The House Across The Street

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  “But Rachel, Richard has been by the house several times. He’s so sorry about that nurse. He understands how bad a mistake she was. Why can’t you just give him another chance? You guys were so good together. Can’t you find any forgiveness in your heart?”

  “You’re still doing it,” I pointed out. “Catie, if you and Brenna can’t stop harping about me getting back with Richard, I’m going to stop coming to our lunches. I mean it.” I found my hands on my hips as if driving my point home.

  “Okay.” She put on a pouty face. “I won’t take up for Richard anymore … if you’ll promise to at least consider forgiving him.”

  “Catie! Seriously, let it go. I’m done with Richard. I really, truly am. Now stop talking about him.”

  Her face fell to the floor. “Fine, okay. I’m sorry for the intrusion and I’ll let you get back to your client.”

  “Thank you for believing in me. Tell Brenna she owes you ten bucks.”

  “I will.” She smiled.

  After walking her to the door and waving goodbye, I turned around to the hairy guy seated at my dining room table and wondered what in the heck had I just gotten myself into.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jackson

  Rachel takes her friend to a room in the back of the house where she thinks they can speak freely. Good news for me. It’s a small house and I’m able to hear every word they say. Of course, I had to tiptoe into the kitchen to be close enough, but still, I’m getting an earful.

  When they wrap up their conversation, I sneak right back to my designated seat and look bored to tears when they pass back through. But on the inside, I am doing somersaults. I learn a couple of veritable important things with my eavesdropping. One, Rachel lied about having a client here. You can bet your boots I’ll be using that every chance I get. Secondly, Rachel wants a divorce. She’s done with her successful heart surgeon. I know what that means … a lonely bed at night. Women don’t realize it, but they get vulnerable after a separation. They start to wonder if they did the right thing … if they will ever meet someone else … or how they can make it on their own. It gets to them. And you know what happens? They end up desperate for human touch and before they know it, they’re in bed with some guy. In Rachel’s case, it will be me. Excited at my good fortune, I feel a little wiggle in my pants.

  Rachel closes the door and turns to glare at me. “Thanks for posing as my client. But now, after thinking more clearly, maybe you should ask the neighbors directly across from the Foster’s. I’ll bet they have a better vantage point.”

  I shake my head at her. “Now, surely you’re not reneging on our deal. I’d hate to tell your friend – Catie, wasn’t it – that she didn’t really win ten dollars. I’ll bet I can find her on Facebook and send her a message to let her know. I’d like to think we can avoid such an embarrassing situation.” See, I told you I’d use that to my advantage.

  “How did you hear us!?” she practically screams.

  I shrug and put on an innocent look. “This house is really small, and without any other noises going on, I guess the sound just traveled in here.” I fake a frown. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear. Your voice carries.”

  She looks like she wants to stomp her feet on the hardwoods and throw a hissy fit. “Fine, you can set up here to watch Logan Foster … but just for today.”

  “Oh no, it can’t be for just one day. Surveillance doesn’t work like that. I’ll have to scope the place for several da … weeks, maybe even a month.” I almost said days. Wouldn’t that have been stupid? “You need to be dedicated to a project if you want to catch a big, huge, potentially dangerous drug lord. I’m dedicated. I want to get this guy … don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course, I want you to catch your bad guy, but not from my house. I’ll let you stay one day, and then you’ll need to figure something else out.”

  “My goodness, I’ll barely have time to set up my equipment by then. What if they only go for drug inventory once a week, or once a month? Come on, you need to be amenable. Otherwise, I might as well put a sign in your yard telling everyone they can buy drugs across the street.” Okay, that was reaching, but dang it, I’d like to bang her ass for about a month, and then I’ll be more than willing to leave. By the way, I’m not a staying-type guy. I’m more the notch-in-a-bedpost guy. But Rachel’s extremely attractive and has a nice figure. I’m fairly sure I can tolerate her for about a month before I cut the cord and move on to the next girl. And if I tire of her before then, I’ll be outta here even sooner.

  She heaves a big, big sigh. “Okay, we’ll take things one day at a time, but that’s the best I’ll promise.” She sniffs the air. “And there’s no smoking in this house. You smell like an ashtray.”

  “I don’t smoke. That’s my roommate.” Veronica smokes like a train. I really need to get her gone.

  “Well, okay,” she acquiesces.

  Yippie I’m thinking to myself. “I’ll get my stuff.”

  I don’t give her time to balk. I’m out the door in a flash, fishing my keys from my pocket as I go. My car is far too old for a fob, so I jab the key into the trunk, jiggle it and lift the lid. Bending over and grabbing my gear as fast as possible, I hurry before Rachel decides to lock her door and refuses to let me back inside. Delicately I close the trunk to avoid my rear fender falling off and then I’m dancing back to the front door with a big, huge grin on my face.

  “Honey I’m home,” I smart off as I step back inside. She scrunches her brows together and gives me a hateful look.

  “You’ll have to set up over there,” she points to the only obvious place there is, which is the double windows in her dining room.

  “You betcha,” I agree, already piling my stuff on the table all over her files as I begin unpacking my telescope and tripod camera equipment.

  “Don’t move any of my paperwork around,” she warns in a high-pitched voice.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I assure her. Inadvertently, when I open my telescope case, it creates a little puff of air and one slip of paper wafts to the floor.

  “Oh my God,” she exclaims. “Weren’t you listening?”

  “Sorry, sorry,” I quickly apologize and grab up the paper. When I turn around, she’s right there.

  “Let me move my stuff completely to another room before you mess everything up.” She begins making crisscrossing stacks of the paperwork and bundling it in her arms.

  “I didn’t mean to,” I apologize again.

  “This is confidential client-related anyway,” she snips. “I need to move it away from probing eyes.” She gives me scornful look.

  And just for a silly moment, I get the impression Rachel doesn’t like me.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rachel

  That gorilla had only been here like five minutes and he’d already eavesdropped on my conversation with Catie, called me on a lie, moved in a bunch of equipment and messed with my client files. I didn’t like him, not one damned bit. The sooner I could get him out of here, the better. Yanking up my client’s tax documentation, I took everything to the file/copy room. I had a table against the back windows where I could spread everything out. It wasn’t convenient for me, simply because I had to go down the hall and to the room, instead of it being on the dining table, across from my desk. My workstation was in the living room of the old house so I could easily greet clients when they entered. It used to be my mom’s desk, and my dad’s office was set up in what is now my bedroom.

  While I was busy sorting the paperwork back into specific client stacks, Jackson poked his head in the doorway. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to uproot you. I won’t look at anything if you’d like to take it back in there.”

  “No, it’s fine. Really it is.” It wasn’t. I wanted him to leave. I liked things quiet and he was going to be a distraction. Even if he didn’t say a word, it would be awkward having him here only a few feet away from me. And this was tax season. I needed to be concentrating.

  “Do your parents st
ill work here?” he asked.

  “No, they’ve retired. I gave up my job at Thompson & Knight to take over my dad’s business. My parents bought a travel trailer and right now they’re in Yellowstone. My dad sent me a video this morning of Old Faithful erupting.” Why was I telling him this? It was none of his business.

  “Okay, good. I know I’m an inconvenience. I just didn’t want to displace the whole family operation.”

  I turned and glared at him, noting a devious smile on his face. “Yeah, better that’s it’s only me.”

  He sighed and his eyes looked sad. “I’ll stay out of your way. You’ll hardly know I’m here.” His attention turned to peering down the hallway. “Shit, that old lady’s coming over.” He ran like lightning and began moving his equipment into the room with me. “Tell her I’m your long-lost cousin and I’m staying with you for a few da … weeks, maybe even a month.” His expression took on a begging look. “Okay?”

  I frowned. “Fine, but this does not make me happy.”

  “Well I wouldn’t imagine it did, considering the soured face you’re giving me.”

  “Rachel … Rachel. Hello, hello. Is everything all right over here?” Mrs. Tuttle called out.

  This house was my operation of business so many clients simply walked in after a simple rap at the door. Mrs. Tuttle, having been friends with my mom for years and years, was aware this was an on-going workplace, so she always walked straight in and then made herself at home. Months ago, I had learned to lock the door when I was in my home, as opposed to my office.

  I sighed. “Yes, Mrs. Tuttle. I was just organizing some paperwork.” I popped out of the file/copy room while Jackson tried to make his tripod stand up. “What can I do for you?” I headed down the hall and met her about midway.

  “That guy is gone from his car. I thought he might have come in here and … and raped you … or killed you … or raped you and killed you. I thought I needed to check to see if you were okay.”

  “I’m fine.” The words were barely out of my mouth when Jackson’s footsteps came up behind me.

  “Hello, Mrs. Tuttle,” he said. “I’m Jackson Barnes.” He stuck his hand out in introduction and Mrs. Tuttle reluctantly accepted it. “I was parked out front, waiting for Rachel. I’m her cousin. She’s letting me stay here for a few days.”

  “Oh, is that so?” my thin-lipped nosy neighbor asked. “Her father’s side of the family, or her mother’s?”

  “Father’s,” I answered.

  And at the same time, Jackson said, “Mother’s.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “You idiot. Won’t you ever learn our family ancestry?” I grouched at Jackson and then turned my attention to Mrs. Tuttle. “Jackson is the son of Rose, my father’s sister.” Mrs. Tuttle was well-acquainted with my mother’s family. She’d know better. My father’s side of the family was from Oklahoma and my dad wasn’t a talker. In fact, while my mother spent billions of hours visiting with Mrs. Tuttle, my dad avoided her like the plague.

  Mrs. Tuttle narrowed her eyes at me. “Oh, are you down from Oklahoma?”

  “Yes, he is,” I answered for Jackson. “He lost his job and doesn’t have any money. I’ve agreed to help him out for a few days while he gets back on his feet.” I turned to Jackson. “Right, Jackson … just for a few days?”

  “Uh, well, I guess it depends on how long it takes me to get back on my feet … right cuz?” Then he turned his attention to Mrs. Tuttle. “In the meantime, I promise I won’t rape and kill her.”

  “Oh, oh, well, I wouldn’t think so,” Mrs. Tuttle stammered. “Well, I’ll leave you to get settled. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

  “Thank you for checking on me,” I said. “I’m sure my cousin will only be a very temporary guest.”

  As soon as Mrs. Tuttle left, Jackson turned his gaze to me. “Well, this is going to be confusing. What is Mrs. Tuttle going to think once you’ve fallen in love with me?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jackson

  Rachel does not smile at my comment about falling in love with me. In fact, she groans and gives me a disgruntled look. “Okay, okay, I’m taking my equipment back to the dining room and setting my stuff up.”

  She returns to spreading out her precious paperwork while I lug my equipment back to the other room. It’s not much. It’s just my high-powered telescope, a high-lens video camera with the capability of taking quality pictures, and finally, a decent pair of binoculars. There are a few other devices in the car, but this is what I’ll need for adequately spying on the house across the street.

  Positioning two tripods, each in front of the window, I then attach the telescope to one and the camera to the other. Later I’ll use the telescope in the backyard to show Rachel the stars. It’ll be when I make my first moves on her. She’s playing hard to get right now. But she’ll come around. I’ve found girls always do once they get a taste of how charming I can be.

  It isn’t long before I’m seated in a high-back, barley twist chair equal to the comfort of trying to relax on a bed of nails. Rachel comes back in, flips on a gas fireplace next to her desk and returns to her computer. Her fingers are flying across her keyboard, only stopping intermittently to glance at what I assume are 1099’s, W-2’s, K-1’s, or other financial documents. I know she’s a CPA and a bookkeeper from my Internet research, as well as her business card placed front and center on her desk. She is beyond intriguing as I watch her work. There is nothing going on across the street. So instead, my focus is primarily on her.

  “Don’t be staring at me,” she gripes when she catches me ogling her.

  “I wasn’t even looking at you,” I lie, when truthfully, she’s so amazingly beautiful, I can’t stop looking at her. I can’t wait to nail her ass. A chuckle must be stifled, thinking she’d die if she knew the only reason for my presence was because I was after her. Even realizing I am a letch and she is far out of my league, I have no qualms with proceeding forward as planned, because I’m that kind of guy.

  “Could’ve fooled me,” she snidely remarks when my gaze is still fixated on her.

  I fake a reason for eyeballing her by asking, “When was the last time you saw Logan Foster?”

  She goes into thought mode, pressing her lips together and looking upward. It’s cute. She’s cute. I want to make a move on her already, but I know she’ll snap my head off if I do. She is like a rabid dog, and she’s on home turf. I’ll have to approach her with the greatest of caution. If I don’t, she will kick my ass to the curb, and I will have blown my chance.

  “I saw him over there yesterday evening. He and his friend were sitting on the front porch.”

  “A friend? Do you know the friend’s name?”

  “No, sorry, but he’s always over there. He’s probably living there with Logan.”

  “How did Logan come to live across the street from you?”

  “He’s squatting in Imogene Foster’s house. He’s her grandson. Logan placed her in a rehabilitation center after she had an accident. Later he transferred her to an assisted living facility. In the meantime, he wasted no time moving into her home.”

  “What about Logan’s parents?”

  “About three years ago, Imogene’s son, Larry, and his wife, Sharon, moved to California. They only come around a few times a year. Logan has always hung around his grandmother with his hand held out.”

  “What does Logan look like?” Of course, I already have a profile on him, but I want to talk to her.

  “He’s a little over six feet with light brown hair and chestnut eyes. He has an eagle tattoo on his right bicep.”

  “What does he drive?” I know this too, but since she’s actually conversing with me, I don’t want it to stop.

  “A black Toyota Prius, older model,” Rachel says. “Don’t you already have a description? Haven’t you done any research?”

  She gives me a derisive look, like I’m a horrible cop. “Not really,” I lie. “You see, we have several undercovers working t
his case. This is my first day on the assignment. I’m still familiarizing myself with the case notes.” This is mostly the truth. The other guys are detectives, not undercovers, but who’s splitting hairs?

  “If there are several other undercovers working this case, why do you have to be here?”

  “I’m going to be the inside man. I’ll be the one to initiate a drug buy from Logan. The others will act as my backup. It’s routine. The department doesn’t send a guy in alone. It would be too risky.”

  “Oh, I see.” She looks disappointed at not being able to shove me out of her house. “Well go to work,” she urges and turns back to her computer.

  While she taps away at her keyboard, I stare at nothing out the window, bored beyond belief. I’m confident that neither Logan nor his friend are at home. I wonder if Logan is in the area doing handyman work. I consider doing a canvass of the area, looking for his vehicle. But, truthfully, I’d rather be getting to know Rachel.

  A couple of hours later I am finally rewarded when a dark gray Honda Accord pulls up to the front of the house and parks along the curb. A dark-haired guy nearing six-foot crawls out. “Rachel, is this the friend?” I urge her to take a look.

  She makes a tick mark on her paper and rises from her chair. She peers out the living room window on her side instead of coming near me. Bummer. “Yes, that’s the guy. He’s been over there for the last few months.”

  “Thank you,” I say to her as she returns to her chair and picks right back up with her work. She nods and my heart melts. I’m breaking the barrier between us. Soon enough she will be begging me to make love to her. Drawing my eyes away from her and back to the roommate, I watch as he enters the house. Because he parked along the street, I can’t make out his license plate. I’ll have to fetch something from my car to retrieve the information. “I need something from my car,” I report to Rachel.