UNAWARE: A Suspense Novel

by Susan P. Baker

  “Boy, I didn’t know Mrs. H. was that old,” Meredith said, thumbing through the folders. She stopped, hovering over them, glancing past her shoulder at Dena.

  “What’re you doing?” Dena asked.

  Meredith combed past several folders at one time.

  “What’s that? What are you hiding?” She reached around Meredith and pushed her arm away. Digging out an armful of files, she stood and thumbed through them. What Meredith had tried to conceal were files with REBECCA written across them in large, bold, faded red letters. Rebecca had been Dena’s mother’s name. She wiped away the dust to make out anything else written on the folder. Yellowed, peeling plastic tape that had once sealed the files fell away under her probing fingers.

  “You find Mrs. H.’s file?” Meredith asked.

  “Don’t try to buffalo me,” Dena said. “This is my mother’s, isn’t it? You knew it was here, didn’t you?”

  Meredith took the other files out of Dena’s hands. “I guess.”

  Ellen walked over and looked at the files Dena clutched in both hands. “What’s going on?”

  “Is there some reason my mother has files here? What’s in them, her will? What else, something Lucas doesn’t want me to see? Is that why he suggested you help out today?” Dena opened the top folder to look through it.

  A door slammed in the distance. “You hear that?” Ellen’s voice was unnaturally loud.

  A tremor snaked through Dena’s body. She glanced at Meredith. “It’s nothing.” There was no other lettering on the folders. She looked back in the Permafile box and found a letter-sized paper box sealed shut with silver duct tape. The name REBECCA stood out in large letters. Why would her father have a box with her mother’s name on it in the law office? If it was her mother.

  Meredith stood with the other files in her hands, staring down at the box.

  “Let’s get out of here, Dena,” Ellen said, shaking her arm. “You can take that home with you and look at it later. I’m going to go ahead and take this box of trash down to the dumpster.”

  Just finding something unexpected with her mother’s name emblazoned on it unnerved Dena. She didn’t answer Ellen.

  “You want to see if you can find Mrs. Heslep’s file, Meredith?”

  Meredith nodded. She dug through the files in the rest of the box. “Here they are.”

  “Let’s go then,” Dena said. She felt drained.

  “Mrs. Armstrong,” Meredith said. “I’m sorry.”

  Dena shook her head. “Get the shredder, will you?”

  “I was just doing what Mr. Barlow asked me to.”

  “Okay. Can you just get the shredder? Roll it to the door where those men can find it easily when they come to get it.”

  Ellen was already by the entrance. “Dena?”

  “I’m coming.” She put the Rebecca file and box and her purse into one of the larger empty boxes with the Heslep file and headed for the stairs. Though stunned, a sense of anticipation, a pleasurable sensation swirled in her stomach. When she got a minute to herself, she’d see what she’d found. Even if the files contained just her mother’s will and some other old papers, they would be a nice addition to the small collection of things she had to remember her mother by.

  “I was just doing what Mr. Barlow asked.” Meredith’s voice was full of apology.

  “I heard you the first time. Don’t forget the shredder.” Dena couldn’t think of anything else to say to the younger woman without yelling. “We’ll talk about it some other time.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ALAN SELLERS

  The Monday after he agreed to do the job, Sellers broke into the lawyer’s house. Feeling stifled by the humidity, he was in a bad mood before ever starting out. As soon as he got the whole thing over with, he could go on with his life. He might move out of Galveston. He wanted to get away from the Gulf coast. Maybe he’d move down to Mexico, hang out on the beach at Puerta Vallerta.

  The husband had filled him in on some important details—like their address and how to get into the house and that she had a gun and where she kept it. At approximately 9:30 a.m., he left the Cadillac two blocks away on a street similar to theirs, a suburban area where most everyone was at work during the day.

  By the time he reached their house, he had long ago broken a sweat. He strolled right up to the door, poked the doorbell, and waited. There shouldn’t be anyone home, but he had to be sure. If anyone spotted him as they drove by, he would look like he had business there. He rang the doorbell a second time. No one answered.

  He twisted the front door knob. Locked, as expected. A car approached, so he pushed the doorbell again. After the car passed, he ran to the rear of the house and through the gate of the high cedar fence. He pulled on his gloves and approached a narrow, chest-high window with a small outdoor serving bar next to the back door. It had no blinds. There were plants on the windowsill behind the sink. The refrigerator and stove were opposite. The window gave way. Relief poured out of him.

  The husband had offered him a key, but no way would he get caught with a key. First of all, he didn’t plan on getting caught. Secondly, if he was going to make it look like a burglary gone bad, then he had to case the place and figure out a way to get in. The husband had told him about the crappy windows that needed replacing, and that the kitchen one was broke. Usually, a dowel was in the track, but the husband would remove it.

  Unable to boost himself through the window, Sellers spotted a picnic table near the fence, which he could climb on. He ran over, grabbed one end of it, and heard a growl. Hair rose on the back of his neck. The husband hadn’t said anything about a dog.

  Dropping the table, he eased around. Nothing was there. There was another low growl followed by a loud bark from the other side of the fence. Laughing with relief, Sellers dragged the picnic table across the backyard and climbed through the window, dropping to the floor on the other side of the sink. He stood for a moment listening for the sound of a person. The cool air in the house felt good after the summer heat. The only sound was the whirr of the refrigerator.

  To his right stood a small dining area with a table, six chairs, and a glassed-in cabinet. Between the kitchen and the dining area, a door with a square window in it led to the garage. He opened it, examining the locking mechanisms: a deadbolt and a push-button. Inside the garage, he found the washer and dryer, some boxes piled on a floor-to-ceiling shelf against one wall, and a large closet stuffed with tools and tool boxes stacked one on top of another. He had found his hiding place.

  He’d slip into the garage when the door was open and no one was around. He’d hide in the tool room until everyone went to bed and then walk right into the house. The deadbolt lock would be his only problem, the other lock he could open with a credit card or a screwdriver. He’d definitely bring a screwdriver.

  He hoped they never used the deadbolt. Most people with an electric garage door opener thought they were safe. Spotting the controls just inside the entrance to the garage, he nodded. The Armstrongs were like most people.

  All he needed to do now was locate the jewelry to take with him the night he finished her off so it would look like a burglary. Soon, very soon, the bitch would get what she deserved, and he’d get a lot of money.

  There was some felt-wrapped silverware in the china cabinet, but the bedroom was where the good stuff would be. He would have to remember to bring a bag to put the stuff in.

  Now, about his way out. How should he leave that night, go back through the kitchen window like he would do today or go out through the garage? The garage. He could hit the control box on his way out and jump over the sensors and no one would ever be sure how he left.

  He checked out the living room and the den. There was a wedding picture sitting on top of a big screen television. The lawyer and her loving husband. Next to it was another, an older framed photograph. A man, a woman, and a little girl standing against a fake backdrop. The girl could have been the l
awyer when she was little. He picked up the third photograph, an eight-by-ten color close-up of two kids. The little boy as a toddler held a baby on his lap. Something about the boy seemed familiar. A shadow crossed over him and left as quickly as it came.

  He surveyed the remainder of the room. A corner wet bar. A painting of a shrimp boat and some seagulls. A small built-in bookcase held a wooden box with some fabric and flowers glued it, a letter, and an old photograph behind glass. A sofa, easy chair, and an ancient-looking rocker.

  He opened two doors in the hall and discovered a small bathroom and a coat closet.

  Their bedroom smelled like the lawyer—was it vanilla? Her perfume bottles lined the dresser. A queen-size bed and night tables with lamps on them stood against the far wall. In one corner, a flat screen TV sat on a stand next to a chest of drawers and on the other side, a chair and a lamp sat on a table in one corner. What would it be like to be that rich?

  In one closet were suits, pants, and shoes, lined up like in a department store. In fact, it gave off the feeling of being in a clothing store, almost too neat and orderly. He should have asked for more money.

  Feeling sorry for himself, he closed the door and opened the other, an even deeper walk-in with women’s clothes, just as full as her husband’s, but not so neat. His mouth settled into a grim line. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. They had so much.

  Why’d the husband want her out of the way? Not that Sellers gave a shit. He’d been hired to do it. He would do it for pleasure, for himself, if not for other people who didn’t have so much. He didn’t give a shit about other people either. But they had so much. What else could the husband want?

  He closed the door and turned out the light. Feeling panicky—a fluttering in his stomach—he forced out a breath. No one would be home any time soon. He had until the afternoon.

  On the dresser stood the large jewelry box the husband had told him about. Fumbling with its tiny drawers, he opened them one-by-one, finding rows of earrings, among them a pair of pearls, a pair that looked like tiny diamonds, and some black heart-shaped ones. The second drawer held something wrapped in tissue. Unwrapping it, he found baby teeth. What a joke. The next drawer held some high school and college rings, one with a small diamond. He opened a little glass door and found a string of pearls, two heavy gold chains, and three strands of colored beads. In a drawer on the bottom, behind some costume jewelry, he found what the husband had told him to look for. A heavy gold cuff bracelet, a large solitaire diamond ring, a diamond tennis bracelet, diamond earrings of at least a carat each, and a key. Bingo.

  In one of the bedside tables, Sellers found some books, old pay stubs, a dead outmoded cell phone, and other junk. In the small notebook he always carried, Sellers jotted down the husband’s work address from the pay stubs, for insurance, in case he ever had to get into contact with him. In case he needed more information on the husband.

  Skirting around the end of the bed, he reached the other bedside table and the locked top drawer the husband had told him about. He fit the key into it. Within easy reach lay a handgun, a small black revolver with a brown grip. Even though he’d been told about it, a jolt of electricity ran up his arm when he picked it up. “Son-of-a-bitch.” Everything was beginning to feel real. He opened the gun’s cylinder. A five shot, loaded with four rounds.

  Why would she have a gun? The husband had told him about it, but now that he saw it and touched it and examined it, he couldn’t help but wonder if something else was going on that he didn’t, and probably wouldn’t, know about.

  All he had to do was get into the house while no one was home and get that key out of her jewelry box, and he’d be home free. Only if she had some reason to open the drawer would she know something was wrong.

  He was ready to clear out. He had to get away, had to think. Moving fast, he wiped off the gun’s grip, relocked the drawer, and put the key back. He checked out the remainder of the house, memorizing which were the kids’ rooms, then hurried to the kitchen. He climbed through the window and leaned back in to run the water in the sink to flush away his footprint. He put the plants back in place and closed the window. Dragging the picnic table back near the fence started the neighbors’ dog barking again. Stuffing his gloves into his back pocket, he peered around the side of the house and, not seeing anyone, crept up to the front of the house and walked casually back to his father’s car.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  DENA

  Barefoot and dressed in short, white cotton shorts and an old tee shirt, Dena stood peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink when Zack arrived home. Things had been going smoothly recently, at least when he’d been home, which wasn’t often. No harsh words, but a pat on the arm here and there. The hint of the possibility of more in the future. Did she want that? She thought she’d made up her mind, but when he touched her kindly, when he didn’t give her the evil eye or speak meanly to her, she felt ambivalent.

  Now he came through the garage and into the kitchen, standing close behind her, slipping an arm around her waist. Feeling an adrenaline spike, Dena laughed and turned off the faucet, turning to look at him. They hadn’t made love in eons. Was he leading up to that?

  “To what do I owe this sudden display of affection?” She dried her hands.

  “I’ve got some news.”

  He was so close she could feel the warmth of his body. “Really? What’s up?”

  “You remember that three-week trip to Japan I told you about that I said I might not have to go on? I’m going to have to go, but not for the whole three weeks.” He leaned back against the stove and picked up the dishtowel she’d used to dry her hands and began twisting it. “I’ll only be gone for a few days, a week at the longest. Henry has to go to a conference in California and, as soon as it’s over, he’ll fly to Japan and take my place.”

  Dena tried to act like she was pleased. She had wanted to use that time for her own plans, things like getting the cleanout of the warehouse finished. Their prospects had made an offer on the building. She and Lucas had accepted. All they had to do was clean out the building and ink the deal.

  “Well, that’s great, I guess. Unless you were looking forward to seeing Japan.”

  “I thought you’d be happy about it.”

  “Sure, and the kids will be really excited. They miss you so much when you’re gone.”

  “I’ve got some other news, as well.”

  “There’s more?” Now she was feeling apprehensive. She hadn’t shared with him that she was going to open up her own law office. And she hadn’t shared with Luke that she’d been planning on filing for divorce. Even though the two men weren’t crazy about each other, they did talk every once in a while. She hoped whatever Zack had to tell her wouldn’t mess up her plans.

  “The company is hiring a new guy. He’ll start next month. It’s going to be his job to do most of the traveling.”

  “That’s wonderful. So you won’t be gone anymore?” She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. But at least with his being gone for a few days to Japan, she’d have time to think about what she really wanted to do where he was concerned.

  “I won’t have to travel very often. Once or twice a year at the most.”

  “The kids will be tickled to death.” She wondered whether he thought they could mend their relationship if he were home more. Did she want that?

  “I’m happy about it, too. I was getting tired of being gone all the time. This trip to Japan will be the last one for a long time,” he said. “Want a drink?” He started for the bar.

  She shook her head. “What made old Dillman decide to hire someone to travel?”

  “I made the suggestion a few months ago at an office conference. I proposed he hire a single person and make it clear it would be the new hire’s job to go on all the trips that required only one person.” He poured himself three fingers of bourbon and took a swallow. “After I suggested it, some of the other guys, Henry and them, chimed in.
I’m really surprised that Dillman even seriously considered it.”

  “Me, too, after all this time. He never seemed to think you guys had much of a life outside of the company.”

  “Yeah, I thought so, too.” He kissed her on the cheek.

  She tried not to breathe the same air lest she feel nauseated by the smell. “Let me finish the potatoes and get dinner ready.” She turned on the water and picked up the potato peeler again.

  “I’m going to go work in the yard,” he said and then yelled for the kids.

  Dena’s stomach churned. Zack and the kids went out into the back yard where they pulled weeds and picked some vegetables for a salad. Seeing the three of them together made her think about how hard it would be to split them up. He glanced her way and caught her watching him and waved. She was about to take the wooden dowel out of the window track and ask him if he wanted anything when she noticed it lying on the sill parallel to the window. That was odd. Why would someone have removed it and not put it back? Shrugging, she slid the window open. “You guys need anything out there?”

  “A bottle of water,” he said.

  “Hi, Mama,” Paul called. Melissa waved at her.

  Later, at dinner, Zack said, “I’ve been thinking I’ll fix up the house a little this summer.”

  “Can me help, Daddy?” Paul looked up at his father with his big round eyes.

  “May I help,” Dena corrected him. “What brought that on?”

  Zack reached out and rumpled the little boy’s bushy hair and answered Dena. “I just thought it was high time I did some of the things I’ve been putting off, like patching the leak in the hose and fixing the lock on the kitchen window so you can take that stick out of there. You know, things like that.”

  “Great,” Dena said. “Can we paper the kids’ bathroom while we’re at it? I saw some beautiful wallpaper with zoo animals on it the other day.”