Long before Kimber met Diana, Kyle told her how much his wife loved him. Also that he loved Diana and would never leave her.
“Gabe, good to see you, man.” Kyle nods. Kimber waits for him to clap a steady hand on Gabriel’s shoulder because Kyle is the kind of man to clap other men on the shoulder. Gabriel is the kind of man who puts up with it because he’s too polite to tell men like Kyle to piss off. Instead, Kyle pivots away and plucks two muffins from the counter and drops them onto his plate. He sits down across from Kimber, his back to the windows, so that a kind of silvery halo shimmers around his thick blond hair.
There’s a roguishness about him that doesn’t match Diana’s prim perfection, but she’s told Kimber she wouldn’t smooth his rough edges for the world. “I just hope Hadley takes more after me. He could charm the skin off a snake, and I don’t think that’s quite right in a woman. But she’ll at least be able to fend for herself.”
“So,” Kyle says, stripping the paper from one muffin, “you got a plan yet to get this jerk out of Kimber’s house?”
Gabriel opens his mouth to answer, but Kimber, not liking Kyle’s aggressive tone, interrupts. Kyle can be a bully. It’s one of the reasons his commercial construction business is so successful. “We’re going to prove that I was nowhere near the house when the guy says he signed the lease. And Gabriel’s going to have a judge issue an injunction to make him move out while it’s being settled.”
When Kyle looks at her directly—for the first time since he entered the room—his eyes are teasing.
“I hear you decked the poor son of a bitch. Nice work.”
“Daddy said ‘son of a bitch’!”
“Hadley.” The firmness of Diana’s voice shuts Hadley down but doesn’t stop her from smirking.
“Now Daddy has to put a dollar in the swear jar. We’re going to LEGOLAND when it’s full. There’s already a hundred and sixty-five dollars. But that’s mostly from Mommy. She says the s word a lot.”
“Hey, don’t be a tattletale.” Kimber playfully tickles Hadley in the side, making her giggle.
Gabriel clears his throat. He doesn’t like Kyle and has made his feelings plain to Kimber. “We’ll get her back into the house as soon as possible. Renters’ laws are a nightmare for the landlord, but it’s obvious that Kimber had no intention to rent out her house, and it will be simple enough to prove she wasn’t there. As far as I know there’s no paper trail, no correspondence besides the actual lease.”
“As far as you know?” Diana glances at Kimber then back at Gabriel. “What if there is?”
“There can’t be anything because I don’t know who in the he—” Kimber notices Hadley watching her carefully. “I don’t know who the guy is.”
Disappointed that Kimber didn’t curse, Hadley scoots back her chair and announces that she’s going outside to swing. Diana reminds her not to leave the backyard, and they watch her go. The atmosphere relaxes.
“How long do you think it will take, Gabriel?” Diana takes Hadley’s place at the table, automatically covering one of Kyle’s larger hands with one of hers. “I mean, Kimber, you’re welcome here as long as you need to stay. But he’s in your house. With all your things. He could steal your identity. Sell everything you own. It’s crazy.”
“We won’t let it get that far. Don’t worry.” Gabriel gives a grim smile, and his eyes slide from Diana’s face to Kimber’s. His use of the word “we” surprises Kimber. They haven’t been “we” in a very long time. She’s not sure if it’s significant or if she’s hearing something that isn’t there. “Kimber just needs to stay away from the house and deal with the guy as a legal matter.”
She stares back at him.
“That legal matter is probably putting his clothes in my dresser and drinking my wine. Showering in my shower.” She shudders at the image of Lance Wilson’s short hairs stuck to her clean shower walls.
Kyle crumples the empty wrapper of his second muffin into a ball and spins it in a circle on his plate. “Like the story says, ‘Somebody has been sleeping in my bed.’”
Chapter Eight
Diana and Hadley lead Kimber upstairs to the guest room to tuck her in. She settles her weekender on the bench at the foot of the bed, realizing that the only clothes she has to wear are the shorts and T-shirts she wore at the lake. As Diana closes the shades to block the daylight, Hadley positions Tinker Bell on the pile of pillows so the doll can watch over Kimber while she sleeps.
Kimber has never trusted Tinker Bell, who seems to be faithful only to boys. Plus, Tinker Bell’s a fairy, and in stories fairies use superstition and fear to manipulate humans. Kimber hates being manipulated.
With a hug and a “Sleep as long as you want” from Diana, and kisses from Hadley, they close the door, leaving her alone.
She takes ten minutes to check her email and cancel her appointments for the next couple of days. Then, for the first time in two years, she turns her phone off without a last check of her social media accounts before she closes her eyes to sleep. The bed’s flawless, pale yellow sheets are comfortable and seductive. Such sheets won’t tolerate sleeplessness or worry. Let us embrace you, hide you, touch and soothe you. Nothing else matters. She sleeps for four blissful, dreamless hours.
Her legs are stiff and her right arm numb when she wakes. Lying still, with one side of her face sunk into the fat feather pillow, she tries to recapture the spell of the cool sheets. But now they’re just wrinkled and don’t feel special at all. Opening one eye, she sees that the clock on the bedside table reads one o’clock in the afternoon. A flare of panic drives her to sit up, remembering the last twenty-four hours. She spent most of the previous night in jail, and there’s a stranger living in her house. It’s nothing she can fix with a phone call or a smile or even grunt work, which she doesn’t usually mind. Helplessness is suddenly the theme of her life, and she’s already tired of it.
She grabs her phone, her lifeline, the thing that comes before coffee, before using the bathroom, before moving from bed. When it finally blinks to life in the dimmed room, it spends the next thirty seconds vibrating with notifications.
Warily, she checks social media first. The pics from the lake, which she’s hashtagged #mysteriousgetaway and #lakeoftheozarks, are her most recent posts. No one has tagged her in a mug shot—thank God—or in a picture of her looking like an exhausted beachside refugee stumbling out of the jail and into the rainy morning. She’s not by any means a celebrity, but because she works for a big pop radio station and spends a lot of time at public events hand-holding clients, she knows people all over the city. And people love others’ misfortunes almost as much as they do cat videos, judging by the comments she’s read on stories about kidnappings, murders, cheating spouses, and celebrity train wrecks.
There’s a string of texts from Leeza Meyers, her thirty-one-year-old boss, and from Brianna, the sales staff assistant. Brianna always has Kimber’s back, covering for her if she can’t make a meeting and keeping her paperwork in order. Brianna just wants to know how she is. Leeza’s texts quickly escalate from a perfunctory mass message about the 9:30 a.m. staff meeting to asking Kimber if she’s coming in at all to an exclamation-mark-filled three lines saying she’s heard from one of the county crime reporters that Kimber, or someone with the same name, was arrested last night. What is going on, and is she okay? The question asking whether she’s okay rings hollow. Leeza is a fair-weather friend, and Kimber knows she would happily see her fired for any ridiculous reason, let alone her having committed an actual crime. Kimber’s ad accounts are valuable, obtained long before Leeza came on board, and she’d love to get her scarlet claws into them.
The last text is from Shaun, her ex-husband, who now shares their former house with his partner, Troy, whom she rather likes. Shaun works in the county tax office. Of course he heard she’d been arrested.
Shaun’s is the only text she doesn’t answer. She’ll call him, but not just yet.
There’s no message from Gabriel telling her
everything’s okay, that it was all a mistake and she’s not in trouble and there’s no longer a man calling himself Lance Wilson living in her house. She wants to close her eyes and wish it all away. Only thirty-some hours ago she woke up way too early on the sagging cabin bed—a bed fitted with rough, industrially bleached sheets—because thousands of birds were gabbling and singing outside the cabin’s moss-edged windows. Now she’s homeless and nearly naked, without so much as a decent skirt to wear to a job she forgot to call in to. She’s been arrested, and there’s a strange man living in her house who shows no sign of leaving. And on top of it all, the man’s accusing her of something, but she’s not sure what.
Oh, come on. Can’t you think of one little thing? I can.
Stop. Just stop.
“Did you think I’d never get out of bed again? Where’s Hadley?”
Diana smiles up from her laptop. In addition to raising Hadley, she’s always involved in one good-deed project or another. Her latest is a neglected village museum chronicling the lives of the region’s earliest French settlers.
“You must be starved. I ran out and got some of that frittata you like from the Little Corner Market.” She stands. “Let’s go heat it up.”
Kimber is starving. Unlike a lot of people, who let stress eat at them, she prefers to eat her stress. Diana puts the leek and asparagus frittata in front of her, with a ramekin of cut strawberries and blueberries nestled against it. The aroma of melted cheese is oddly reminiscent of the cheese sandwiches Kimber and her father used to make for each other. Emotion fills her throat, and she swallows hard.
“Oh, honey. Do you want to talk?” Diana puts a cup of hot coffee beside Kimber’s plate. “I don’t have to pick up Hadley from day camp for another couple of hours.”
“The shower helped a lot. I’ve got to do something, Di. I can’t stand this. What if I can’t get back into my house?”
“Kyle and I were talking about it last night. It’s unconscionable that the guy had you arrested. Are you sure he doesn’t think he rented it legitimately?”
Kimber freezes, the fork halfway between her mouth and plate. “You don’t think I’m lying, do you?”
Diana’s green eyes widen. “Wait. You know damn well I don’t think that! I just wonder if someone cheated him. That’s possible, isn’t it? You assume he’s out to get you for some reason, but maybe it’s someone else doing it. He said a woman who looks a lot like you rented it to him, right?”
“I guess it’s possible. But he didn’t need to have me arrested.” She doesn’t tell Diana that the man seems to know her. She can’t tell anyone that.
“That was ugly of him. I’m sorry.”
Kimber’s phone vibrates on the table. Leeza Meyers’s name and number come up, but she leaves the phone where it lies.
“You know that Kyle and I support you.” Diana covers Kimber’s hand with her delicate, slender one just as she covered Kyle’s earlier that morning. Her two-carat princess-cut engagement ring and diamond wedding band catch the afternoon sunlight, showering the opposite wall with rainbow confetti. “You can stay with us as long as you need to. You and Gabriel will get it straightened out.”
“You think I was right to get him involved? I messed him up. I feel like I shouldn’t have called him. There are a thousand other lawyers out there. It didn’t have to be him.”
Diana sighs and plucks a strawberry slice from the ramekin. As she chews, a tiny spot of red remains on her lip. “I think you were brilliant to get him involved. He wouldn’t be helping you if he didn’t want to.” She smiles. “Just last week you talked about calling him, remember? I can tell he definitely wants to help.”
Her smile is coy, and it makes Kimber uncomfortable. She doesn’t need the confusion of old emotions right now. The complications of a man who had, literally, bled because of her. But he does seem so much stronger. Determined. That he wanted her to stay at his apartment had surprised her. And she had been thinking of him.
She eats the rest of the frittata then leaves with Diana to run errands. After they pick up Hadley, Diana will drop her at Jenny’s house to retrieve the Mini. The sooner she gets herself together, the sooner she can get that lowlife out of her house.
Chapter Nine
Next step is to get your paperwork from the tax office to prove ownership. Let’s hope the county is reasonably up to date, which is no guarantee.” For the first few minutes of their call, Gabriel does all the talking. He’s been in touch with Officer Maby and her higher-ups on and off all day. No one seemed to know the next step for evicting Lance Wilson. They finally pitched Gabriel over to the sheriff’s office, which serves eviction warrants. “I have to have something to give the judge. You need to get copies of your receipts from the retreat and your house deed from your safe deposit box. Wait. Where are you now?”
Kimber looks out the front window of the Mini, which is warm from sitting all day in front of Jenny’s house. A dried splotch of purple, white, and black bird poop decorates the passenger side of the windshield.
“I’m just picking up my car.”
“You’re at your house?”
“How am I supposed to live my life without my car, exactly? Diana didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. Anyway, my car is in front of Jenny’s house, not mine.”
“Diana’s not a lawyer, and you need to get out of there right now. Please tell me you haven’t gone to the door. Next thing the guy will swear out a restraining order, and that’s going to look really bad. Dammit. Why are you doing this?”
Her house looks empty and quiet, as it would on any summer afternoon when she is supposed to be at work. But the strange bike that was on the back porch is now on the front porch. Lance Wilson has left the house since the previous night. Where did he go?
“Kimber. Are you listening?”
“I’m not going to do anything. I promise. What if he leaves? Can we get in the house and change the locks again?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Why do you always say that? I mean you’re Jewish. That’s hardly fair.”
“Stop changing the subject.” His voice softens as it always does when he’s trying to talk her into something. “You’re going to get the house back. Everything’s going to be okay. It’s hard, I know. But we’re going to fix this.”
She wants to believe him, but she has a sick, anxious feeling that he’s wrong. That there’s nothing he can do. That it’s up to her because Lance Wilson might not be just some random guy who thinks he can park himself in someone else’s house.
“You’re the best, Gabriel. I’m only going to talk to Jenny for five minutes to get some more details. She can keep an eye on what he’s up to. You know how she is. Five minutes, promise. Bye!” When she was a kid, hanging up the phone was often noisy because the clunky handset had to go back on the cradle. With a cell phone, there’s not even a click. She hopes Gabriel isn’t still talking, expecting her to respond.
Kimber sets her glass of achingly sweet iced tea on Jenny’s Formica kitchen table. A look of horror on her face, Jenny grabs the glass and slides a coaster beneath it. She doesn’t say anything but quickly wipes away the remaining faint ring of water with a dishcloth. The table has to be sixty or seventy years old, light gray with glimmering flecks of silver and red, and trimmed in chrome, like the chairs. Kimber knows several people who would pay Jenny a lot for the set, which is in perfect condition.
Despite Jenny’s tidiness, the whole house smells musty, sealed as it is against the heat. A window air conditioner hums in the living room, and there’s another sticking out of a second-floor window, but the air in the rest of the house is still and thick. Not hot, but not cool either.
“Would you like some cake? I got a nice chocolate ring at the Walmart yesterday.”
“No, thank you. Listen, can you remember what else Lance Wilson said to you? Not just about the lease but about himself. Where did he come from?”
Jenny sits and ladles two additional spoonfuls of sugar into her own gl
ass and stirs noisily.
“You know, he said he’s from Arizona. The first Mr. Tuttle and I thought of moving to Arizona, but then he wouldn’t. Lance stays up very late, you know. His lights stay on until well after two, and he plays the most god-awful loud music. If he keeps doing that, I’ll have to speak to him.”
Lance. As though they are old friends. His lights. He’s probably looking at porn on my desktop too.
“What about the locksmith? Did you see the locksmith?”
“Oh yes. I thought maybe you lost your keys or something and had to have the locks changed. I guess it seemed a little strange that you weren’t there to oversee it. But you do come and go a lot.” There’s judgment in her voice. Or maybe Jenny just can’t imagine where she goes or what she might be doing. She’s not a very worldly or active woman.
“Do you remember the name of the company? Did you go out to talk to them?” Kimber gives a weary sigh. “Oh, I wish you had called me on my cell.”
Jenny touches her unnaturally red wig. It’s shaped into a sixties bob, and the curled tips on either side of her face point to her chin like opposing commas. Kimber’s not sure if the steep slant to the bangs is a result of the wig resting unevenly on her head or if she’s been at them with scissors. Poor Mr. Tuttle often looks similarly disheveled because she trims his fur herself to save money.
“I’m no busybody. How could you think that of me? I’d no more go over to someone’s house and ask questions of strangers than I would shout at them from my window. I happened to be out with Mr. Tuttle. It’s not my business if you rent out your house.” She takes a sip of tea, but her gaze sweeps to the window just above the kitchen table. The window looking out onto Kimber’s driveway.
The Stranger Inside Page 4