Paper-Thin Walls

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  “Like looking both ways before crossing the street,” he reasoned.

  “Exactly,” I told him in a more mellowed voice. “Let’s make sure it’s Papa.”

  After peering through the tiny eyelet, I spotted my father’s gray hair and thick, black-rimmed glasses and sighed in relief. Unbolting the lock mechanism and sliding the chain, I tugged open my sticky door and he stepped inside.

  “Papa,” Adam shouted, running to hug him.

  “Hey, sport,” my dad addressed, scooping him up in his arms. After hugs and kisses, he sent Adam to fetch his bag which I had packed for him. As soon as Adam was out of earshot, my dad turned his attention to me. “Your mother wants to know what you’re up to. She thinks you and your neighbor are planning to spy on Ryan tonight.”

  Funny, I hadn’t even thought of doing that. Maybe I should. Though Sarah had told me Ryan hadn’t been seeing Shannon Lowry and only spoke of me, she couldn’t possibly know what Ryan did when he thought no one was watching.

  “Yes, I’m planning a spy maneuver.” Looky there, I didn’t even lie.

  “Well, you be careful,” he cautioned. Satisfied with my answer, he eyeballed my apartment. “It smells nicer in here, but it sure is stark.”

  There wasn’t a single thing on the walls and the place was completely void of knickknacks. My TV sitting on the floor and the loveseat did nothing to fill the living space, not to mention my card table and folding chairs weren’t exactly inviting.

  “I’m going this weekend to search for a better place. Making this place homey seems hardly worth the effort.”

  My dad was still critiquing my living quarters when his eyes landed on the two vases of red roses. The second beautiful dozen had arrived late this afternoon.

  “Did Ryan send you those flowers, or do you already have a suitor?”

  “Dad! Of course, they’re from Ryan. The roses are his way of telling me he wants to get back together.”

  My dad momentarily held his gaze on the floral arrangements, then he turned to face me. “Then it might be simpler if you stayed here until you decided what you and Ryan are going to do. Don’t commit yourself to a one-year lease if you two are considering reconciling. Stay here until you’ve figured out your plans for the future.”

  It was quite shocking to hear my dad suggest my remaining in this hellhole. But truthfully, I had considered giving Ryan a second chance. I nodded in agreement. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Just get on with making a decision. And whatever you do, don’t invite your mother over here,” he added with a chuckle.

  I smiled in understanding. “Thanks for taking Adam.”

  “I hope you find the answers you’re searching for tonight,” he said in a hushed voice after seeing Adam running down the hall, his Paw Patrol roll-along bouncing along with him. “You got Trumpet with you?”

  “He’s in my Paw Patrol,” Adam assured him, nodding at his tiny suitcase.

  “Good deal. Then let’s go. We’ll have about an hour to play with the trains before it’s your bedtime.”

  After giving Adam a big hug and kiss and thanking my dad, I watched them disappear down the stairs. Once back inside my apartment, I checked my doors and windows to make sure they were still locked. From the bedroom window, facing the west, it looked as if a bad storm was rolling in. A dark thick wall of clouds masked an invisible sun as it slipped beneath the horizon, turning the evening into foreboding darkness.

  For the next hour, I sat on the loveseat, wringing my hands and waiting for Bill to come home. A stirring of unease and anxiousness had my gut twisted into a knot. As soon as I heard his door slam, my ears were tuned in, listening to his heavy boots as they pounded across the floor. A few moments later, the sound of running water came from the shower. This was different from his normal routine. Generally, Kenna had dinner on the table to avoid being beaten. Then after Bill ate, he took his shower. But I supposed with Kenna being dead, she wasn’t there to cook for him.

  He must’ve managed a sandwich and a beer before parking himself in front of the TV. Another thirty minutes later, I heard the grunting sounds he made when he worked out with his barbells. But what I didn’t hear was him on the phone to Kenna, inquiring as to where she was. Either he already knew, or he knew she wouldn’t answer. Or both.

  After another forty-five minutes passed, I began to wonder if the detective was going to show up. Did it take time before one was assigned to the case? Perhaps the intake officer hadn’t considered my complaint worthy of the manhours. Had he labeled me a crackpot and tossed my report into the nearest trashcan?

  Just as I was considering the possibility of not having been taken seriously, a sharp rap sounded against Bill’s door. “Open up. This is the Fort Worth Police, Detective Division.” Bill instantly muted the TV as if he thought he could pretend no one was at home. The knock came again, louder this time. “Police. This is Detective Tanner Sutton. I know you’re in there. Please open the door.”

  “Coming,” Bill growled, not sounding the least bit pleased. “Hold your damned horses,” he barked.

  Next came unlocking the deadbolt and the metallic sound from the chain dropping against the door, then the creaking of the door as it opened. “What can I help you with, Detective?” Bill charmingly inquired a moment later.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions. May I come in?” It sounded as if the detective didn’t wait for an invite. Instead, I heard movement as if he’d barged on in.

  “What’s this about?” Bill asked, in what I perceived as fake innocence.

  “Your wife … Kenna, is it? I’d like to speak with her.”

  “My wife?” Bill questioned in a surprised tone. “Why on earth would you want to speak to my wife. She’s certainly done nothing wrong.”

  “How about you? Have you done anything wrong?” the detective threw back at him.

  “No, of course not. Again, why are you asking about Kenna?”

  “Someone has filed a report that she’s missing. I’d like to clear this matter up. Is she here?”

  “No, not at the moment.”

  “I’d like to take a look around the place.”

  “Go right ahead. Like I said, my wife isn’t here. She’s pregnant and has been experiencing a great deal of morning sickness.”

  Liar, he didn’t even know she was pregnant until last night.

  “Yes, well, where is she?” the detective asked. Footsteps went across the living room and into the kitchen. I hurried to my bedroom, keeping up with the voices as they trailed to the back of the apartment.

  “I took her to my mother’s. She’s offered to look after Kenna for a few days … just until my wife feels better.”

  “How far along is she?” the detective asked as the sound of the sliding door to the closet jerked along the track.

  “Uh … we’re not sure at this point. She hasn’t been to a doctor yet. That empty spot is where her suitcase was. Like I said, she’s at my mother’s.”

  She’s about two months along, you asshole. You’d know if you’d bothered to ask her.

  “What’s your wife’s cell number?”

  “Kenna doesn’t have a cell phone.”

  “Where is she again?” the detective asked as the noises moved between the bathroom and back toward the front of the house. Keeping up with them, I skedaddled back to the living room.

  “My mother’s,” Bill answered over the sound of the detective rummaging through the kitchen pantry.

  “You work out, I see,” the detective noted in what sounded like an inspection of the barbells.

  “I’ve entered a wrestling contest. I’m lifting weights to build up my strength.”

  “You on steroids? I’ve heard that stuff can make you angry. Did you get into an argument with your wife and accidentally kill her? It happens, you know. Accidents.”

  “No, and no. My wife is perfectly fine. I’d never hit a woman … especially one who’s pregnant.”

  LIAR!!! AND LIAR!!!

&n
bsp; “Fine then, I need your mother’s name and contact information.”

  “Is that really necessary? I’ve told you where my wife is.” Bill paused as if pondering the situation. “Who reported my wife missing?”

  The detective ignored his question. “I need your mother’s name and contact information. We need to speak with your wife to make sure she’s perfectly okay.”

  “I’ll give you my mother’s phone number. You can give her a call and she can put Kenna on the phone.”

  “Okay, what’s her number?”

  As soon as Bill rattled off the digits, I jotted the number down on a pad.

  It sounded as if the detective was making the call on the spot. “What’s your mother’s name?”

  “Irena Simpson.”

  A moment passed. “Hello, who am I speaking with?”

  “This is Irena. Who is this?”

  Thank goodness he had her on speakerphone. Though her voice was soft, I could still make out what she was saying.

  “This is Detective Tanner Sutton with the Fort Worth Police Department. Ma’am do you know Bill Simpson?”

  “Why, of course. Bill’s my son. What’s this about?”

  “There’s been a missing person report filed on Kenna Simpson. Do you know of her whereabouts?”

  “Yes, she’s right here with me.”

  My heart skipped a thousand beats. Was Kenna with Bill’s mother? Had I jumped to conclusions and rocked the boat for no apparent reason?

  “I’d like to speak with her, please.”

  “Gosh, do I have to wake her? She’s been deathly sick … pregnancy,” she added in explanation. “The poor thing can’t eat and can’t sleep. Now that she’s finally resting, it seems a terrible shame to roust her.”

  How convenient. I was back to thinking Kenna had been murdered.

  “Okay, ma’am, I understand. Just have her call me as soon as she’s awake.”

  “Yes, of course, I’ll be glad to.”

  The detective provided his number, which I also made note of.

  “While I’ve got you on the phone, give me your address.”

  “My address?” Bill’s mother asked, sounding rather shocked. “Why do you need that?”

  “To complete my report,” the detective replied, though I wondered if a red flag had gone off in his head and he was downplaying his inquiry. Hopefully, he was planning a face-to-face interview.

  “Oh well, okay. I live at 4286 Sycamore. That’s down in Hillsboro … south of Fort Worth.”

  I quickly jotted that info alongside my other notes.

  “Have Mrs. Simpson give me a call as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, I certainly will,” she agreed.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” the detective said in closing.

  “Satisfied?” Bill said with a grunt.

  “For now,” the detective responded. “See that your wife gives me a call.”

  A few seconds later the door opened, then closed and it sounded as if the detective had left. I waited on pins and needles to see what Bill did next.

  Chapter Thirty

  Hailey

  Nothing. Bill did nothing. I expected him to immediately call his mother. Or for his mother to call him. Or for Kenna to awaken and give him a call. Something. Perhaps the plan had already been put into place and his mother was prepared to cover for him. Or was Kenna truly at his mother’s? I wanted to know. I had to know.

  For long moments, I contemplated dialing Bill’s mother’s number and having her roust Kenna, assuming that was humanly possible. At one point, I had the phone in my hand and the number punched in but for the last digit. Then I thought better of it. If I presented myself as a concerned neighbor of Kenna’s and it got back to Bill, he’d probably kill me. Likewise, if I faked being a detective to his mother, I’d probably be arrested for impersonating a police officer. After working over both scenarios, it became clear; direct contact with the enemy would land me in hot water. My spying operation needed to be more covert.

  Around ten o’clock, Bill turned the TV up unusually loud, and I wondered if he might possibly be on the phone with his mother. For sure it wasn’t Kenna, otherwise why increase the volume? The loudness infuriated me. I couldn’t hear anything but the sound of some live wrestling match on a sport’s channel, or possibly it was prerecorded.

  After about five minutes the decibel level decreased, which only served to reinforce my belief that he had phoned his mother. I’d bet a hefty sum, they were discussing “someone” having reported Kenna as being missing. To be precise, I had reported her as having been murdered. But when the detective softened it to “missing,” I felt it boded much better for me. Bill would most certainly conclude I was behind the report. If he believed I only thought Kenna was missing, as opposed to her being dead, it might increase my chances for an extended life expectancy.

  My own TV was on in the background in a weak attempt at appearing normal in my everyday routine. It wouldn’t have been unusual for my TV or the music to have been turned up to prevent Adam from hearing Bill and Kenna’s constant fighting. If it were too quiet in my abode, Bill might think I was listening through the walls … which I was.

  When the weather came on, the meteorologist warned about a storm moving in from the west. I hated storms and cringed when he announced, “The metroplex will be under a severe thunderstorm warning from eleven p.m. until three a.m. Hail and strong winds can be expected.”

  Already flashes of lightning were reflecting off the dining room window. I hunted through an unpacked box of items I had brought from the house to find a flashlight. The battery was low, only providing a minimum of light, but with my smartphone, it’d be better than nothing if the electricity went out.

  As soon as the sports concluded, Bill made sounds of turning in for the night. I decided to do the same. After removing my makeup and applying a thick layer of moisturizer, I brushed my teeth, switched into my pajamas and climbed into bed.

  Usually when Bill hit the hay, he quickly fell asleep, sending out a loud snore. But tonight, something was keeping him awake. Guilty conscious? Or did he miss Kenna lying next to him?

  Reflecting on Bill’s story of taking his wife to his mother’s, I considered Bill’s truck having been in the parking lot when I was forced to leave for work this morning. There would have been a window of opportunity that Bill could have taken Kenna down to Hillsboro before I came back during my lunchbreak. Hillsboro was only about and an hour and a half south of Fort Worth. The question was, did he? Or was it more likely the bump in the middle of the night was more accurately him killing her? There was no way to know for sure whether Kenna was alive inside their apartment this morning, or whether Bill had taken her dead body out during the late hours of the night.

  Or, could he have possible stored her dead body in the dungeon, as Adam thought of the basement? As I laid in bed, the thought plagued me. After a good twenty minutes of wondering, I slipped on a robe and some house shoes, grabbed up the flashlight and my cell phone. With my keys in hand, I locked the door behind me and ventured into the bowels of the apartment complex.

  If I thought the place was scary during the day, I had no idea what I was in for during the gloom of night. It was pitch black down the hallway and I couldn’t find a light switch anywhere. My flashlight barely projected a tiny glow and the light on my phone wasn’t adequate either. My legs felt wobbly as I slowly ventured down the long, dank, dark passageway and crept past the storage lockers. Rats skittered in every direction, making squeaking noises as they ran for cover. One ran across my foot, and I let out a yelp.

  With each slow step, thunder pounded overhead, and the wind howled violently through an open vent. My heart raced at an alarming rate. Passing by the drip from one of the pipes, I proceeded forward, unsure of where I was headed or what I was looking for.

  My breathing was heavy as I approached the door to the mechanical room. Peering inside and shining my light sources around, my eyes went first to the boiler, then to the
furnace. The boiler was used to heat water for the complex and the furnace heated the place. Bill could have disposed of her body in either one. But how would I know? It wasn’t like I knew how to inspect the boiler for a floating body or sift through the furnace to look for charred bone fragments.

  Just then the flashlight died out, leaving my phone as the only light source. A loud reverberation came from the back section of the room and then the furnace kicked on. A roll of thunder shook the whole building. Both caused me to jump out of my skin.

  Standing at the doorway, I decided not to enter the room. It was too dark and too scary and the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end. My instincts told me to get out now. Quickly closing the door behind me, I hurried back toward the exit. After a few feet down the hallway, a noise caught my attention. Whirling around and peering back toward the mechanical room door, a shadow danced across the hallway in front of me and loomed in the distance. My imagination told me it was Bill, and he was coming to get me. I had no idea what it really was, nor was I sticking around to find out. My feet and my brain told me to get out before I passed out.

  As I flew down the hallway, the light from the cell phone bounced all over the place. When I reached the elevator and saw it was open and waiting for me, I said a thank you to God and jumped on. After beating the heck out of the number TWO, the door slowly closed, and the box clanked along to the second floor.

  As soon as the doors parted, I poked my head out and looked around for Bill, expecting him to be waiting for me. When I was only met with another blinding flash of lightning, I bounded for my door and stabbed the key into the hole with my shaking hands.

  Safely back inside my apartment, I locked the door and then did a thorough inspection of doors, windows, closets, and underneath the bed before climbing back in where I waited for my heart to regain a normal rhythm.