The House Across The Street

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

I nodded in agreement. “After the moving fiasco, I decided to be one of those unsociable neighbors. But it was barely three days later when Mr. Dawson popped over to introduce himself to me. I was carrying in groceries at the time and suddenly he came up from behind me, telling me he was my new neighbor. I did the polite thing and introduced myself and welcomed him to the neighborhood.” Thinking back, I remembered an awkward lull in our conversation following simple introductions and I had stretched out the conversation by asking him how he liked the area so far.

  “Have you made friends with him?” Mrs. Phillips asked. “I’d hate to think we were talking bad about someone you like.”

  “No,” I said shaking my head, remembering how he had simply glazed over my casual conversation and started urging me to buy insurance from him. “He went on and on about what a good deal he could get me on any type of insurance … life, house, contents, my car, even medical, you name it. He told me he was my guy. And, even though I was carrying in groceries, he offered to come inside to discuss several of his plans.”

  “Oh my God,” Mr. Phillips groaned. “Snake oil … I knew it.”

  “What did you tell him?” Mrs. Phillips asked with piqued curiosity.

  I shrugged. “I just told him I was busy right then and perhaps another time would be better.”

  “He didn’t care about meeting you at all,” Mrs. Phillips pointed out. “He was just looking to sign you up on a policy.”

  My head bobbed, recalling I had felt exactly like that, and once again he had managed to rub me the wrong way. “I almost pushed back and asked if he needed any bookkeeping services or his tax return prepared.”

  Mr. Phillips erupted into a jolly laugh. “My girl, you should have.”

  “Yeah, I chickened out though,” I admitted. “Instead, I grabbed my frozen dinners and told him I needed to get them inside before they started thawing.”

  We visited for a while longer and then Mr. Phillips wrote me a check, as each of my other clients had. I thanked him and left. On my way to the grocery store, I remembered, after my lunch with Brenna and Catie, having spotted Mr. Dawson’s dark gray SUV parked in someone’s driveway. I knew it was his because the bumper sticker on the back of his car bearing the words: Please don’t hit me unless you’re insured. There had been other times when I had noticed him out and about in the neighborhood, going from door to door with his pushy attitude about buying insurance. It didn’t sit well with me, especially since this neighborhood was predominately filled with elderly folks who tended to be hard of hearing and extremely vulnerable.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Rachel

  My grocery cart was overflowing to the point I could barely push it. After sending Jackson a text and not receiving an answer, and not knowing what he liked, I bought all kinds of stuff. For dinner tonight, I selected a roasted chicken, along with baking potatoes and a salad. Before I could carry my first load inside, Jackson appeared to assist me.

  “Here, let me get it,” he helpfully demanded.

  “Why aren’t you asleep?” I asked, wondering how he functioned on so little rest.

  “Undercover … there’s never a good time to sleep,” he explained. “I always envision my target is making his moves the moment I close my eyes.”

  I shook my head and rolled my eyes at him. “Well, you can’t think straight without refreshing your mind and body. You’ll end up with poor judgment and mistakes will happen.”

  He chuckled. “You sound just like my mom.”

  I smiled. “Your mom is brilliant then.”

  “She is,” he said with a grin. “I’ll introduce you sometime and you two can gang up on me and dole out all kinds of good advice.”

  I laughed. “Sounds like fun.”

  We each grabbed a load of groceries and headed up the porch steps. Jackson opened the front door, holding it for me as we carried the bags inside. While I began putting everything away, Jackson went for the remaining items. Once the bags were inside, he helped me with putting items away.

  “Bacon,” he yelped when he came to the package. “My God Rachel, you must really love me … or you’re trying to kill me.”

  I giggled. “Maybe I’m just trying to feed you.”

  He picked up the package and waved it at me. “Nah, I think you love me.” His face broke into a wide grin, showing off a row of brilliantly white teeth, despite his unruly mustache.

  “Well, I guess you’re growing on me,” I admitted. Truthfully, I had been lonely for a long, long time. Admittedly, having Jackson around was nice.

  “See, you love me,” he argued.

  “I said you were growing on me … like skin cancer,” I retorted.

  “Ouch, I’m hurt.” He grabbed a hand over his heart and fake pouted.

  “Anything across the street?” I asked having heard enough about whether I loved Jackson or not. For goodness’ sake, we’d only met a few days ago. I wasn’t so easily enamored by an ape-man, even though he had the most beautiful pools of blue eyes.

  “While there’s been movement inside the house, no one has ventured out. Frankly, they’re boring the hell out of me.”

  “Have you touched base with the detectives on Eugene Smith?”

  He grimaced. “Yes, but there haven’t been any developments there either.”

  I frowned. “Well, I picked up an extra roasted chicken to take to Mrs. Smith. If you don’t mind, I’d like to run her meal down to her and then I’ll take a serving over to Mrs. Jenkins.”

  “I don’t mind at all. I’ll be right here, watching nothing out the window.”

  Pulling my coat together and buttoning it, I hurried down the street, carrying the container of hot roasted chicken. It had been a while since I’d eaten, and the smell was causing my stomach to grumble. After knocking on the door, Julia, Mrs. Smith’s daughter, answered.

  “Julia,” I said, recognizing her dark black hair and pale blue eyes even though we hadn’t seen each other in several years. “I’m Rachel from down the street.”

  “Rachel, of course I remember you. Come in.”

  “I brought you a chicken.” As I followed her into the kitchen, I saw the counters were covered with pies, cakes and cookies.

  “Thank you so much,” she said graciously. “All of the neighbors have been so generous. We have casseroles, fried chicken, potato salad, mac and cheese, beans…” She paused. “Well it’s to the point I can’t even remember everything now.” She opened the fridge and I saw containers filling every available space. She had to work at finding a spot for the chicken, which I had hoped they would eat while it was still sizzling. But at least I was one of the generous neighbors.

  Mrs. Smith and the police liaison were seated at the table. I nodded to the officer.

  “Mrs. Smith, have you heard any word yet?” It was an awkward question, but I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “No … but I guess no news, is good news.” Her face was splotchy, and her eyes looked red and tired. There were three empty Kleenex boxes on the table, and she had a handful of tissues clenched in her hand. “It’s … it’s just so awful.”

  “I understand,” I sympathized, simultaneously taking a seat next to her and gripping her frail, wrinkled hand. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you and your family.”

  “We just want answers,” Julia added, joining our conversation as she slumped into an empty chair at the end of the table.

  The conversation was stressful and so I stayed for what I considered an appropriate amount of time. “Well, I have company and need to get back.”

  “Oh, who is there?” Mrs. Smith asked.

  “Uh … my cousin from Oklahoma is staying for a few days. He’s from my dad’s side of the family. You wouldn’t know him.”

  “Oh, well okay,” she conceded. “Thank you for dropping by.”

  Julia walked me to the door. While we were standing in her living room, I looked around at the recliner, front and center to the TV, the vacancy tugging hard at my heartstrin
gs. “Julia, can I ask you something personal? You don’t have to answer me.”

  “What is it, Rachel?”

  “I heard Mr. Smith took out a life insurance policy. Do you know who the beneficiary might be?” I hated myself for asking. But what if Julia, the only daughter was the beneficiary? How awful would it be if Julia had lured her mother into coming to their house to look after the kids while she and her husband supposedly went to a tradeshow, when in reality they had come here and killed her father? Yes, my thoughts were in a deep and dark place. But it wouldn’t be the first time someone in a family killed another family member for the insurance money.

  “Life insurance?” Her face took on a puzzled look. “No, I don’t think my father would’ve purchased a life insurance policy. At his age, the premiums would’ve been beyond their budget.” She paused. “No, he wouldn’t have. He gripes all the time about the house and car insurance bills. I just can’t imagine him paying for more insurance.”

  I sighed. “It must’ve been a misunderstanding. I’m sure my information is wrong.”

  On my walk home, I rehashed my conversation with Mr. Phillips. He was certainly under the impression Mr. Smith had purchased a life insurance policy. Was he wrong? Or was Julia lying?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Rachel

  After microwaving the potatoes and tossing a salad, Jackson and I portioned the chicken onto three plates. After taking Mrs. Jenkins her meal, I hurried back so Jackson and I could eat together. Between bites, I told him about the insurance policy. “Mr. Phillips seemed certain about Mr. Smith taking a policy out. But Julia said he wouldn’t have.”

  Jackson shrugged and juiced up his potato with more butter. “It’s certainly worth looking into. But bear in mind, Julia may not have known about the policy. Or, alternatively, Mr. Smith may have been contemplating getting a policy and after hearing Mr. Phillips’ take on it, he may have changed his mind.”

  “I couldn’t bring myself to inquire about it in front of Mrs. Smith, but she might have known if he did.”

  “I’ll contact the detectives. They will have asked these types of questions and I’ll let you know.” He paused to take in a bite of salad. “I’ll ask about the daughter and her husband too. Maybe there’s a way to check about this tradeshow, or even if they’re having financial problems.”

  I nodded. “Thank you. I’d just like to know what happened to him.”

  Enjoying each other’s company, we talked casually until our dinner was complete.

  “Another tasty meal,” Jackson complimented as soon as he began scrubbing the plates.

  “Well, it wasn’t anything I can claim to have cooked,” I pointed out.

  “Then it’s the thought that counts, because I really do appreciate it.”

  I smiled, thinking it was nice having someone to dine with. He helped with the clean up too, which was also nice.

  “I’m going to give Schultz a call and ask about insurance policies,” he told me once we were through in the kitchen. A moment later, he talked into his phone. “Hey, it’s me,” he said to Detective Schultz. While he told him about Mr. Phillips’ conversation with Mr. Smith, he paced around the room, finally coming to a stop in the doorway, one hand propped against the frame, the other holding the phone to his ear. “Well shoot,” he said after a while. “I thought maybe there might be something to it.” He paused while Detective Schultz said something. “Okay. Thanks, and goodnight.”

  He frowned. “No insurance and the daughter and son are doing well financially. It looks like Mr. Phillips may have discouraged the policy.”

  “It’s the sleazebag across the street supposedly pushing the idea.” I told him all about my experiences with Jarrod Dawson.

  “I’m going to look into him. If he’s strong-arming people by using scare tactics, I can file a complaint with the Texas Department of Insurance. Speaking generally, a person should be wary of agents who contact you, especially in person, and then use high-pressure tactics and offer low-term payments to appeal to one’s emotions. It’s an even stronger offense if it involves fraud against seniors.”

  “Most of the folks in this neighborhood are barely eking by. I’d hate to think that jerk conned them into buying something when they’re already pinching their pennies.”

  “Well, at least it doesn’t appear it has anything to do with Mr. Smith’s disappearance.”

  “I guess that’s good news. It would be harder on Mrs. Smith if she found out her own daughter was involved in her husband’s likely murder.”

  “True,” he said, turning off the dining room lights. “Do you mind if I dim the living room?”

  “Turn them off,” I suggested. “I can work using the little lamp at my desk.” I hadn’t worked much today since I had been out and about. And, not only was this tax season, I managed the financial books for several companies and handled their payroll. The next payday was fast approaching, and I needed to get busy. Closing the living room curtains, I took a seat at my computer and began inputting data.

  “Oh, holy shit,” Jackson exclaimed, grabbing his equipment and running for the pantry. “Mrs. Tuttle is coming over.”

  “This late?” I questioned. Mrs. Tuttle generally limited her visits to working hours.

  Uncharacteristically she knocked, which surprised the heck out of me. “Rachel,” she called out from the porch side of my front door. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Coming,” I yelled back, giving Jackson time to hide his electronics. He nodded an all clear to me and I opened the door.

  “Thank goodness you’re back home. I’ve watched for your car all day. Then I saw you go down to Lottie’s. Then I saw you go over to Margaret’s. You must’ve come back while I was eating supper.”

  For a moment I felt bad about not having taken her some chicken. Mrs. Tuttle was probably better than an alarm system and I rarely considered her as a benefit. “What’s wrong?” I asked, knowing it must be something … it always was.

  “Hello, Jackson,” she said as he came back in through the kitchen.

  “Evening, Mrs. Tuttle,” he responded with a tilt of his head.

  “How’s the job hunting going?”

  “I’ve applied for a position with the Fort Worth Police Department. Hopefully, they’ll consider me.”

  “Jackson,” I said, giving him a weird look, not understanding why he wouldn’t have alluded to putting in an application anywhere, other than where he already worked.

  “Oh, are you a police officer?”

  Standing behind Mrs. Tuttle, I rolled my whole head at Jackson, thinking he was opening his mouth too wide about his real job. He smiled. “Not yet. But if I could get my foot in the door, even in a clerical position, it might be a start.”

  “Well, good luck to you.” She bit at her lip and then couldn’t help herself. “You might think about shaving and cutting your hair. You know, most officers are clean-cut. It might help you in the long run.”

  Jackson grinned. “Thank you, Mrs. Tuttle. I’ll certainly take your wise advice into consideration.”

  If I rolled my eyes again, they’d probably fall out. “Mrs. Tuttle did you want something?”

  “Yes, yes.” She pushed past Jackson, motioning for me to follow. “Let’s talk in the back.”

  Together we clomped down the hall to my bedroom where I turned and looked at her. She shoved my door closed and stepped in close to me. “You’re not going to believe this, but last night Jarrod Dawson raised up his garage and it woke me again.” She let her eyes grow wide. “I heard a heavy thud again and a lot of grunting and groaning and what sounded like cussing. A few minutes later, the garage door went up, then down. Then, about an hour later, it went up again, and then down again.” She placed a hand on her hip. “What the heck do you make of it?” She paused for a millisecond. “And don’t even suggest he bought another recliner.”

  I backed up a few steps and sat on my bed. She did the same. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anything.” I paused fo
r a moment. “What time did the garage door first go up?”

  “It was shortly after 12:30, because I put my glasses on and looked. I’m just guessing when it went back up because I was too sleepy to put on my spectacles. But it seemed about an hour or so later.” She glared at me. “So, what was it?”

  “The grunting, groaning and cussing … was it more than one voice?”

  “I don’t know. It was too muffled through the wall. But the thud was loud, I can tell you that.” She pinched her brows together. “So, what was it?” she repeated.

  “Maybe he had to get a new refrigerator and then he hauled the old one off?”

  She rolled her eyes. “At that hour of the night! Rachel, you need to put on your thinking cap.”

  I had an idea rolling around in my head, but it was something I needed to discuss with Jackson. “Can I think on it overnight?” I posed.

  “I suppose,” she said reluctantly. “But you already know there isn’t a good answer.”

  I nodded. “Don’t talk to Mr. Dawson,” I warned.

  “Yeah, I’ll keep my mouth shut for now.” What a miracle that would be.

  After walking her to my front door and telling her goodnight, I watched her cross the street and we waved to each other when she arrived at her doorstep.

  “What was the discussion about?” Jackson grilled the moment I closed the door.

  “Let me run a theory by you,” I said, taking a seat across the table from him where he had rolled my dad’s chair up.

  “What if David didn’t get in his car last night, but instead walked over to Jarrod Dawson’s house? Then, let’s just say there was a dead body in … oh maybe a freezer, and they hauled it out and went and dumped it somewhere.”

  Jackson’s mouth fell open. “My God, you’ve got to be kidding me?”

  “I wish I was … but I don’t think I am.” I told him about Mrs. Tuttle first hearing the noises last Monday … the same day Eugene Smith disappeared. Then I told him about the sounds she heard last night.

  “Jesus.” Jackson was quite for a long time. “It really fits doesn’t it?”