The Woman Next Door

by Barbara Delinsky

  Amanda would have chosen different words. The image he painted was graphic and harsh. “We’ll have other tries,” she said softly.

  “You seem content to wait.”

  “No. Not content. Never that.”

  “Are you going to want to start again in a month?”

  “Want? No.” She wanted to make a baby the usual way. “But I will.”

  He held up a hand. “Hey, if this is for my sake, you shouldn’t. A baby is a lifetime commitment. If you don’t want it, let me know.”

  “And then what?” she blurted without planning to, but the question had been festering in the back of her mind for days, weeks, months. She would have taken it back when his eyes went cold, but just as teenagers needed to know how death happens, she needed to know this.

  “Do you not want kids?” he asked, seeming hurt. “Has it been for me all along?”

  “I want them. I’ve told you that. But what happens if they don’t come?”

  He looked confused.

  She hurried on, just weary enough from the ordeal of the past few days to be reckless. “What happens if there’s never a baby? What will you feel?”

  “Not having a baby isn’t an option. I can’t consider it yet.”

  “I can. I do. All the time. I lie awake at night worrying. What if there’s never a baby? What happens to us then? Will you blame me? Will you blame yourself? What will your family think? What will they say? Will they push me farther away than I already am? How much do you want a baby? Is it a necessary part of your psyche? Tied up with masculinity? If we go through another round of artificial insemination and then move on to in vitro and still don’t conceive, what then? Will you still want me, or will you want to try with someone else?” She caught her breath and swallowed hard. “I think about these things all the time, Gray. They haunt me.”

  He didn’t speak. She looked to his expression for a hint of his thoughts, but they were an enigma. His mouth was a flat line through his beard, though she didn’t know whether he was angry or merely troubled. His green eyes were dark and wide—startled— though she couldn’t tell whether he was feeling cornered, or simply surprised by her questions. As for his silence, it could have meant either that he didn’t know the answers, or that he knew them and didn’t want to say.

  When a sudden knock came on the frame of the screen door, both of them jumped. Amanda looked quickly back. It was Gretchen Tannenwald.

  To his credit, Graham didn’t fall over himself to get to the door. He didn’t move at all. Amanda was the one to do it.

  Wondering how long Gretchen had been there and what she had heard, Amanda cautiously approached the door. The closer she got, the more she could see that something was wrong.

  Innate civility bade her to open the screen, but it was womanly intuition that put the concern in her voice. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes,” Gretchen said, her voice trembling. “I need Graham.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I need Graham.

  Every one of Amanda’s worst fears suddenly surfaced. In that instant, she was convinced not only that Graham was the baby’s father, but that he and Gretchen were wildly in love. That Gretchen’s eyes—huge blue eyes—had moved past her to Graham gave credence to it all. The woman looked desperate.

  Desperate? Amanda got a grip on herself. Not desperate. Frightened.

  Graham came forward. “What’s wrong?”

  “I, uh, I think—I know someone broke into my house,” Gretchen said in something of a monotone, clearly upset but reining in the fear. “There’s been damage. I just got home and saw. I don’t know if that person is still there.”

  A break-in. Amanda would have laughed in relief had she not been startled. Break-ins didn’t happen in Woodley and certainly not on a street like this where someone was always around.

  “Theft?” Graham asked, sounding startled, too.

  “Damage. To Ben’s art. M-my art. I didn’t put the alarm on. I knew that you were here, and the Langes, and Karen Cotter. I—I didn’t even lock the back door. I only went to the store to get fruit. I wasn’t gone more than thirty minutes.”

  Amanda had been home herself for nearly that long. She hadn’t seen anything unusual or odd in the street when she’d driven up. But an interloper might have come through the woods.

  Graham went out the door, gently easing Gretchen aside as he passed. “I’ll check.”

  When Gretchen started to follow him, Amanda caught her arm. She felt a trembling there. “Let him go alone. Just in case.”

  Gretchen swallowed. “Maybe he shouldn’t. He could get hurt. Maybe I should just call the police.”

  But she looked too shaken to do anything, and it was Amanda’s husband who was taking the risk. Drawing Gretchen into the kitchen, Amanda made the call herself. She gave the police the information they needed, and then led Gretchen back outside. They went down the driveway and waited on the sidewalk, in clear view of Gretchen’s house, albeit safely across the circle. Graham had been gone long enough for Amanda to become concerned.

  Julie Cotter was playing on her steps with a doll, while the twins, Jared and Jon, sailed around the cul-de-sac on scooters. None of the three seemed to think it unusual that Amanda was standing on her front walk with Gretchen Tannenwald. Other than a wave from Julie, the children paid them little heed.

  It occurred to Amanda to send them inside. Being right there, they would be hostage material should a madman run from the house. But she decided that was an absurd thought. Besides, she was there, and Gretchen was there. That would make it five to one.

  Of course, if he had a gun, the numbers wouldn’t matter.

  “I’m sorry,” Gretchen said, standing close enough to Amanda to suggest that she might have had similar thoughts. “I disturbed your evening. But I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Amanda said gently. “That’s what neighbors are for. Was anything stolen?”

  “I don’t know. I saw the picture in the front hall and ran out. I probably could have called the police from there. But I only wanted to get away.”

  “I’d have done the same.”

  “I don’t have a car phone. Or I’d have called from the car.”

  “You did the right thing,” Amanda assured her, but her worry was deepening. She had visions of Graham lying in a pool of blood, having been attacked by an assailant who had been hiding in a closet. Then again, it was possible that Graham was simply making a thorough sweep of the house. After all, he knew his way around. He had been there before. They both had, many times, at the invitation of Ben and June.

  Gretchen put her slender hands together in front of her mouth. She was taller than Amanda by half a head, but seemed waiflike, even with her height and the bulge in her belly. Seeing the latter, Amanda felt a wave of envy that was nearly palpable.

  Determined to ignore it, she asked, “What kind of damage was done? Paint?”

  “Slashing,” Gretchen said from behind the edge of her hands.

  Again, Amanda saw Graham hurt. “God.”

  “I’ve been getting phone calls where no one answers. I figured it was one of Ben’s sons. But I don’t think they’d destroy something their father loved. And I don’t see them sitting in the woods waiting for me to leave the house.”

  Amanda had met the sons a number of times. Though they were closer in age to Graham and Amanda than Ben had been, she far preferred Ben. He’d had an easygoing way about him. Same with June. The sons were more driven.

  Focused intently on the house, Amanda jumped when she felt a warmth against her right hip. “Julie,” she said with a breath of relief, putting her hand on the child’s head, “you scared me.”

  “Is something wrong?” Julie asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Amanda said as lightheartedly as possible.

  “Why are you standing here?”

  “We’re just waiting for Graham.” Slipping an arm around the child’s shoulders, she gave her a quick squeeze, the
n let her go. The message, of course, was that Julie should turn and go back to her front porch.

  “Can I wait with you?”

  “Don’t you usually help your mom with dinner?”

  “She did it already. I asked if she’d read with me, but she said she couldn’t. Only I don’t know why not,” Julie said with added feeling. “She’s just sitting there.”

  “Maybe lost in thought,” Amanda said lightly, though she could easily imagine what Karen’s thoughts might be. Chances were no small part of them was focused on the woman standing on her left. “Maybe needing rescue. Go rescue her, sweetie.”

  Julie crinkled her nose. “She’ll tell me to play with Samantha.” Samantha was the doll, which sat neatly propped on the Cotters’ front steps. “She’s always telling me that. Where is Graham?”

  “He’s at Gretchen’s.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s doing her a favor.”

  Julie slid Gretchen a curious look. Concerned that the questions might start getting uncomfortable, Amanda was relieved when the child said, “Oh. Okay,” and skipped off.

  “You’re good with her,” Gretchen remarked, though her eyes were focused on her house.

  “She’s easy to be good with,” Amanda said, then murmured, “Where is Graham?”

  “Where are the police?” Gretchen responded.

  Both questions were answered in the next minute. Graham came out the front door of Gretchen’s house just as a cruiser rounded the bend.

  Relieved, Amanda ran to join him. Gretchen stayed close beside her.

  “There’s no one inside,” he said when they met on the walk. He waved the cruiser over. “I went through the whole place. The only damage I saw was to paintings.”

  “Paintings?” Gretchen asked, sounding more frightened than ever. “More than just the one in the front foyer?”

  “There was that one, and two in the living room.”

  Gretchen broke away and ran up the front steps. Swearing softly, Graham went after her. Amanda wasn’t about to be left behind. She followed, right in through the front door, past the painting that hung in the front hall and now had a single slash through its center, and on into the living room.

  Gretchen stood with a fist pressed to her heart, staring at the painting on the wall. Tears trickled down her pale cheeks. Amanda glanced back at the other painting that had been damaged, but the difference was startling. Far greater damage had been done to La Voisine than to either of the other paintings. Here the slashing had been vicious, leaving the subject that Amanda had known to be a breathtakingly beautiful woman nearly unrecognizable.

  The police called from the front door.

  “In here,” Graham called back. When they appeared under the living room arch, he greeted both men by name, shook hands with each, and made the introductions. Their faces were familiar to Amanda, though she had never formally met either one. The older of the two, Dan Meehan, was fiftyish and easygoing. His partner, Bobby Chiapisi, was easily twenty years younger and obviously newer to the force. He wore his uniform starched; his manner matched it.

  Directing them to La Voisine, Graham explained what he knew.

  “Whew,” said Dan. “Someone was angry. So it’s this painting and the other two.” He turned to Gretchen. “Anything else?”

  Gretchen made no effort to wipe the tears from her face. She looked weak—“destroyed” was the word that came to Amanda’s mind. She couldn’t help but feel for the woman.

  “I don’t know,” Gretchen whispered. She lowered herself to the sofa without once taking her eyes from the painting.

  “I didn’t see anything when I walked through the house,” Graham said, “but I only looked for the obvious. Nothing was knocked onto the floor. There didn’t seem to be any ransacking. Gretchen will have to go through to see if anything was taken.”

  “I wasn’t gone very long,” she said flatly.

  “How long?” the younger officer asked, firmly gripping his small pad and pen.

  “Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty.”

  Dan looked at Amanda and Graham. “And no one saw anything?”

  They were shaking their heads when Karen came to the living room door. Julie and the twins were close behind, their eyes wide. “What happened to that painting?” she asked, gesturing behind her, but catching her breath when she looked ahead. “Oh my.”

  “We’ve had an intruder,” Dan said. “It’s Mrs. Cotter, isn’t it?” At Karen’s nod, he said, “Do you live nearby?”

  “Next door.”

  “Did you see anyone coming or going in the last hour?”

  “Just Gretchen.” She didn’t take her eyes from La Voisine. “What a mess.”

  Georgia and Russ materialized behind her. “Why are the police here?” Russ asked, seconds before his eyes, too, went to the painting. Graham approached them to explain, while Dan knelt in front of Gretchen. Thinking that she seemed pathetically alone sitting there on the sofa with her tear-streaked face, Amanda sat beside her.

  “Would you like to see if anything else was taken?” the officer asked.

  Gretchen shook her head. “The only things worth taking are my ring and earrings, and I never take them off.” The earrings were diamond studs that matched in size and shape the central stone in an elegant wedding band.

  “Would there be money anywhere to take?”

  “No.” She changed her mind. “Yes. But I don’t care about money. They can have money. But why would they do this?”

  “Do you have any idea who might have done it?” he asked. Gretchen shook her head. “Who has a key to the house?”

  “The door wasn’t locked.”

  “Is there a boyfriend in the picture?”

  “No.”

  “The father of the baby?”

  “No.”

  “No, what?” the man prodded gently.

  “The baby’s father wouldn’t do this.”

  “Perhaps if you gave us his name—”

  “There’s no need,” Gretchen said with quiet determination.

  Feeling uncomfortable, Amanda asked the officer, “Can’t you dust for fingerprints or something?”

  “We will.” He shot a glance at his partner.

  Bobby Chiapisi looked unhappy. “If there were prints on a knob, they’re probably gone. Half the neighborhood’s just come in these doors.”

  Sure enough, Allison and Tommy were there, and before anyone could say much of anything, Lee appeared behind them. “What’d I miss?” he asked, then saw the painting. “Omigod.”

  His distaste looked real enough to Amanda. Still, she might have liked to know where he had been for the last hour and who could vouch for him.

  Dan Meehan pushed himself to his feet, then straightened the rest of the way. “The thing to do is to let Mrs. Tannenwald go through the house to see if anything else has been touched. It could be we just have an art pervert.”

  “This was the only thing in the house that mattered to me,” Gretchen murmured.

  Not knowing what to say, Amanda simply put a supportive hand on her arm.

  “The best I can suggest,” the older officer said with regret, “is that you call your insurance company.”

  For the first time, Gretchen looked directly at him. “Can they replace the painting?” she asked, sounding angry—and Amanda was proud of her. Any fool could see that the painting had sentimental value.

  “No,” the policeman answered. “But they’ll send out their investigators and an adjuster. You’ll get money to buy a new one.”

  Amanda took one look at Gretchen’s face and, quietly but firmly said to the man, “I don’t think she wants a new one. This one had special meaning. Whoever did this has stolen that from her. The best you can suggest,” she used his words, “is how the department can track down the culprit and find out why he did what he did.”

  The man looked duly chastened. “Yes, Mrs. O’Leary. We’ll try to do that. We’ll get cruisers out on the other side of the woods and canvass the
houses over there to see if anyone noticed anything strange. We’ll put extra details on this area. We’ll do what we can.”

  “Thank you,” Amanda said.

  ***

  Amanda was the last of the women to leave the house. The police were still inside with Gretchen, as were Graham and Lee. The others had dispersed. The only child in sight was Jordie, who was watching the drama from his front porch, with an arm high on a post. Despite the cruiser’s glaring presence, the cul-de-sac was quiet.

  As soon as Amanda neared the sidewalk where Karen and Georgia stood, Karen asked, “What were you doing in there so long?”

  “I went through the house with Gretchen to see if anything’s missing. I felt bad for her. If it’d been me, I wouldn’t have wanted to do that alone. Not after someone had been in my house. It was a creepy feeling.”

  Karen arched a brow. “Being in her house?”

  “Knowing that someone else had been there doing awful stuff with a knife. If I were Gretchen,” Amanda said, trying to put herself in the woman’s shoes, “I’d be wondering what he touched and what he thought and whether he was hiding out somewhere nearby and planned to come back.”

  “Think underwear,” Georgia remarked. “What if he opened drawers and touched things? Can you imagine? I feel dirty just thinking of it.”

  “‘Violated’ is the word I used,” Amanda said, reflecting on the bits of talk she had exchanged with Gretchen during the search.

  Karen was less sympathetic. “She has an alarm. She should have used it.”

  “Do you use yours?” Georgia asked.

  “No. I can’t with the kids. They’d be locked out or locked in. It’d be a mess.” She returned to Amanda. “So did she find anything missing?”

  “No. She didn’t think he’d gone upstairs. She said nothing looked like it had been touched there. He couldn’t have been inside for long. She wasn’t gone for long.” The air was mild, but Amanda wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. No matter that Gretchen wasn’t her favorite person in the world, no woman should have to face this. Sleeping in that house tonight was going to be a challenge. “I keep seeing the scraps of that canvas hanging every which way off the painting. Whoever did that was sick.”