The Girl Next Door (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 4)

by A J Rivers

  So I make my transactions. I take away something I'm not familiar with or that I don't feel any connection with and bring it out. It goes to the Goodwill or another donation center or sometimes sits on the grass just beyond the sidewalk in front of the house to draw the attention of a new owner. So far, everything I've put there has been scooped up and brought off to its next life. Once something is out of the house, I feel better about bringing something else in.

  Today, it's the chair that was sitting at the back of the storage unit with the stack of boxes in front of it. When I first saw it, I didn't remember it from my grandparents' house. It didn't look familiar the first few times I saw it. It wasn't until I realized it was recovered at some point over the years that I remembered it used to sit in the corner of the back room my grandmother used as a sunroom. She liked to sit in there and read or quilt, and when I got older, we would drink tea and talk. This was the chair I always sat on. Her chair is still sitting in that room, and now this one is going to go back to join it.

  Thank goodness I have Sam to carry it for me. I don't feel like testing my limits by lugging it all the way into the back room.

  "I haven't slept well the last few days," I tell him.

  "You didn't sleep well when we went to Quantico, either," he notes. "What's going on?"

  I shrug and rub the back of my neck. My nightmares haven't found me again. They've stayed away and haven’t tried to invade this house, which I'm thankful for. But something stops me from keeping my eyes closed for more than half an hour or so at a time, staggered throughout the night. It doesn't stop me from waking up at dawn like I always have, but by the middle of the afternoon like it is now, the tiredness starts to drag on me.

  "I don't know. It's just been happening the last couple of weeks," I tell him.

  "Maybe you should lay off the coffee a bit," he teases.

  "The coffee is the only thing that keeps me off my face in the middle of the afternoon some days," I say. "But I have committed the ultimate sin of switching to decaf after five."

  "Blasphemy," he chuckles. He leans forward and gives me a kiss. "You really do look tired, though. I don't want you to get sick."

  "I'll be fine. It can't last but so long. I just have a lot on my mind."

  "I know. Any news?" he asks.

  I let out a sigh. "I'm not officially allowed to know anything, but Bellamy told me Eric mentioned Creagan tried to figure out who took the phone out of the evidence locker," I tell him.

  "Playing telephone?"

  "Something like that. He figured I was entitled to at least that information, and he can tell her about it because she has been given some clearance. She wasn't in the room when Creagan said I wasn't allowed to know anything, so she isn't held by his requirements," I say.

  "That's a little shaky," he says.

  "A little, but I'm willing to be a little shaky for this."

  "Valid. So, what did they find?" he asks.

  "Nothing," I sigh.

  "Nothing?"

  "Nothing. There is absolutely nothing on the evidence locker. The only people who went in are working on other investigations and have specific things they were looking at. None of them have any reason to take out the phone. They don't even know what it is or what's on it."

  "Then how did whoever sent the message to you get access to it?" Sam asks.

  I throw up my hands in exasperation. "That's the big question. I can't stop thinking about the whole thing."

  "Well, it just so happens I might have something that will help take your mind off it," he says.

  I lift my eyebrows at him. "Oh?"

  "The annual police department fundraiser."

  I blink. That is not what I expected him to say.

  "The annual… police department fundraiser?" I ask flatly.

  "Yes," he says with a bright smile. "You probably remember some of them from when you were here. Every year the department has some sort of fundraiser to…"

  "Raise funds? Yeah, I'm familiar with the concept," I quip.

  "Then you're already ahead of the game."

  "What game?"

  "I think you should head up the fundraiser this year," Sam says, tossing himself down into the chair and grinning at me.

  "Excuse me?" I raise an eyebrow.

  "Well, not head it up completely. Help me do it," he says.

  "You want me to help you plan a fundraiser for the department?" I ask slowly, clarifying what he wants.

  "Yeah. It’ll be fun. We can come up with a theme together, find vendors. It’ll give you something to think about other than people going missing or buildings blowing up. I know that's a strange concept for you, but I suggest you give it a try. You might like it."

  "Very funny," I mutter.

  He laughs and reaches for me, taking me by the hips and bringing me down to sit on his thigh.

  "I don't know, Sam. I'm not a party planner."

  "I know you aren't the extravagant, highly experienced event coordinator I am, but I believe in you," he teases. I shoot him a glare, and he laughs. "Come on. It's a fundraiser. I'm not asking you to plan the Inauguration. Just help me plan it and let people know about it. It could be a fun way to spend some extra time together."

  He knows how to wear me down. I let out a sigh.

  "Alright," I relent. "Just give me my clipboard and my headset."

  "No headset," he says.

  "No headset?" I ask in mock horror. "Now, what kind of extravagant, highly experienced event coordinator are you if we don't get headsets?"

  "Is that a yes?" he asks.

  "Yes."

  "Perfect. Alright, now that I've made your chair delivery, I have a Girl Scout Troop to go talk to about bike safety."

  "You're such a good sheriff," I grin, giving him a quick kiss.

  "I know. Sherwood is lucky to have me."

  He pats me on the hip to get me to stand up.

  "I'll see you for dinner tomorrow?" I ask.

  "Absolutely. I'm looking forward to hearing what treasures you find in the other box from storage."

  I glance over at the box I brought over today, trading it for a set of lamps I haven't liked looking at since I first came back. There's a hint of anxiety mixed with my anticipation. As I've learned from the first couple boxes I've already opened, I have no idea what I'm going to find in there.

  "I'll let you know if it's anything important," I say.

  We walk to the door, and I wave goodbye as he climbs into his truck and drives off. He'll head home for a shower and put on his uniform before going to the school for the Girl Scout meeting. He often volunteers his time to help the little girls earn their badges and, while I haven't witnessed it, I'm sure he's a sucker when cookie season rolls around. He has a tender place in his heart for children, but especially little girls, I think he sees his future daughter in.

  As he drives away, I glance across the street. The house next door to Janet and Paul's has been vacant since I came back, but now the door of the garage door is standing slightly open. Someone must be moving in. It's nice to see someone coming to the quiet little neighborhood. And with its double-sized lot, large back deck, and flowerbeds ready to be filled in the spring, it will be a wonderful home.

  It will be so nice to have new neighbors in town.

  Chapter Six

  Five years earlier

  "It's been two weeks. Why haven't you been able to find anything?" Travis demanded.

  The officer stared at him, emotionless. He knew her name now. Phillips. Officer Phillips. She never bothered to mention her first name. Not like the men who occasionally called to check in or scoured every inch of the house. They introduced themselves and shook his hand. They talked to him like a husband who was terrified because his wife was missing, not like he just another name on a list of interviews to have.

  She should have chosen a different career. Something that wouldn't require her to interact with people and make assumptions about them she would need to act on.

  "I'
m sorry, Mr. Burke. We're doing everything we can to find your wife," she said.

  "I find that extremely hard to believe. You manage to find people who break into cars within twelve hours, but a decent, beautiful woman disappears, and after two weeks, you haven't found out anything?" he asked.

  "That's a crime, Mr. Burke. It's a different situation," Officer Phillips said.

  "Why? Because that person did something wrong? Is that the only reason you want to find them? The only reason you put any effort into finding them is because you want to be able to hold them accountable for doing something wrong?"

  "That's not what I'm saying," she tried to clarify.

  "That's exactly what you're saying. All that matters to you is ticking off cases on a list. You like tying up things with a neat bow. Mia has never done anything wrong, so you have no use for her."

  "That's not it, Mr. Burke. I know you're upset, and I know this is really bothering you, but it's important for you to stay calm and cooperate with us."

  "Cooperate with you? I've done everything I can possibly do. I've turned over my financial records. I've given you access to Mia's studio even though I know you destroyed the work she's been doing. I've let officers crawl all over my home, invading every corner and inch of my privacy to find anything that might be helpful. And none of it has done any good."

  "The reality is, that might be by design," she said.

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Your wife is an adult woman. She doesn't have to get permission to do anything or go anywhere. It may be uncomfortable for you to think about, but that's something we're going to have to consider."

  "Consider what? That she just… left?" Travis asked.

  Officer Phillips nodded.

  "Yes," she said matter-of-factly. "You haven't heard from her or seen any sign of her. Clothing and personal items are missing from your home."

  "I told you; she went to her studio to work on her new art pieces. That's what she does. When she is planning on being there for more than just a few hours, she brings along clothes and toiletries. I don't understand your fixation on that. If you are planning on going somewhere overnight, don't you take things with you so you can take a shower or change clothes the next day?" Travis asked.

  "Of course, I do, Mr. Burke, but we're not talking about me," Officer Phillips said.

  "Maybe we should be. What if someone you loved went missing? Wouldn't you want the police to do everything they possibly could to find them?"

  "Yes, Mr. Burke, but…"

  "And if you were missing, if something happened to you and you were possibly in danger, wouldn't you want to think your family would do everything they could to find you? And would insist the police do the same?" Travis continued, his voice getting more intense with every word.

  "Mr. Burke, I understand you're upset. This isn't an easy situation, and I can't honestly tell you how I would react if I was in it, because it's never happened to me. But you need to think clearly and really evaluate what's happening, so we have the best chances of finding your wife," Officer Phillips said.

  Travis took in a deep breath and let it out slowly to settle himself.

  "What do you need me to evaluate?" he asked.

  "Like you said, you gave us access to everything, so we've been able to fully investigate your wife's movements in the days leading up to her going missing."

  "Yes."

  "And we noticed several withdrawals from her bank account over the last three weeks."

  His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head at her.

  "There haven't been any withdrawals from our bank account over the last three weeks. We make all our payments with our debit cards," he frowned.

  "No, Mr. Burke. Not your bank account. Hers."

  "I don't understand."

  "While investigating your personal financial information, we uncovered an account in your wife's name. You are not on it," she said.

  He blinked a few times.

  "In my wife's name? Mia had her own bank account?" he asked.

  "Yes. She opened it approximately three months ago and has made steady deposits into it since. Over the last three weeks, she withdrew nearly all of it in several transactions. I take it you weren't aware of her bank account?"

  His eyes burned into hers.

  "Do I sound like I knew about it?" he asked fiercely.

  "We also searched your home and the apartment studio. There were no clothes or toiletry items at the apartment, though they are missing from your home by your account. Yet, you found her car at the studio."

  "What are you getting at?"

  "I think it's time for you to consider the possibility she was preparing to leave for some time, and is not missing, but left on her own accord. With someone."

  "Excuse me?" he sputtered. "You're suggesting my wife left me? My wife who made dinner every night and who I'm planning a trip to Miami with for her birthday in three weeks?"

  "It might not make sense to you right now. Often the partner being left feels blindsided by the decision and is confused, thinking the relationship was going well, when in reality, the other partner was unhappy but going along to maintain peace as long as necessary to ready themselves for the split. Your wife might have maintained her usual behavior and even seemed happier in the weeks leading up to her disappearance. That's because she was putting the steps into place to extricate herself from the relationship and didn't want to create an unwanted situation."

  "Cut your psycho-babble bullshit. You're not here to lull me into a sense of complacency and guide me into an understanding of my new lifestyle," he said in a slow, mocking tone. "You're here to find my wife. Do I make myself fucking clear?"

  Officer Phillips stood and straightened her uniform.

  "If you can think of anything else, Mr. Burke, you know how to get in touch with us," she said.

  "And if you start doing your job and looking for my wife rather than coming up with some half-assed story, you know how to get in touch with me."

  Travis followed her to the front door and slammed it firmly behind her, glaring through the glass after her until she drove away.

  Chapter Seven

  Now

  If I scrape and gather up all the stray minutes I slept last night, I might be able to smash them together into a total of four hours. A hot shower perked me up a little, so I took advantage of the slight spike in energy to stuff myself into my favorite leggings and tank top, top it with a sweatshirt, and head out for a jog. I haven’t been nearly as active recently as I’m used to being. Heading to the gym a few times a week, martial arts classes, and regular jogs were all normal parts of my week when I lived near headquarters. I just considered it part of my job. I’m not a lot of good as an agent if I’m not in good enough shape to take down suspects.

  My theory, and hope, is that my brain is fogged and my sleep is disrupted because I’ve been neglecting my exercise. If I just get back into my groove a bit, I can clear my mind and start sleeping again. It’s worth the first shock of cold when I head out and the fact that I didn’t eat beforehand. The neighborhood is in that odd time of day when it’s awake, but little is happening. Early mornings mean people getting ready for work and sending children off to school, my older neighbors gardening and pampering their already pristine lawns, and the one young stay-at-home mother near the end of the street whisking her son off for a day at the park, library, or whatever else she fills her days with. The late afternoons and evenings are for people coming home, relaxing outside when the weather is nice, and taking strolls along the sidewalk. The time in the middle often feels like it’s just me when I’m home.

  Fall is settling into the neighborhood, and I’m starting to see hints of reds and yellows where there you used to be green. I turn a corner and a breeze picks up. It brings the scent of someone burning leaves in the distance. I’m enjoying the crispness of the air, the colors of the leaves, and the smells of fall around me so much I don’t notice the woman walking up the walkway to my front
porch until I’m about to turn onto it myself. She looks unsure, and I get an immediate hint of concern. It’s rarely a good thing when a stranger walks up to your front door.

  “Hello,” I call out to her, pulling my earbuds from my ears and raveling them up to shove them away in the pocket of my sweatshirt.

  The woman turns around and smiles. She looks to be in her mid-forties, maybe a couple of years either way, with a pleasant face and a severe black bob to her chin. The floral dress she’s wearing almost looks like she wasn’t aware of the season when she got dressed, and she tugs her sweater closer around herself as she takes a few steps toward me.

  “Hi,” she smiles. “Do you live here?”

  “Yes,” I tell her.

  She points with both thumbs toward the house to the side of Janet and Paul’s across the street.

  “I’m your new neighbor,” she says.

  “Oh. I saw the garage open a little last night and thought somebody might be moving in.” I extend my hand to her. “I’m Emma Griffin.”

  “Ruby Baker. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You, too.” I glance at my house, then back at her. “Um. Is there something you needed?”

  She smiles a little wider and glances at her feet like she’s embarrassed by the question.

  “No. I’m just not a particularly social person, and I know if I didn’t get around to meeting my neighbors soon, I’d just hole up in my house like a hermit. And that’s exactly why I’ve been looking for a fresh start. So, I’ve been walking up and down the street, introducing myself to everybody.” She leans slightly toward me and lowers her voice to a conspiratorial hush. “Does that make me sound really creepy?”

  I laugh. “No. I think there are plenty of things these people have seen that are creepier than someone coming to introduce themselves.”

  “That’s good to hear,” she says, then seems to think about what I said. “I think.”