The Nosy Neighbor

by Fern Michaels

  “Like I was kicked by a mule a few times. Is it still snowing?”

  “Yes. It’s not supposed to stop until midmorning tomorrow, Thanksgiving Day. Are you hungry? I think there’s some pie left if Jake didn’t finish it off before he went to bed.”

  “No. This is nice, sitting here with you and the dogs. I don’t want to move. I can’t believe I fell asleep, though.”

  Lucy cuddled closer. Wylie clasped her hand under the covers. “When this is over, Lucy, and it will be over, are you and I…what I mean is…ah, hell, you know what I’m trying to say here.”

  Lucy smiled in the glow from the fire. “Yes, but only if you swear on Coop that you’re over Angie Motolo.”

  Wylie threw back his head and laughed so loud, Coop reared up and barked. “Lady, you drive a hell of a bargain. I swear on Coop that I will never think about Angie Motolo again. But,” he said, holding up his hand, “what do we do when we run across her at my class reunion?”

  “I’ll think about that when the time comes. How’s that going to work with us living next door to each other? I don’t want to give up my house. I’m psyched to build a front porch.”

  “I love front porches. I grew up with one. We used to sit out there on the floor on rainy days and play Monopoly and other board games. We had a swing. Are you going to have a swing?”

  To Lucy’s ears it sounded like the most important question in the world. “Yep, and I’m going to paint it Dartmouth green to go with my shutters.”

  “Will you be happy hanging out with a stuffy college professor?”

  Lucy pretended to think. “Will you be happy hanging out with a smart-mouth lawyer who, in legal circles, is considered the best of the best?”

  “Oh, yeahhhh,” Wylie drawled. “What happens if I get a teaching job out of state?”

  “Like a good, dutiful wife, I’ll go where my husband goes.”

  “You’re saying you’ll marry me. I’m supposed to ask you first. Did I miss something here?”

  For the first time in her life, Lucy was flustered. “But you said…I thought…are you saying you don’t want to marry me?”

  In the blink of an eye, Wylie was out of the covers and down on one knee on the floor. He reached for her hand. “I was kidding. Will you…”

  Coop was off the couch, and on his hind legs, his front paws wrapped around Wylie’s neck. He grabbed for the big dog and finished what he was going to say. “Will you marry me? This big galoot goes with the deal, and you have to promise to help me make his meat loaf every day. Swear to me on Sadie, or I withdraw my proposal.”

  Lucy eyed the man kneeling in front of her. She could read the anxiety in his eyes. She knew he was serious about Coop. “I accept your proposal and the restrictions. I will always cater to Coop’s needs. How could you even think otherwise? I’ve come to love that dog. Are we going to have a prenup? I like them for other people but not for myself.”

  “That’s how I feel. Jeez, we’re a pair, aren’t we? Wait a minute. What about the dogs?”

  “What about them? Sadie is mine and Coop is yours. There’s no problem that I can see.”

  “Yeah, yeah, there’s a problem. I want them to be ours.”

  Wylie’s tone was light, almost teasing, but Lucy now knew him well enough to know the dogs were an important issue. “Okay, I like that. His and hers sound cold and calculating. I like them being ours. We can change their papers if you want.”

  “Coop doesn’t have papers. I told you I found him. I hope that doesn’t make a difference. I wouldn’t trade Coop for all the pedigrees in the world.”

  “Okay. Boy, I’m glad that’s settled. Hey, want a beer?”

  “Well, sure, if you’re going to fetch it. Bring some rawhides for these guys. I’m going to use the last of the wood to build up the fire. From here on in, we’ll have to start busting up the furniture if we want a fire. I have a couple of boxes of those starter logs, but they don’t throw off any heat.”

  “I’m not that much of a pioneer, Wylie. Just crank up the heat,” she called over her shoulder as she made her way into the dark kitchen, the dogs right behind her.

  Lucy found the rawhide chews in a yellow Happy Face cookie jar. She jammed them into the pocket of her sweatpants before uncapping two bottles of Michelob. Bottles in hand, she was about to leave the dark kitchen when she saw Coop start to slink on his belly, growling deep in his throat. Sadie followed suit while Lulu danced around in circles whining and whimpering.

  Lucy froze in her tracks. Her eyes on the dogs, she called out, “Wylie, I think you better come out here.”

  “Don’t tell me we’re out of beer,” Wylie exclaimed. He looked from Lucy to the dogs, who were slinking from one sliding glass door to the other before he ran back into the den, where he picked up both guns. He hoped he had the guts to use the lethal weapon in his hand if need be. In the kitchen, he took both bottles of beer from Lucy’s hands and set them on the table.

  “I’m not sure, but I think I saw pinpoints of light between the blinds. Like someone waving a flashlight around. Don’t turn on any lights, Wylie. The dogs aren’t barking and howling. What’s that mean?” Lucy asked fearfully.

  “I don’t know. Coop is very territorial. If someone invaded his yard, he’d go ballistic the way he did before.” He stood close to Lucy, who was trembling. “Look, the lights are out, no one can see in. The doors are locked. We have two guns. TWO! If you’re thinking I should go out there in the snow, think again. It wouldn’t do us any good. Inside, now, that’s a different story. This is my turf. We have the dogs and these weapons. I want you to go to the front window, Lucy, and look out to make sure it’s still snowing. You can tell by the streetlight across the street. I don’t want to risk turning on the deck lights to alert anyone. You know, just in case. What I don’t like right now is that Coop’s tail is down between his legs. So is Sadie’s. The fur ball has a cropped tail, so who knows about her. For sure you don’t mess with a dog when his tail drops down. Move, Lucy!”

  In the end, Wylie had to nudge her. She did move then, running to the window. She was back in an instant. In a shaky voice, she said, “It’s still snowing. I couldn’t even see Rachel’s house through the snow. What are we going to do, Wylie?”

  “Nothing, Lucy. We’re going to sit here and wait. This might be a good time for you to go off by yourself, maybe the laundry room, and try to see if you can hear anything. Really try, Lucy. Nothing is going to happen. I promise.” Wylie patted her shoulder the way her father used to do when she was a little girl. The pat meant things would be all right.

  Lucy licked at her dry lips. Her head bobbed up and down as she walked toward the laundry room. She wished she could explain to Wylie, to make him understand that she couldn’t turn on what she heard. Still, if it made Wylie feel better, she would do it.

  Lucy hated herself for cowering in the corner like some dimwit.

  Warm air gushed from the vent under the laundry room sink and warmed Lucy’s legs. She tried to make her mind go blank, to think about nothing but the mounds of snow outside the house. She envisioned deep, snow tracks, flashlights, falling snow. She did her best to conjure up a picture of Jonathan, with Coop and Sadie chasing him through the snow. Some of the tension eased in her shoulders with the vision. Nothing was coming through. She kept trying. Finally, she said, “I give up.” She stomped her way to the kitchen in frustration.

  Lucy was calm now, even embarrassed at the way she’d fallen apart. I really have to get a handle on this, she thought. I cannot let that man invade my life like this. If I do, I’ll be a drooling idiot and no good to anyone.

  Sadie nipped at Lucy’s arm to remind her of the rawhide chews she had in her pocket. She smiled.

  Lucy was surprised to find Jake sitting with Wylie at the kitchen table. They’d turned on a light.

  “Lucy, you said there was something that bothered you about the house in Watchung. What bothered you? Sit there, dammit and don’t say another word until you know what it
is. That’s a damn order, Lucy. I’m through wasting time here,” Jake said forcefully. He pounded the kitchen table to make his point.

  Lucy dutifully, and meekly, sat down at the table and let her mind have free rein. Jake and Wylie watched her intently, like two precocious squirrels whose gazes were fixed on a pile of nuts.

  Twenty minutes later, Lucy bounded off the chair. “I can’t think with you two watching me. I don’t know what it is. Listen, I was cold, angry, and worried about the storm. All that security blew my mind. It was probably nothing. Why don’t we just go in the den and watch a video or something?”

  “Why don’t we not do something like that. I have an idea,” Jake said. “Let’s do a word association test. Maybe something will jog your memory. Are you up for it, Lucy?”

  Lucy looked upward at Wylie, who nodded in agreement. “Okay,” she said.

  “Good. Let me get a pad and pen, and I’ll be right back.”

  “I’m just agreeing to this to humor Jake. My brain is tired, Wylie. I don’t have any clues; there’s nothing hidden in my head. God, I just want this to be over. And, by the way, I have cabin fever. I need to go outside. I need fresh air. I feel like I’m in a damn tomb.”

  “We all feel that way, Lucy. Try not to think about it. Before you know it, the roads will be plowed, and we’ll be able to get in our cars and get out and about.”

  Lucy snorted. “Assuming we can find said cars. What makes you think they’ll even start up. In Buffalo, during that storm in ’77, the engines were nothing but blocks of ice.”

  “So we’ll use our blow-dryers to melt the ice. You’re whining, Lucy.”

  “I know, Wylie, and I hate myself for it. I can’t seem to help it.”

  “Then you need to try harder,” Jake said, sitting down across from Lucy. “Now here’s how we’re going to do this. I say a word, and you respond immediately. Don’t stop to think. Blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind. For instance, I’m going to say one word now. You respond. Stove.”

  “Cook,” Lucy said smartly.

  “It might help if you lean back in the chair and close your eyes.”

  Lucy did as instructed. “All right, I’m ready.”

  “Alarm.”

  “Two, six, eight, nine. It’s the code to my alarm system,” Lucy said.

  “House”

  “Cozy.”

  “Snow.”

  “Danger,” Lucy said.

  “Dogs.”

  “Unconditional love,” Lucy responded.

  “Jonathan.”

  “Evil,” Lucy shot back.

  “Stainless steel.”

  “Institutions.”

  “Security gates.”

  “Secrets,” Lucy said.

  “Dead room.”

  “Mortuary.”

  “Round.”

  “Square.”

  “White.”

  “Virginal,” Lucy quipped.

  “Evil.”

  “Jonathan.”

  “Fear.”

  “Hide.”

  “Fireplace.”

  “Fire, logs, flames. I know that’s three, but they popped into my head,” Lucy said.

  “Square.”

  “Round. White. Dirty.”

  “Dirty.”

  “Jonathan’s fireplace. That’s it. That’s what bothered me. Who in their right mind would have a white fireplace? Certainly no one I know. There were ashes in it, and a few of the white bricks were dirty. No, no, that’s wrong. Those bricks had smudges on them. There was no soot inside the hood. I clearly remember looking up inside it. Most fireplaces have a trapdoor on the floor where you just open it up and brush the ashes through it. I have a huge barrel in the crawl space under the house. That’s where my ashes go. It has to be a barrel or a drum of some kind because oftentimes the embers are hot, and you don’t want a fire under the house.”

  “She’s right, Jake. I have a barrel under mine, too. I empty it out every spring.”

  “So, what are you trying to say, Lucy?”

  “We were supposed to think that the fireplace was used. If we thought about it at all. I think we were supposed to be confused, or anyone else who entered that house, for that matter, at the round room. We all commented on it, don’t you remember? Not only was it round, it was startling white. The fireplace or the fire pit, whatever you want to call it, was the focal point. But, once you saw it, recognized it for what it is, you didn’t give it a second thought because your mind went to the roundness and the startling white. I remember someone saying we needed sunglasses. Am I crazy here?”

  Jake tapped the pen in his hand on the tabletop. Wylie scratched his head, his expression perplexed.

  “Well, will someone say something?” Lucy said.

  “What you’re thinking is, something is hidden underneath, is that it? My own trapdoor in my fireplace at home is on hinges. There’s not a lot of room to sift the ashes through either side of it. I have to pry it open with the fire tongs and brush the ashes through. It’s a messy job.”

  “Ours are the same way. That doesn’t have to mean Jonathan St. Clair’s is the same. It could be a flat steel plate with a ring to lift off. Just like a lid. What do we think is in there?” Wylie asked.

  Two blank faces stared at him.

  “Are you thinking money, records, drugs, an arms cache, what?” Wylie persisted.

  The blank faces continued to stare at him.

  “Maybe all of the above. Nah, this is about money. If this guy is as global as I think he is, he has to have a home base somewhere. Maybe that house is his home base and, as such, it’s where he keeps his stash, whatever his stash is,” Jake said.

  Lucy spoke for the first time. “Do you want to know what I think?”

  “Hell, yes,” Wylie exploded.

  “This is just my opinion, but I think Jonathan would never hide anything that could aid and comfort him. He’d keep it on his person. I’m talking about his bank records. Anything that could be hidden is on a computer. He carried it with him all the time. Sometimes, when he was in Europe, he would chain it to his wrist. He told me that himself. I think whatever is hidden, if I’m right, and it’s there, is a record of the people he did business with. For want of a better term, his bargaining chip, if things ever went awry. A way for him to cut a deal. I think it was Agent Lawrence who, in one of our very first conversations, said we were talking about billions of dollars. That’s billions with a b. In my head, that translates to drugs. What do you think? Am I off the wall here, or does this all make sense to either one of you?”

  “Honey,” Wylie said, bending over to hug her, “I think you nailed it.”

  Lucy grinned from ear to ear. “We have to call the agents and tell them. Not that they can do anything right this moment, but they can call it in and have other agents look into it.

  “Okay, having said all that, Jonathan just wants to kill me because…”

  “You upset the little world he created for himself. It’s a vengeance mentality thing with him. You have to pay for disrupting his world. It’s that simple. A little while ago you said to keep it simple.”

  Lucy looked from one to the other. She suddenly felt nauseated. When Jake left, Lucy realized that the session was over. She looked at Wylie, a devilish glint in her eyes.

  “You know what, Wylie, your dog is the only dog I know who has his own room. He’s got two beds, boxes of toys, and he sleeps with you.”

  A grin stretched across Wylie’s face. “It’s called devotion. Now that he has new friends, I’m just someone who makes him meat loaf. I admit, I was a little jealous at first.”

  “Really! Me, too. Sadie was always glued to me. I guess it’s a good thing. Hey, you want to mess around?”

  Wylie’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “You mean like…mess around?”

  “Uh-huh. Me, you, together. If you’re too tired…”

  “Tired! Who, me? I’m the guy who just had a nap. No sirree, I’m not the least bit tired. I’m up f
or…what I mean is I’m, ah, yeah, I’m up.”

  Lucy wiggled her eyebrows as she led Wylie over to the fire. “If you’re sure you’re really, you know, up, then let’s get to it. Before the fire burns down.”

  Wylie was already pulling off his shirt. “I thought you were worried about Jake being in the house.”

  “Jake who?” Lucy purred.

  Wylie’s sweatpants dropped to the floor. “Yeah, Jake who?” His voice was so hoarse, he had a hard time believing the words came out of his mouth. “I’m ready,” he said, diving onto the pile of quilts Lucy dragged over from the couch. “Let’s do that thing we did the last time.”

  “Did you like that?” Lucy purred.

  “Oh, man, did I ever. Hurry up, it’s cold.”

  Then she was on top of him, his head clasped in both her hands. She kissed him until his ears turned beet red. Wylie groaned, convinced that kissing Lucy was one of life’s greatest pleasures. He was stunned when she pulled away and stared down at him. “You ready, big guy?”

  “Yeahhhh,” Wylie said exuberantly.

  “Then, let’s do it. Remember now,” Lucy said, breathing little kisses all over his face, “no screaming, no yelling, no kicking on the floor.”

  “I’m not making a promise like that!”

  “Me either.”

  15

  Special Agent Sylvia Connors stared out of the eighteenth-floor window of the Hyatt Hotel in New Brunswick, where she and her two fellow agents had been staying since the onset of the worst storm in a century. In the whole of her career, she’d never felt this hopeless.

  She was cranky, out of sorts, and was rapidly becoming angry at her colleagues’ callous attitude toward Lucy Baker. Attribute it to her background, training, expertise, whatever, she knew Lucy Baker had told them the truth. Mason and Lawrence thought otherwise.

  Sylvia clenched her teeth as she picked up her conversation with her colleagues. “She’s in grave danger. I’m telling you, she’s Banks’s victim. You two know squat about women.”

  “Get off it, Connors. She’s in this up to her eyeballs. Did you really expect her to admit to anything? She’s a lawyer, for God’s sake. She loves that word allegedly. She was marrying the guy. We went along with you when you demanded a handwriting expert to verify her signature. The proof came back positive. It’s her damn signature. She’s in it right down to her toes, so cut us some slack here.”