I pressed my face closer to the blinds, my forehead resting on the white slats. If someone was lurking in the line of trees beyond our backyards, I wouldn’t be able to tell, with the high fence blocking the view of the ground. Rows of tightly packed evergreens creating the illusion of privacy, so you would forget about the road giving way to another semicircle of houses directly beyond.
A squirrel, probably. We heard them all the time, hopping from the branches and scurrying across the roof. A quick pitter-patter of feet that set my heart racing every time.
I checked the closet last. Inside, the few wire hangers on the metal rod remained empty. A heap of dirty clothes was stacked in the dark corner, like she wasn’t sure what to do with them just yet. I dug my foot into the pile of fabric just to check. Nothing.
There wasn’t much else in the room to go through. A beige towel hung from the edge of the bed where the cat had been sleeping, and I resisted the urge to pick it up and hang it in the bathroom before it mildewed.
Before Ruby’s arrest, I had let the police in here myself, given them permission to search, when they were looking for the missing carbon monoxide detector. I was so sure they wouldn’t find it here—and they didn’t. The police ultimately believed that was why Ruby was spotted on Margo and Paul Wellman’s video feed, running toward the lake: to dispose of the evidence, though nothing was ever found.
I’d watched as they searched her room back then, methodically and carefully. I remembered all the places they’d checked. So I flipped the pillow over. Ran my hands along the comforter, then along the seams where the bed was pushed against the wall.
Finally, I reached between the mattress and box spring, sliding my arms up and down the length of the bed. My pinkie caught on something sharp near the head of the bed, and I jerked back. A dot of blood, the beginning of a wound; I brought it to my mouth to stop the sting. Then I reached my other hand carefully under the mattress again, and my fist closed on something small and metallic.
I recognized the item right away. It was a small paring knife. A familiar black handle with a sloping shape. Part of the set from my kitchen. Taken by Ruby from downstairs and stored, within reach, under her bed.
Like she was afraid of something.
I stood for a long time in that spot, listening to the sounds of my empty house. Wondering if I needed to be afraid of something, too.
CHAPTER 7
I GREW RESTLESS AND UNSETTLED, pacing the house. Watching the clock. Eating dinner while standing over the kitchen counter, in case I needed to shift tasks at any moment.
My mind kept drifting to that knife. Why she felt the need to take it. What—or who—she was afraid of, when half the neighborhood was making plans to deal with their fear of her.
I’d replaced the knife under her mattress carefully, in the same spot I’d found it, not wanting her to know I’d been through her things. Imagining what she might already be telling her lawyer: Harper got rid of everything I owned, can you believe it?
It was nearly seven p.m. and Ruby wasn’t back.
Had she told me when I could expect her return or where she was going? Some business park, she’d said. She implied it was close, that her lawyer was coming through town. But she’d left no room for follow-up, no chance to shake out the specifics.
The mantel clock over the fireplace ticked loudly in the silence. I could feel my jaw clenching.
I heard people talking out front, and the noise drew me to the dining room window—the irritational hope that I might see Ruby stepping out of my car, chatting with one of the neighbors like nothing was amiss.
But it was Tate on the sidewalk, calling for Javier, “Come on already, we’re going to be late,” as he locked up behind them. Her expression turned light and friendly as Tina Monahan approached from her house next door. Tina strode toward them with her usual air of efficiency, brown hair pulled back in a low ponytail, short bangs she appeared to cut herself, and an assortment of colored scrubs she rotated with regularity.
“Hey, there,” Tate called with a hand on one hip, “can you believe this?”
Tina shook her head once. Though I couldn’t see her expression, I couldn’t imagine Tina saying anything negative. Tina—What would I need a security camera for, Officer?—was a saint, perpetually optimistic. She seemed to be the only person in the neighborhood the Truetts had liked, someone less frivolous than the rest of us.
Tina was a registered nurse and worked at the college. She had brought both of her parents to live with her the year after Aidan and I moved in, was the type who said, It’s a blessing to get to spend this time with them. Her father was in a wheelchair. Her mother wasn’t able to care for him alone. Tina’s model home had a master downstairs, so, she said, Truly, it was an easy decision.
I had never heard her complain, never heard a negative comment. I believed that her demeanor was authentic after the murders. She never had to look at the people who lived with her and wonder what they were capable of. She never had to account for their time line. When the police came to investigate, she said there was no need for surveillance because someone was always home.
I waited until they were out of earshot and then locked up behind me, following the rest of my neighbors to the clubhouse.
* * *
THE MEETING COULDN’T BE held in the clubhouse, which was just a series of three doors set in a low building directly off the pool deck, accessible only from inside the pool gates. It amounted to nothing more than two bathrooms and a meeting room, the last of which doubled as the lost and found. That was where the neighborhood board met, but the space wouldn’t hold more than fifteen people or so. Our neighborhood meetings always spilled outside, onto the pool deck, where we sat on loungers and vinyl-strapped pool chairs, their metal legs scraping against the concrete as we settled in.
But the people in charge always filed out of that meeting room like they had come from some pregame briefing, deciding what to share with the masses. Whenever the door swung open, we could briefly see into the room: the edge of a table and a large gray bin filled with an assortment of floats and goggles, unclaimed items that had accumulated over the years, now available for residents to borrow when needed.
Charlotte Brock was the president, Tina Monahan was the secretary, and Margo Wellman’s husband, Paul, was the treasurer. They’d held their positions for years. No one was interested in the extra work or the grief.
Even though this gathering wasn’t board-sanctioned, Tina was standing beside Charlotte outside the meeting room door when I arrived. I looked around for Paul Wellman—the business-casual attire he always wore, regardless of the fact that we were outside, at a pool, while the rest of us were in cover-ups and athletic apparel; the prematurely salt-and-pepper hair that gave him an air of responsibility—but he was nowhere to be seen. Margo was here, though, sitting at one of the round pool tables, moving the stroller back and forth with her foot as Nicholas fidgeted. I took the chair beside her, though she didn’t seem to notice. “Hey,” I said, scooting the chair a little closer.
Her eyes widened as she looked at me, and she peered over my shoulder like she might see Ruby. Just like Molly had done earlier in the day.
“It’s just me,” I said, and she nodded. Up close, her nose was burned and starting to peel, and her lips were chapped. In her thirties, Margo had a round face with soft features and large blue eyes; between her wide eyes and her hair, which was never fully contained, she always looked caught slightly off guard. She and Paul were a contrast in demeanor, but they seemed to balance each other.
“About yesterday,” I said. “I didn’t know Ruby was coming. I followed her to the pool just to make sure nothing happened—” I checked the crowd behind me, lowered my voice. “Between her and Chase.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and she leaned closer. “I had no idea she was back,” she said. “She talked to me, and I froze.”
“Well, she walked in my house, and I froze.”
That got half a laugh, at least.
I needed to work my way back like this. Make sure they knew I was on their side.
When I was called to testify in Ruby’s defense, I had put myself on a definitive side of the line. The neighborhood had grown tense in the lead-up to the trial, when we knew who was testifying and who was not. But after Ruby was convicted, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. We had all just presented a piece of the truth, and no one could fault me for that.
Afterward, everything was surface-level fine and polite smiles and waves from the car. But look deeper, and you could find the divide. The texts I didn’t receive; the invitations that weren’t extended. I wasn’t always in on the secrets anymore.
“Is she gone now?” she asked.
I closed my eyes briefly. “She’s out with that lawyer. But she’s not gone.”
From the stroller, Nicholas started to cry, and Margo lifted him to her lap, smoothing down his red baby-fine curls. “Well, then,” she said absently, and I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or the baby.
“Where’s Paul?” I asked. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen him in weeks. If something had happened with them, no one had mentioned his absence; his was a silent retreat.
“Stuck at work,” she said, patting the baby’s back, then shushing him, not giving me room for a follow-up question. “I told Charlotte a seven o’clock meeting wouldn’t be doable for everyone. But you know how she is.”
As if on cue, Charlotte’s voice boomed over the space. “Can everyone hear me?” she called, hands held out from her sides, as if summoning something.
The chatter fell to murmurs. I looked around the pool deck at the rest of the neighbors pulling closer, and I felt claustrophobic. The families from the street behind ours, scraping the chairs against the pool deck. Eyes darting away when my gaze met theirs.
Mac was just walking in through the open gate, side by side with his brother, Preston. They maneuvered through the sea of chairs, heading toward an open spot near the back, nodding to neighbors as they passed. At least half of the households were represented here tonight. Word had spread quickly.
“Thank you all for coming out tonight.” Charlotte’s voice always rose above the crowd, though she wasn’t loud; it was more that the others quieted to compensate. “I know we’ve been over this before, but I thought it would help to revisit protocol. Please, please, remember we are all volunteers, so let’s not demand more of people than they’re offering. Okay?”
A shuffling of fabric. A cough near the back.
Charlotte nodded to herself, then continued. “We are asking for as many people as possible to sign up for one full evening, so the requirement will remain low on each person. I know it’s difficult to give up a consistent time slot, week after week. So we found that this works a little better. You give a full night if you can, and then you can be done with it for the month. We ask for periodic walk-throughs from dusk to dawn. Obviously, if you want to split the responsibility with someone else, be my guest. I’ll leave a sign-up sheet here, and we can go over any logistics together. We just want to know who to contact, who to be on the lookout for each night. I remember last year, my girls were nervous because they didn’t know Javier had a new car.” A wink in his direction, a light chuckle through the crowd.
“As a reminder, or to those of you new to this…” She scanned the crowd. None of us was new to this. “Here’s a quick recap of what you are and are not permitted to do.”
We had heard all of this last time from Chase, who had stood up in that very spot in his police uniform and walked us through exactly where the legal line lay. As if he himself weren’t crossing it at that moment.
“You do have the right to tell someone that this is a private neighborhood,” Charlotte continued. “You do have the right to ask who they are visiting. But you do not have the right to detain them. Most crimes will be deterred by the presence of someone in authority. Regardless, you should call the police promptly after a suspicious encounter to have it on record. We recommend keeping a log of anything you see, anyone you speak with who isn’t from the neighborhood.”
“Who counts as from the neighborhood?” A voice boomed behind me, and I turned to see Preston Seaver, hand raised even as he was already speaking. “For instance, what if the issue is with someone already staying in the neighborhood?” Beside him, Mac remained perfectly still, eyes forward. As if he had no opinion in the matter.
Charlotte gave him a tight smile. “If there’s an issue, same rules apply. Call the police.”
“I mean, we’re allowed to walk at night, though, right?” another man asked, sitting at a table to my right. He lived in the court behind us, alone. He’d been engaged, but his fiancée had left sometime last year. He shifted forward on his chair, and I briefly caught sight of Chase, leaning against the side of the entrance.
“Of course,” Charlotte said. “We all know one another here. Use your discretion, Pete.”
We knew what these questions were implying and what Charlotte’s responses were acknowledging. We were all here to keep track of Ruby Fletcher. To watch out for her. To watch her.
Ruby had been at this meeting the last time, when it was Chase up there laying out the ground rules. Before a woman who looked an awful lot like Ruby was identified on the Seavers’ security camera—and the investigation, and Chase, turned their focus on her.
Back then Ruby was still one of us, getting in line, signing her name. Split with me, Harper? We can go out together.
“If that’s everything,” Charlotte said, placing the paper on the white rectangular folding table in front of her, “let’s let everyone get back to their evening.”
We formed a line, just like last time, the very picture of civilized community. I slid into place, inching forward, wedged near the front between Charlotte and the Seaver brothers.
Mac, sensing me, stepped back slightly. “How’d you manage to sneak out?” he asked, speaking from the side of his mouth, like this was all a game.
“She’s gone,” I said.
Preston, facing forward, let out a noise—something between disgust and amusement. Mac raised an eyebrow but was next in line and never had a chance to respond.
“I think we should all take the first week, that okay with you guys?” Charlotte was saying to them now.
We were our street. Our group. Our clique. We were the people who overlapped at work and at home, conversations and jokes spilling over, with no defined boundaries. We were the row of homes, from our court to the pool, who had caught Ruby on camera. We were the people who had testified.
We were the people who might pay.
“Good idea,” Preston said, and I lost the rest of their conversation under the sound of Margo Wellman attempting to calm a squirming Nicholas.
When it was my turn next, Charlotte’s expression did not falter. “Harper, thanks for coming out. What evening works for you?” She held the pen over the sign-up.
“Put me down wherever there’s a gap, Charlotte. Also, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I stopped by the house today.”
Her finger slid down the list of dates, eyes focused on the page. “Molly told me. Sorry, it’s been chaos, I scheduled a bunch of appointments for this week. Is there something urgent?”
I leaned in closer to get her attention. Pressed my fingers into the plastic table until she met my gaze. “I think I know why she’s here.”
Charlotte blinked twice, then brought her long hair over one shoulder, like I’d seen Molly do earlier in the day. Her gaze flicked to the gate and back, her lips pressed together. I followed her line of sight, worried I’d see Ruby, that she had caught me here. But it was Chase, leaning against the black iron bars.
“We haven’t done coffee in a while,” she said. “Can you make it to my house early tomorrow? Say nine?”
I nodded. She scratched my name down in an empty slot, then smiled at Margo behind me. “Margo, truly, you don’t need to do this.”
“He’s up every few hours teething. I’m awake anyway.”
I looked for Chase on the way out, but he’d disappeared in the last few minutes. He wasn’t in the line or on the pool deck. I started to think I’d manifested him from nothing. Déjà vu from the last time we did this, a cycle repeating itself. While we grasped for the illusion of safety with structure and routine.
Chase’s house was in the other direction when exiting the pool, toward the left, at the opposite corner from Margo and Paul Wellman’s home. Before the Truetts’ deaths, Chase had a career and good standing in the community. Authority and reputation. Power. I wondered if people here ultimately blamed him for Ruby’s release.
The evening had turned overcast, like it might rain, even as dusk was settling in. The streetlight on the corner flicked on automatically, illuminating me.
I walked faster than I needed to. Imagining Ruby waiting at home, with free reign over the place. Waiting for me.
* * *
I SHOULDN’T HAVE WORRIED. My car wasn’t back. Even if she could’ve fit the car inside the garage, the lights were off inside, as I’d left them. Even the porch light was off; I fumbled the key into the lock in the shadows. As I pushed the door open, a paper skittered across the entrance floor.
I flipped the foyer light, then bent for the paper. It was simple printer paper, folded in half, black ink visible through the other side. Something slid onto the floor as I unfolded the page, a message in bold ink staring back:
YOU MADE A MISTAKE.
One line, that was it. No name. No indication whether this was meant for me or for Ruby.
But on the hardwood floor, staring up at me, was a photo. I crouched closer until I was kneeling on the floor, photo in hand. It was an image, blown up and slightly blurry, only part of the scene fitting on the standard-size glossy photo paper. But I could tell that it was a picture of a hand clutched around an item. A still frame from a camera.
Such a Quiet Place Page 7