The House Across The Street

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  Before I had gone to bed tonight, Jackson had hugged me, tenderly wrapping his arms around me. Unable to maintain control, I heard myself sigh into his chest and I had melted into the warmth of his embrace. It felt good and warm and comforting and I didn’t want him to let go. I kept my head buried in his chest, afraid if I looked up, I’d kiss him. Stupid, stupid me, thinking I must be crazy to expect Jackson genuinely cared for me. Yes, he’d teased a few times about romantic innuendos. Even after he’d only been here a few hours, he’d joked about how confusing it would be when Mrs. Tuttle realized I was in love with my cousin. Last night, he wisecracked about us going on a date. It all meant nothing, and I had quickly dispelled his ridiculous insinuations each time.

  So why did I enjoy his hug so much and why did this house seem so unbearably empty? I wasn’t in love with Jackson. I must only be needy. Maybe I simply wanted to get laid. No strings attached. Jackson seemed like the type willing to accommodate my desires. He’d bragged many times about being God’s gift to women. Maybe he’d be willing to have a fling with me, just to satisfy my longings, of course.

  Unable to sleep and anxious about what was going on, I pushed up from the bed, placed my feet into my bunny slippers and walked down the dark hallway to the dining room windows. Peering into subdued nothingness, everything appeared normal, except Jackson’s, Rob’s, Logan’s and David’s vehicles were all missing. My gaze went over to Mrs. Tuttle’s house, then to Mr. Dawson’s, then to Mrs. Jenkins. Everything was dark, except for the normal lights generally left on.

  Then a flash of light caught my eye in Mr. Dawson’s house when a small lamp came on in his living room. Using Jackson’s binoculars, I watched him pacing with his phone attached to his ear. He looked angry, giving someone hell whenever they apparently answered. His traipsing brought him to the front window where he glared across at my house. Though my interior was dark, and I didn’t think he could see me, instinctively, I jerked away. Standing back a few steps, I watched as he kept his eyes peeled on my small home. Surely, he was just peeking out his window and wasn’t literally monitoring my residence. Even so, I felt every hair on my arms standing up.

  A few moments later, he placed the phone on a table beside his couch and walked back toward what I knew would be his kitchen. Though I had never been in his unit, I suspected it had the same layout as Mrs. Jenkins and Mrs. Tuttle’s. Several moments later, he emerged, flipped off the lamp and strode toward the hallway.

  Unease took over every emotion, feeling like he was watching me from his dark front room. Alone, I felt as vulnerable as I had when Richard was choking me. As fear took over my thoughts, I scurried through the house, checking the locks on every door and window, and yanking the curtains closed. Making my way down the hallway over squeaking floorboards, I grabbed my gun and returned to the dining table, leaving the curtains slightly parted so I could keep a vigilant watch over my neighbor. Trembling, I huddled in the pitch-black of my own home, scared to death and wishing Jackson were here.

  Within a few minutes, Logan’s vehicle returned to his normal parking spot, and he piled out of his car and went inside. Not long afterward, David’s car eased along the curb and came to a stop. Several moments later, Rob’s truck pulled up in my driveway behind my car and then Jackson’s car pulled along the curb.

  “Rach, what are you doing up?” Jackson asked in a startled voice when he noticed me sitting at the dining table. Then when he saw the gun, he asked, “Did Richard come back?” Suddenly on high alert, he looked around the room as if expecting Richard to pounce on him.

  “No, he didn’t,” I said, immediately putting him at ease. “But I was scared.”

  “Scared … of what?” he asked, giving me a quizzical, but concerned look.

  “Bumps in the night.” I shrugged and then gestured for the two men to join me at the table. “What happened on your end?” While I had my suspicions, I wanted to hear their side.

  Rob pulled his chair out and plopped down. “I tailed Foster to Walgreens. He went inside and purchased some cough medications. After going through a taco place, he returned home.”

  My gaze swiveled to Jackson. “And you?” I asked.

  “I kept with Hutchins. He circled Mr. Cox’s block and then parked down the street from his house. When I thought for sure he was making a move, I called in reinforcements to take their positions. Thirty-odd minutes later, he simply returned home.”

  “He was probably casing the place,” Rob offered. “He could be learning Mr. Cox’s nighttime patterns and be planning to return in a few days.”

  I frowned and shook my head. “Actually, I have a different theory. What if Logan is being framed for the murders, and David and Mr. Dawson are somehow working together? After you guys left, I saw Mr. Dawson make a phone call just before David returned home. I think he’s onto your undercover operation and saw you guys take out after Logan and David and then he called David to warn him to just return home.”

  “You’re reaching,” Rob countered. “Dawson could’ve been talking to anyone. Hutchins could still be casing Mr. Cox’s house. There’s nothing to indicate Dawson is connected to Hutchins in any way.”

  “Other than a late-night heater repair,” Jackson reminded him.

  “Yes, but it’s nothing to show an affiliation … not like Foster and Hutchins’ handyman jobs,” Rob pointed out. “I still think Hutchins was only scoping the place out, checking to make sure it looked like neighbors were tucked in for the night, and to see what Mr. Cox’s patterns were. I think he’ll go back.”

  “Maybe,” I relented. “But I think there’s something unsavory about Mr. Dawson.”

  Erring on the side of caution, it was decided a vigilant watch remained necessary. Since Rob had napped earlier, he was going to take the next shift so Jackson could get some sleep.

  “Well goodnight then,” I said, making my way down the hallway to my bedroom.

  Rob and Jackson talked a few minutes more and then Jackson crossed into my room. “Rachel,” he whispered, testing to see if I might’ve already fallen asleep.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  He came to sit beside me on the bed. “I’m not discounting what you said. Tomorrow I’ll check into Dawson’s background. I agree with you, there’s something shady about that late-night heater repair.”

  “Thank you,” I told him, appreciative of him taking my opinion seriously.

  “Well goodnight,” he said hesitantly. “Rachel …”

  “Yes,” I responded when his words faded away.

  Another moment of silence passed, then, “Get some sleep. I’m sure you’re tired.”

  “You too,” I whispered.

  It felt like there was some type of energy between us. Something undefinable, yet almost visible and, for a stupid moment, I almost invited him into my bed.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Rachel

  Noises from the kitchen fluttered my eyes open. Throwing on a robe, I went to see what the ruckus was about. Rob had left sometime during the night and Jackson was banging a skillet around.

  “Sorry, Rach, I didn’t mean to wake you. I have a few errands to run and wanted to get an early start.”

  “Let me help you,” I insisted, already grabbing a bowl to crack the eggs in. While I scrambled the eggs, my eyes roved over Jackson, taking in his long hair, matted together in places, and sticking out in others. Funny, most guys looked sexy when their hair was mussed. Jackson did not. And while he had slightly trimmed his beard and mustache, he was still covered in unruly facial hair. So, what was it about him I found the least bit attractive? Nothing, I decided, and yet, undeniably, making breakfast together, side by side in the kitchen felt … right.

  We took our filled plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and tomatoes to the dining table where we sat and ate together.

  “I want to see what I can find out about your other neighbor, Jarrod Dawson. Hopefully, I’ll be able to find out something before Foster or Hutchins wake up. But, just in case, Ro
b is planning to watch them from down the street … unless you’d let him watch from inside.”

  His hint came across loud and clear. “I have a lot of tax returns I’m working on. If he’ll watch in silence, he can come inside. But, Jackson, he needs to leave me alone so I can get some work accomplished.”

  “I’ll tell him.” He shoved in a forkful of eggs and talked with a mouthful. “Rach, you’re really the best.”

  “Jackson, you don’t have to call me Rach. I told you to ignore Brenna’s comments.”

  “I know. I guess I’m self-conscious now. Do you mind, either way?”

  “No, of course not,” I assured him. “I’ll answer to either name.”

  “Some people call me Jack, but I prefer Jackson. I just wanted to make sure.”

  After breakfast, Jackson took his five minutes in the bathroom, dressed, and told me he was leaving.

  “Okay, I hope you find something useful,” I said encouragingly.

  He paused at the door and gazed back at me. “Rachel, keep the door locked and please be careful if you run any errands.” His eyes held a clear warning, reminding me of what happened yesterday with Richard.

  “Don’t worry, I will,” I assured him.

  “I’m glad you’re okay with Rob coming inside because I don’t want to leave you alone. Just so you know, I told Rob about your encounter with your estranged husband. He knows about the choking, but nothing else. I felt he needed to be warned about Richard in case Richard suddenly made his acquaintance. I hope you understand and aren’t mad at me for divulging your personal affairs.”

  I bit at my bottom lip. “I understand … it’s just embarrassing.”

  “No, don’t think of it that way. Rob has been my trusted friend for many years. He won’t say anything to anyone unless it’s necessary. He only has your best interests at heart. Like I said, I warned him as a precautionary measure.”

  I nodded, understanding Jackson’s reluctance to leave his friend with me only to be blindsided by Richard’s ability to fly off the handle. “It’s better to be prepared,” I admitted, wondering what Richard would have resorted to yesterday, had Jackson been here.

  “Just be careful,” he warned again. “There’s no telling what Richard will do, the next time he comes around.”

  Fear flitted into my eyes. “Yes, I will,” I agreed, following him to the door to lock it behind him.

  He hovered uncertainly on the other side, listening for the lock to engage and then he gave me the thumbs up through the small window in the door.

  While I hadn’t originally wanted Rob to be here, now that I found myself alone, a shiver ran up my spine and fear etched its way into my every thought. It became impossible to plow myself into my work, while keeping one eye on the Foster house and the other on the lookout for Richard.

  After thirty long minutes, I found myself hoping Rob would soon arrive. When I heard a car door slam, I panicked, fearing it might be Richard. Peering through the window and seeing it was Rob, I all but wanted to run and greet him with a giant hug.

  “Rob, come in,” I happily greeted him at the door, thankful to see Jackson’s red-haired, green-eyed friend.

  “Morning,” he greeted as he made his way through the door. “Thanks for inviting me inside. It’s a fairly mild day outside … still, there’s nothing like having access to a bathroom.”

  I grinned up at his tall six-plus frame. “You’re welcome to the fridge too. Make yourself at home.”

  “Thank you. I do appreciate your hospitality.” He nodded and took a seat in front of the dining room windows. “Don’t mind me though. I know you have a lot of work to do. Crunch season, isn’t it?”

  I groaned. “It is. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the business, but on the other hand, it’s incredibly stressful.”

  A few days ago, I was forced to put my returns aside to work through some business records for a few companies I worked for, but between now and April 15th, I had numerous returns to complete, including five procrastinators who emailed me their information late last night. Then, when the 15th rolled around, not only were the tax returns due, it would be payroll time. It was going to be hectic for the next week or so.

  Immersing myself in my work, I tuned Rob out and got down to business. Hours later, I was thrilled with the progress being made and, when my stomach growled loudly, I realized I had skipped lunch. Taking a break, I prepared Rob and myself a ham and cheese sandwich and we ate lunch together.

  “Thank you for preparing this,” he said, lifting the sandwich up and down. “I had some trail mix and power bars in my truck … but this is much better.”

  “You’re welcome.” Though Rob seemed to be a genuinely nice man and eating lunch with him was better than dining alone, I missed Jackson and wondered how his day was going. Was I really interested in Jackson? My brain said no way, but my heart said maybe. Either way, I felt stupid for even considering the possibility. My eyes drifted to Rob. He was handsome, but I felt nothing toward him. Then again, Jackson had irritated the shit out of me the first few days he was here. Besides, Rob had a date with Brenna. He was off-limits by our girlfriend code.

  “So, you and Brenna?” I asked once the thought had entered my mind.

  His face flushed with embarrassment, which surprised me. “Uh, yeah … I hope you don’t mind if I go out with your friend. She seemed … uh … she uh … well, I thought it might be fun.” Funny, he was stammering around for words.

  “She’s a good friend and I like her a lot. But let me warn you … do not be late to pick her up. Brenna is compulsive when it comes to punctuality. In fact, if you want to impress her, show up ten minutes early and act like you’ve arrived right on time.”

  “Okay, good to know.” He pulled his phone out and changed his pickup time to thirty minutes earlier. “My phone beeps at me when I’m coming close to a scheduled appointment. This will give me extra time if I happen to be running late.”

  A smile curled my lips, happy to discover he was putting forth the effort to please my friend. Brenna had dated quite a bit, but never seemed to find Mr. Right. Either they disappointed her, had a flaw, or didn’t live up to her high expectations. I wasn’t sure what exactly she was looking for, but hopefully she would find it.

  As soon as lunch was over, I jumped right back to work. Midafternoon my phone rang, caller ID letting me know it was Mrs. Jenkins.

  “Rachel, I know we talked about this after church yesterday. Remember, we wanted to talk to Imogene, but not while Logan was hovering over her. I was thinking we should go over there this afternoon.”

  “Yes, of course,” I agreed. I had already told Jackson I would speak with Mrs. Foster. My plan had been to do it yesterday afternoon, but I was strangled instead. “If you’ll give me about an hour, we’ll go for a visit. Ask Mrs. Tuttle if she’d like to join us.”

  “Yes, of course. Just come over when you’re ready.”

  After clicking off the phone and working for just under an hour, I completed a return and emailed it to one of my more electronically inclined clients so that he could review it and execute the IRS Form 8879.

  Wrapping a small silk scarf around my neck to cover my bruising, I made my way to the front door. “Rob, I’m going to visit with Mrs. Foster for a bit. I’ll leave my house key here in case you need to leave. Just lock the door and drop the key in the mailbox.” I had a locking mailbox and could retrieve the key upon my return.

  “Okay, thank you,” he said, watching me twist the key from my keychain and place it on the corner of the table.

  “Have you heard from Jackson?” I asked. “When he left, he acted like his errand was going to be quick. I’m getting worried about him.”

  “No, actually I haven’t. Would you like for me to give him a call while you’re still here?”

  The question seemed simple, yet I fretted over my answer, trying to decide if the call would sound like I was simply concerned, or was checking up on him. “I’m sure he’s fine,” I decided.
“If he’s not back by the time I am though, I’ll give him a call myself.”

  “Okay, well watch your back out there,” he warned as I made my way to the door.

  “I will,” I said over my shoulder.

  Backing my car across the street, I loaded Mrs. Jenkins in the front while Mrs. Tuttle wallowed into the back and fished around for the seat buckle. “Ready,” she announced clicking the safety gear into place.

  After getting Mrs. Jenkins situated, I headed for the nursing and rehabilitation center where Mrs. Foster had resided for the last three months after her fall.

  “Turn on this next block,” Mrs. Tuttle instructed.

  “Yes, I know,” I told her. “I’ve actually been to visit her several times.”

  “You need to be over in the left lane after this upcoming light,” Mrs. Tuttle continued her guidance, despite my comment.

  “Rachel’s been there before,” Mrs. Jenkins curtly reminded her.

  “Now you need to move back over a lane and take a right up here, just past the chicken place,” Mrs. Tuttle instructed, bound and determined to tell me how to get there.

  “Chicken sounds good,” Mrs. Jenkins noted, breaking her neck to look at the place as we passed by.

  “Watch this car beside you,” Mrs. Tuttle warned after I headed down the last stretch.

  “We should get chicken when we leave here,” Mrs. Jenkins said giving me a hopeful look.

  “You’re coming up on the place. Get ready for the turn in,” Mrs. Tuttle griped.

  “Chicken tenders and gravy with maybe some fried okra. Yum, yum,” Mrs. Jenkins salivated.

  “Shady Oaks … that’s the name of the place. It’s only been open a short time. It’s a really nice place.”

  “Yes, it is,” I knowingly agreed, having been there before.

  Mrs. Tuttle gasped, throwing her hands against the back of Mrs. Jenkins’ seat. “My God, Rachel, are you going to slow down?”