“Our state has some issues with drug abuse. Unfortunately, it seems to start in junior high school. Kids overdosing on opioids.”
“That appears to be a national problem among adults as well.” Ellie sighed.
“Yes, apparently kids steal their parents’ prescriptions, but what’s worse is that someone is making bootlegged pills, so who knows what they’re taking.”
“Colleen, please try to calm down,” Ellie urged. “You don’t know what the circumstances were. Maybe he was just going for a joyride. Kids do that. Not that I know a whole lot about kids, but . . .”
“I guess I’m just frazzled,” Colleen confessed. “All the legal stuff with Mitchel and worrying about Jackson. Now I have a juvenile delinquent moving across the street.”
“I know this has been a very upsetting time for you, but try not to jump to any conclusions.” Ellie could hear the panic in Colleen’s voice.
“You’re right.” Colleen’s anxiety seemed to have eased somewhat. “I guess we’ll find out sooner or later.”
“And you may be pleasantly surprised,” Ellie said, offering more encouragement.
“Thanks, Ellie. You’ve been a real help.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You listened,” Colleen said. “I don’t have a whole lot of people I can talk to. My mother is on one of her ‘I told you so’ kicks. I can’t speak to Mitchel about any of this, and my mother-in-law, well, who knows what kind of mood she might be in.”
“She’s pretty tough, eh?” Ellie knew little or nothing about Vivian Haywood except that she was a widow and lived on a farm.
“You have no idea. She blames the world for all her suffering.”
“Many people do.” Ellie knew all too well what that was like. Not that she blamed anyone for what had happened to her except herself, but she had dealt with enough people to understand that blaming someone else is often much easier than taking responsibility. It was a national epidemic, along with stupidity and partisanship.
“Although Jackson told me that Vivian was in a great mood yesterday. She was smiling and singing. I don’t think I ever heard that woman sing a note. Never mind smiling.” She gave a little chuckle.
“People can change.” That was something she had hoped would happen with Rick when his father pretty much threw him out on his ass. “But they have to want to change. And even then, wanting doesn’t mean doing. People have to do the work.”
“You are so right, Ellie.”
“Maybe she’s had an epiphany of some sort,” Ellie joked.
“I cannot imagine what that could have been. But Jackson was simply delighted about her new attitude.”
“So he had a good day?” Ellie asked, trying not to pry.
“He did. He told me he got a little weepy when his grandmother dropped Mitchel off at his brother’s, but he was excited to tell me all about the burgers, movie, ice cream, and bowling.”
“Sounds exhausting.” Ellie laughed lightly.
“It must have been. I didn’t have to coax him to go to bed. But he woke up in the middle of the night with a nightmare.”
“Well, that’s not good.”
“That’s probably why he conked out on the swing,” Colleen added. “By the way, your yard is absolutely stunning.”
“Thank you. Hector has done an incredible job.” Ellie wished she could go out and enjoy it, but for now she had to be satisfied with looking at it from the windows.
“Seriously. He’s got a lot of talent,” Colleen said.
“Yes, he’s quite the computer whiz, too. But you probably know that. He’s won a few science awards.”
“Very smart kid. And a particularly good one. His family is lovely, too.”
“They are. His mother sent an invitation for me to join them for dinner, but as you have already guessed, I don’t leave the house.” Ellie knew that might open a can of worms for unwelcome questions, but Colleen didn’t push the issue. “Instead, she sent over a wonderful Cuban dish. It was marvelous, a real treat for someone whose cooking skills are as rudimentary as mine.” Ellie remembered how much she had enjoyed that meal.
“Did you know that Hector’s father is a musician? Not professionally, but his guitar playing would blow you away. He and some of his friends play at local events to help raise money for various groups. It’s always a lot of fun. You should come to one of them.” Colleen stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Colleen was embarrassed that she had overstepped.
“It’s OK. Really. You were caught up in the moment,” Ellie reassured her. “Perhaps one day.”
“Well, I’ve already taken up too much of your time. Thank you for talking me down from the ledge.” Colleen was bringing the conversation to a close. She was afraid she might say something out of line again.
“No problem, Colleen. Glad I could help. Call if you need to talk. I’m not going anywhere.” Ellie actually laughed at that last remark.
“Thanks again.” Colleen hung up. She looked for Marge Stiles’s phone number. She wanted to get the name of her new neighbors. Maybe Officer Pedone could give her some information without violating some law. While juvenile records are generally sealed, it was still possible that a story about the incident had appeared in a newspaper or somewhere online.
Chapter Twenty-one
Andy wasn’t sure if he was happy about the house next door being sold and having to get to know new neighbors. It had been vacant for almost a year, and he had gotten used to the quiet. The woman on his left never left her house, so that was also a plus. At least it was as far as he was concerned.
He shuffled to the kitchen, easing past the piles of newspapers. He had to walk sideways to get from one room to another. He was beginning to think that maybe he should call someone to help him go through his things. But he had no idea what was in the house. He couldn’t see anything over the piles of newspapers. He knew there was a vast collection of silver in the cherry dining-room cabinet, but he hadn’t seen the front of the cabinet in, well, he couldn’t remember when.
He boiled a cup of water in his microwave, the only appliance, other than the refrigerator, that worked. He tossed in some instant coffee and milk. Once he had finished the poor excuse for a cup of coffee, he hobbled back to his bedroom to get dressed. He knew he should probably get dressed before he made his coffee, but then he would have to fill in the time he’d save from making the trip back. That was another problem: he had too much free time on his hands despite knowing that he didn’t really have much time at all. It was depressing.
He took out a freshly pressed, button-down shirt and slacks. That was another part of his routine—going to the dry cleaner’s every other week. His house might have been an unsightly mess, but he refused to be one. No one would ever think he was a hoarder based on the way he presented himself in public. When it came to dressing himself, he always looked quite dashing.
Before he had retired and opened his antiques shop, Andy had worked for a fine department store in St. Louis. He started as a tailor for the rich women who would come in for fittings. It was back in the day, when they would come in by appointment and sit in a lounge area as models came out, one by one, to show off the latest styles. Once the customer picked out the style she wanted, Andy would either tailor the dress to fit or make one from the vast selection of fabric the store kept in its tailoring shop.
At age sixty-five, when his eyesight was failing, he decided to leave the world of fashion, move to a small town, and open an antiques shop in a space that he rented for practically nothing. With all of the connections he had made working at the department store, he had a nice list of people who would become his clientele. They would venture out to the country on weekends and visit his shop, browsing the big and small finds Andy had accumulated during the early part of the week. Between Social Security and his pension, he was able to live quite comfortably in his modest two-bedroom house in Hibbing. The additional income from the antiques shop was gravy. It was an extended hobby
that kept him busy and afforded him the opportunity to interact with people. When he turned eighty, fifteen years after starting in the antiques business, friends convinced him that it was time to give up the shop. He could no longer travel long distances to scout for furniture, and keeping the shop organized was a chore.
Some of the neighbors helped him with a garage sale the likes of which the town had rarely seen. It was maybe not the biggest, but it was surely one that offered the finest items, not old rusty lawn chairs and broken lawn mowers. But even with the number of antiques he had sold, there were more that had not sold. He and his friend Stuart moved the remaining items into Andy’s house and garage, thinking that one day they would go through it all, do an inventory, and try to sell it as one big lot. But as time went on, Andy started to feel more and more attached to the things he had so lovingly collected. So he kept putting off the task. In addition to that, ever since he had retired, he had gotten into the habit of keeping every piece of paper that came through the mail, even junk mail.
The exterior of his house was similar to the way he dressed—simple but impeccable. The landscaping company where Hector worked was in charge of mowing his lawn and trimming the trees. Colleen would stop by and water the few flowers he had growing in containers on his front porch. She wouldn’t take money, so he would rummage around the house, trying to find things he thought she might like. But as the months went by, it became more difficult for him to navigate from one room to another, let alone find something buried under the piles.
Neighbors would check in on him if they didn’t see his car leave the driveway, which wasn’t often. He was determined not to waste away in the heap of stuff he had collected.
He hoped his new neighbors were as kind and considerate as the other families on the block. There weren’t many of them, and it was a dead-end street, so it was important that they all get along or keep themselves locked up in their houses like his neighbor. Andy had no ill will toward the woman, just curiosity about her circumstances.
He knew next to nothing about her other than that she had a dog and a cat. The dog’s name was Buddy, and the cat was Percy. He never saw Percy, but Buddy spent a lot of time in the yard. He was a well-behaved pooch and only barked when a strange car or unfamiliar people came down the street. Buddy was almost everyone’s watchdog.
His owner seemed nice enough. She’d leave candy for the kids on Halloween and modestly decorated her house for the holidays. Andy knew it was actually Hector doing the labor, but Andy appreciated the idea that the woman wanted to be part of the neighborhood, if only in spirit. She also made sure that her yard was immaculate. Andy liked that she was letting Jackson play in her yard. Clearly, she wasn’t one of those crazy-hermit types. Or maybe she was. From his point of view, she seemed rather normal except for that one little thing about never leaving the house. Yes, Andy decided she was a good neighbor, even if an invisible one.
There were dozens of mirrors hung all over the house, but there was only one he could actually see himself in. All the others were behind some pile of something or other. Andy put on his blue blazer and inserted a four-square handkerchief in the pocket. He was pleased with his attire. Picking up his cane, he wiggled through the maze and found his way to the front door. Checking that he had his keys, he ambled toward his car. He thought he might visit his car collection and trade the Cadillac for one of the others. Maybe the light blue Lincoln Continental Mark V. It was spring, and it seemed fitting to have something a little more colorful.
He donned his cap and slowly meandered toward the car. He gingerly folded himself into the driver’s seat, turned over the engine, put the car in gear, and carefully pulled out of the driveway. As he made his way to the end of the block, he saw Colleen and Jackson heading to school. He would have offered them a lift, but he didn’t want to be responsible if he got into a fender bender. His luck had been with him for a long time now. No scrapes, scratches, tickets, or accidents. He wasn’t necessarily a superstitious person, but he didn’t want to press his luck. As he passed them, he honked the horn and waved. They both waved back, and Andy proceeded to the stop sign at the end of the street. He waited so long that Colleen and Jackson caught up to him. He rolled down his window. “Good morning! And how are we today?”
“We’re just fine, Mr. Robertson. How are you doing?” Colleen asked.
“I’m as good as can be.”
“Did you hear about the new neighbors?” Jackson asked.
“I did,” Andy replied. “I also heard there will be two more children on the block. More fun for you, Jackson?”
“I sure hope so, Mr. Robertson,” Jackson said.
“And I suppose you’ll have the little girl in your class?” he said to Colleen.
“Probably, but no one has spoken to me yet.”
“Well, I think it will be nice to have some new people around. Not that I don’t appreciate all of you!” Andy always made sure not to offend anyone. “We can use a little excitement.”
Then he realized that Colleen had probably had her fill of excitement.
“I’m sure you mean the good kind?” Colleen flashed him a smile.
“Well, of course. We never want to confuse excitement with agitation.” Andy gave her a little salute.
“No, we don’t.” She smiled again.
Chapter Twenty-two
Jeanne and Frank Chadwick lived on the other side of Colleen and Jackson. Frank was a retired military officer and Jeanne a retired nurse. Frank had been in Special Ops, and Jeanne had worked in the emergency room. Both had served their country and communities for twenty years.
Frank and Jeanne had met during a blood drive Jeanne was supervising. After dating for a year, they decided to get married. Frank was constantly being deployed, to parts both known and unknown. Depending on how long he would be gone, Jeanne would often follow and get a job in a local hospital. Nurses were always a hot commodity, and she never had trouble finding work.
After several years, they decided it was time to put down permanent roots, so they moved to Hibbing, and Frank took a job at Fort Leonard Wood, while Jeanne went to work at the local hospital. When Jeanne was twenty-nine, she knew her biological clock was ticking, so they decided to have a child. It was a boy, and they named him James after their favorite folk-music hero, James Taylor.
They lived a normal midwestern life on Birchwood Lane.
James played football in high school and went on to the University of Missouri, where he studied architecture. After graduation, he married an engineering major, Ophelia Larson. They were both interested in urban planning. Unfortunately, neither Columbia, where the University of Missouri was located, nor Hibbing afforded them many opportunities in their chosen field, so they packed up and moved to Arizona, where they were offered positions with the city of Tucson.
Jeanne was very unhappy with their decision to move. “But it’s hot out there!” she exclaimed when James and Ophelia told them about their plans.
In unison, they replied, “But it’s a dry heat.”
Neither Jeanne nor Frank were thrilled with the idea. They thought James and Ophelia could find work somewhere close. Somewhere within a few hours, at least. But Tucson wasn’t a hop, skip, and a jump. It was a good twenty-two hours, or a bad twenty-five, on the road, depending on construction.
They were both turning sixty-two and felt it was time to start doing things they enjoyed. They planned trips to visit family and to travel to places they actually wanted to visit.
After being gone a month, they were due back from Arizona. It was a good thing they had not been around the night the police came for Mitchel. Frank would have been on Mitchel’s butt in a heartbeat. Even though the houses were over a hundred feet apart, Mitchel’s cursing and shouting would have brought Frank over with both barrels loaded.
Despite his background in the military, not to mention his imposing size and demeanor, Frank was actually a likable, easygoing guy. Still, one did not want to piss him off. Don’t let him see
someone bullying anyone or being cruel to another human being or an animal. Jeanne was also feisty in her own way.
Both had seen enough death over the years, which gave them an appreciation of life and living. If they weren’t gallivanting about, they would host cocktail parties in the winter and barbecues in the summer. Frank was the supreme grill master, and Jeanne’s potato salad was matchless. Guests would bring side dishes, beer, wine, or someone’s latest alcohol concoction. Hector’s family would arrive with special Cuban delights, and his father would provide Afro-Cuban and salsa music. It was always a festive occasion.
Jeanne would joke that it was her potato salad that brought so many guests, while Frank would boast it was his special barbecue sauce. But most of their guests agreed that it was Emilio Cordoba’s swinging group of musicians that drew the crowd.
Ellie would watch from her loft as people arrived, carrying their hostess gifts and food. But leave it to Jeanne to fix a plate for her and send it over via Hector, who would leave it on the back porch.
Ellie would follow up with a thank-you note that Hector would deliver to the Chadwicks. Everyone on the block accepted Ellie’s absence from all activity without judging her. She didn’t come across as strange or weird other than the fact that she never left her house. People would wave in her direction, never sure if she even saw them. It became very normal for everyone who lived on the block.
A week before Frank and Jeanne were to return, Jeanne would give Colleen a heads-up. While they were away, Colleen would take in their mail, and Mitchel would keep an eye on the house. Once a week, he would run the faucets, and after a big rain, he’d check for leaks. Of course, Mitchel’s role ended after the domestic disturbance.
Colleen was glad the Chadwicks would be home soon, although she was distraught that she was going to have to explain what had happened the night Mitchel had gone bonkers. She knew that Frank would blow a gasket and Jeanne would have a fit. But she also knew that the information had better come from her, rather than anyone else. It wasn’t as if Andy would say anything, and Ellie wasn’t going to blab it to anyone. Who would she tell who didn’t already know? Frank was very fond of the Haywood family, especially Colleen and Jackson. He wouldn’t think twice about hunting Mitchel down and giving him what-for, though he wouldn’t lay a hand on him unless Mitchel threw the first punch. That was highly unlikely if Mitchel knew what was good for him. No, Frank wouldn’t touch Mitchel. Instead, he would put the fear of God in him.
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