “Before I left, I … I told him not to forget his appointment with you. And he knows … I mean, he needs this job. He knows that.”

  “You had no indication that he might not … you know, that he was thinking of bolting …” said Repaci.

  “No, absolutely not,” said Nina vehemently. “I’m sure he didn’t … bolt. There has to be some explanation.”

  “Look, miss, I’ve been doing this for a long time. I’ve seen this kind of thing happen. Some guys get a little taste of freedom and it’s like … they can’t deal with just having a little. They can’t tolerate the restrictions …”

  “He’s not like that,” Nina insisted. “He’s very … disciplined. He’s a doctor. He’s … he’s able to cope with things.”

  “He’s been in prison for a long time,” Repaci observed. “That changes a person.”


  “No,” Nina insisted, standing up and walking toward the kitchen. “Not my father. There has to be some explanation. Let me call … my brother. Can I do that? Can I call my brother? Maybe he’s seen him.”

  “Be my guest. But I’ve got to report this to the board and to local authorities.”

  Nina, who was fishing in her bag for her cell phone, looked at him in alarm. “Oh no. You can’t … Oh, please, Mr. Repaci. I know there’s some reasonable explanation.”

  “Parole has these restrictions for a reason,” he explained patiently. “Your father has already been given unusual leeway. He was allowed to move to New York. Then back here. And then he doesn’t show up for his second appointment. And he blows off work. Parole violators don’t get second chances, miss. Parole is the second chance.”

  “But he’s waited so long. If they take this away from him …”

  Repaci stood up. “Ma’am, I am not here to argue with you. If you want to call your brother, I’ll wait to see if he knows anything.”

  “Right,” said Nina, numb. Where would Jimmy be? She tried to think about his schedule, but her mind wouldn’t focus on it. All she could think about was her father, and the possibility that they would put him back in prison for his negligence. She found the phone, punched up her directory, and called the carpet store. After two rings, she recognized the voice that picked up and said, “Hoffman Flooring.”

  “Jimmy,” she blurted out. “It’s Nina. Have you seen Dad? Do you know where he is?”

  Jimmy sounded wary. “No. Isn’t he at his job?”

  “Jimmy, his parole officer is here. He didn’t show up for his appointment and he didn’t go to work today.”

  There was silence at Jimmy’s end of the phone.

  “Do you know what that means?” she demanded. “They could send him back to prison. We need to try and find him. I don’t even have a car. He took the car. Can you come over right away? Please, Jimmy, I need your help.”

  Jimmy was silent again for a moment. Then he said, “Where are you? At Aunt Mary’s?”

  “Yes,” Nina said.

  “All right. I don’t know where he is, but I’ll come over. Okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks, Jimmy,” she said. “Think about where he might have gone. And hurry,” she said.

  She hung up and shook her head at Repaci. “My brother hasn’t seen him,” she said.

  Repaci nodded grimly. “All right,” he sighed. Putting a hand on each knee, he pushed himself up and off the sofa. “I’m going to head back to my office and start making calls.”

  “Please,” Nina pleaded. “Just give us a little time. My brother and I will find him. Could you just give us a little window here? He’s been in prison for so long. Please, Mr. Repaci.”

  Repaci looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Didn’t he go away for killing your mother?”

  Nina lifted her chin defiantly. “He was innocent,” she said.

  Repaci snorted. “Really?”

  Nina felt his remark like a slap in the face, but she didn’t flinch. She had to be careful not to alienate this man in any way. “Just give us an hour or two. What difference could an hour or two make?”

  Repaci raised his eyebrows. “Look, I appreciate your loyalty to your father. But he was convicted of a violent crime. An hour or two can make all the difference in the world.” Repaci looked at his watch, and then handed her a printed business card. “I’m heading back to my office. You call me there if you find him. Maybe you can find him before the cops do.”

  Nina took the card with a trembling hand.

  Repaci headed toward the door. He stopped on the doorstep and looked back at her. “I’m sorry for your trouble. I know you’ve done all you could. Some of these guys-there’s no helping them.”

  9

  THE minute the parole officer left, Nina called the clinic. The receptionist confirmed what Bill Repaci had said. Duncan had neither come in nor called to make an excuse. The receptionist was not sympathetic. “Dr. Nathanson is very annoyed,” she said. “He was giving your father the benefit of the doubt by hiring him here.”

  Hanging up, Nina began to look through the house. Maybe he’d left a note somewhere, or written something on the calendar. But when she looked at it, she saw that the calendar was marked only in Aunt Mary’s neat handwriting. The Garden Club, birthdays, surgery. There was none of her father’s impatient scrawl on it. The surface of Aunt Mary’s desk was likewise undisturbed.

  Maybe in his room, she thought. She ran up the stairs to the bedroom that had been hers as a teenager. It still had the pink gingham curtains and bedspread her great-aunt had bought for her all those years ago. The bulletin board still held class pictures, her dried corsage from the prom, and a Bulldogs pennant from Hoffman High School. There was little indication that her father was staying there. The bed was neatly made, and the only sign of him was his book on the bedside table and his few clothes hanging in the closet. On the floor of the closet was his canvas duffel bag. Nina hesitated, hating to invade his privacy like the prison guard he had accused her of resembling, but this could be an emergency. I’ll be careful, she thought. He’ll never know. She crouched down, unzipped the bag, and cautiously reached in. Lying right on top of the pile of his belongings was all the printed information he had received about the conditions and terms of his parole as well as emergency phone numbers and a calendar with the dates and times of his appointments listed for him by Mr. Repaci. Everything was in perfect order. Nothing had been noted or changed about the day’s date. Nothing appeared to be amiss, except for the fact that he hadn’t shown up.

  Nina looked around, feeling helpless. Where are you? she thought. She replaced the papers in the top of his bag right where she found them, hoping he would not notice that they had been disturbed. She went back downstairs to the phone, which was hanging on the wall against the once cheerful, now faded wallpaper in the kitchen. Below the phone was a Formica shelf that contained take-out menus, an address book, and a pad of Post-it notes, along with an assortment of pens. Below the shelf was a trash basket. She looked down into the basket and saw a discarded bright yellow Post-it note. She didn’t remember throwing it in there. Wait a minute, she thought. She reached in and retrieved it. The names on it were in Duncan’s handwriting and were impossible to decipher—thanks to years of writing prescriptions. But she was able to make out the numbers. She hesitated, not knowing what she was going to say when someone picked up the phone. Improvise, she thought, and she dialed the first number.

  “Dr. Bergman’s office,” said a pleasant voice.

  “Oh hello,” said Nina. “My name is Nina Avery. I’m … uh … my father, Duncan Avery … I’m having some trouble locating him. I saw … Dr. Bergman’s number and I wondered if maybe he’d come in there today for an appointment.”

  “No …” said the woman from the doctor’s office. “Although I do have him here for Monday at ten. He’s scheduled to have a checkup and a complete set of X-rays.”

  “X-rays!” Nina cried. “X-rays of what? Is he sick?”

  “Of his teeth,” said the woman on the phone. “Dr. Bergman is a dentist.”

  “Oh, of course,” said Nina, relieved. “That’s right. He was saying that he needed a lot of work done on his teeth.”

  “Yes, well, he’s due in Monday.”

  Nina thanked her and hung up. She studied the Post-it note again, but still could not make out the writing. There was a second number. It was a local call. The first had been pretty easy to deal with. She had to try. She dialed the number, hoping the person who answered would give her a clue.

  After two rings, a recorded message came on. “The number you have reached, 555-4726, has been disconnected.”

  Whose number? Nina wondered.

  The doorbell rang, startling her. Jimmy, she thought, looking at her watch. It’s about time. Nina hung up the phone and walked to the front door, ready to give her brother a mild scolding for taking so long.

  Instead, when she opened the door, s
he saw a uniformed patrolman and a portly redheaded man of about forty wearing a well-cut suit on the doorstep. The man in the suit looked vaguely familiar to Nina.

  “Mrs. Mary Norris?” he said.

  “Um, no, that’s my aunt,” said Nina.

  “Is your aunt here, miss?”

  “No, she’s in the hospital. Can I help you?”

  “Your name, miss?”

  “My name is Nina Avery. Who are you?”

  The redheaded man turned rather pink in the face. “Miss Avery,” he said. “I’m Chief Perry of the Hoffman Police.” He took out his badge and showed it to her.

  Suddenly, Nina remembered. The police chief who was interviewed on the news about Duncan moving back to Hoffman. “Oh yeah,” she said.

  “Does your aunt own a ’ninety-five gray-green Volvo?”

  “Yes,” said Nina. “Why?”

  “Are you related, by any chance, to Duncan Avery?”

  Nina’s heart was pounding, but she gripped the doorknob and tried to appear calm. “He’s my father,” she said.

  The police chief sighed. “May I come in?” he asked.

  Nina nodded and stood aside. Before the detective and the patrolman could even enter the house, Jimmy’s Saturn pulled up beside the squad car in the driveway and Jimmy got out.

  “Nina, what’s going on?” he called out.

  “Who is that?” the chief asked.

  “It’s my brother.” Nina shook her head and turned to the police chief. “What’s going on?” she said.

  Chief Perry looked at Jimmy, who was trudging across the front lawn. “Let’s wait for your brother,” he said. “This concerns him as well.”

  Jimmy walked up to them. “What is it?” he asked.

  “You two might want to go inside and sit down,” Chief Perry said.