A Perfect Tenant

by Steve Richer

  Tom nodded and shrugged. “I can confirm. Especially at that age, you’re always thinking of an angle. And that angle usually has something to do with getting a girl horizontal.”

  “Rusty isn’t going to get me horizontal.”

  “Won’t keep him from trying. He’s in love.”

  Alice shook her head. “He’ll get over it.”

  “Alice and Rusty, sitting in a tree,” Tom sang.

  “Shut up!”

  Tom dodged a thrown cushion. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G…”

  Alice hurled another cushion his way, which was difficult to do since they sat side by side. “You’re impossible!”

  “It doesn’t matter, sweetie. I won. You’re all mine.”

  “Not if you keep this crap up.”

  It was Tom’s turn to throw a pillow at her. They broke down in laughter and finished their glasses.

  “You guys are too cute,” Libbie said, sipping her drink. “But you should be careful.”

  “Careful? Careful about what?”

  Tom topped off everybody’s drink.

  “Teenagers, crushes, it’s not always harmless.”

  Alice said, “Rusty is absolutely harmless. He’ll find a girl his age soon enough and he will completely forget about me.”

  “That may be the case,” Libbie conceded. “But at that age, there’s a fine line between desire and obsession. Boys can be so fixated on someone that they start feeling entitled. They figure they love a woman so much that it’s only normal for her to love him back, you know? And when she doesn’t, well, things get dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “In the news, it was a year or two ago, there was this boy. He was fifteen, sixteen. It was somewhere down south, Alabama, Louisiana, I can’t remember. Anyway, he had this crush on his math teacher. It was innocent at first, or so she thought. She stayed with him after class to tutor him. In her mind, this was part of the job. But in his mind, she was showing him affection.”

  “What happened?” Tom asked as Alice silently drank next to him.

  “He made his big declaration of love and, naturally, she told him she didn’t feel the same. He continued to pursue her even though she had him reassigned to another class. He would show up at her house unannounced, bringing flowers and chocolate. She had to take out a restraining order against him.”

  “Geez…”

  “And that wasn’t enough. One night, the kid snapped. He broke into her house and shot her six times in the head. The cops found him draped over the corpse the next morning. He kept mumbling that now she was his forever.”

  “Holy shit,” Tom whispered.

  Alice swallowed with difficulty before speaking. “Rusty isn’t like that.”

  “I’m sure,” Libbie replied. “Does he ever bring you flowers or chocolate?”

  “No!”

  “Well, sweetie…” Tom began. “Remember your birthday?”

  “That doesn’t count! It was my birthday. I swear, Rusty isn’t like that. He’s not obsessive.”

  “I’m sorry I brought this up, Alice. I’m sure he’s a nice young man. He appeared to be, anyway.”

  “He is. But you know what? I’m not the only one who’s having to fight off someone’s advances.” Alice indicated her husband with her thumb. “This guy has a bit of a stalker.”

  “Really?!”

  Tom shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

  “Ha! Not so funny when we’re talking about you, uh?”

  “Who is it? One of the checkout girls at the supermarket?”

  “Worse. It’s Marissa Sigley. She lives the next block over. She’s sixteen.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “You’re making this up, Alice.”

  “She first came over selling Girl Scouts cookies two years ago and she’s been making excuses to come by ever since. She practically bats her eyes every time she sees Tom.”

  “She’s not that bad. She’s just fooling around, likes to make herself the center of attention.”

  “Maybe we should play matchmaker, get Marissa and Rusty together and get them off our backs.”

  Husband and wife continued to banter and Libbie took everything in. She made mental notes. Rusty. Marissa Sigley. This was extremely useful information.

  “Oh,” Libbie exclaimed. “Before I forget!”

  “What?”

  She grabbed her purse and rummaged through it. She pulled out a small bag the size of a can of soda. It was heavy and stuffed.

  “I went shopping for groceries earlier, explored some of the stores, and I found this. Here.”

  She handed the bag to Tom. He was flustered and had no choice but to unwrap his present. It was a small porcelain figurine. It was a smiling brown bear in a white shirt.

  “Oh Libbie…”

  “I thought you could use it for your collection. And it’s small gesture of gratitude for you guys being so kind to me.”

  “You didn’t have to, but thanks. I love it!”

  “I’m happy you do.”

  Tom was beaming. He examined the figurine, twisting it in his hands. “You know what? It reminds me of something.”

  “Really? What?”

  “I’m not sure… Oh, wait! It reminds me of the mascot we had at this summer camp I went to as a kid. I mean, the colors are wrong, but it reminds me of it. I like the white shirt, though. It looks like the strip of my Little League team, the Brewers. I have a shirt just like that myself. It’s great, thanks.”

  “No, thank you.” Libbie was about to say something else when she noticed Alice’s gaze was off. She was slumped against the couch. “Alice, is everything all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m just dizzy. Nauseous.”

  “Too much champagne?” Libbie joked and chuckled.

  “That’s it, the champagne. It’s too sweet.”

  Tom was all business because he understood his wife was genuinely ill. “Come on, let’s go lie down. We’ll check your ketones.”

  He helped her to her feet and they headed toward the stairs. Libbie stood up.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, thank you,” Tom said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  “Sure. Let me know if you want me to call a doctor, or something.”

  Tom and Alice nodded, yet they had already all but forgotten about her. They went upstairs. It suited Libbie just fine. This was better than anything in her wildest dreams.

  Because the moment she was alone, Libbie went to the console table in the foyer and stole a house key.

  Chapter 7

  To Libbie, the worst feature of the apartment was the air vent just outside the bedroom.

  It was an unsightly metal grate in the wall next to the bedroom door. She felt the architects and engineers could have placed it lower, by the floor, and it wouldn’t have been such an obvious eyesore. Even better if they could have recessed it into the ceiling. This item alone seemed to sum up all the compromises she’d had to make to be here.

  She changed her mind only a few hours after moving in.

  As it happened, the duct went straight up to the house above. She wasn’t well versed in physics and acoustics, but she understood enough how frequencies traveled. If she stood close enough to the vent, she was able to hear when Tom and Alice talked.

  Now, it wasn’t crystal clear and it wasn’t every conversation. She figured there was a place in the house where the other end of the duct picked up sounds. The kitchen, maybe? The living room? The voices came out low and muffled. But with enough concentration, Libbie could get the gist of what they were saying.

  It was almost three in the morning. She was conscious that her body was tired, especially after an afternoon of moving boxes, but that was trivial. It was physical. Her mind was alert and that was what mattered. She was sitting by the vent on one of her new uncomfortable kitchen chairs.

  She hadn’t heard a single sound in over two hours. After the champagne incident, no ambulance had been called. Tom hadn’t taken his wife to
the emergency room. Libbie figured this was a common problem for them and they knew how to handle it. In any case, it was good to know that Alice’s diabetes made her very sensitive to variations in her blood sugar levels.

  Libbie closed her eyes and took deep breaths, sitting straight as she ran her hands up and down her thighs. She was so close to her goal. The anticipation was killing her.

  She glanced at the wall-mounted clock and listened again. There was no TV coming from the house above. No music or chitchat. Was this a sign?

  Slowly, not willing to make noise herself, Libbie stood up. She went to the bedroom, sidestepped the boxes and suitcases, and went to the closet. She reached for the top shelf and pulled down a black metal case. It was a gun locker.

  She punched in the code and it clicked open. She lifted the lid, paying no attention to the pistol. Instead, she picked up the silver key next to it.

  The key she had stolen.

  With the same pace and calmness, she carefully opened the front door, not yet used to the creaking and sounds of her new place. She didn’t want any surprises tonight. Once outside, she closed the door without locking it and gingerly climbed up. It was colder than before and her discount sweatshirt was wholly inadequate.

  She rounded the bushes, went to the front of the house. The street was dim. Not one house in the area had their lights on. This was a blessing, although Libbie needed to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Her one ally was the full moon, even if it was mostly hidden behind clouds.

  She went up the porch and held her breath as she approached with the key. What if it had been mislabeled? What if it was for a different door? She hadn’t seen an alarm system, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Nevertheless, she had to take a chance.

  She needed it more than anything.

  She inserted the key and felt no resistance. It turned on the first try. The door was unlocked.

  Libbie entered the pitch black house. She delicately shut the door behind her, before sounds from the suburbs could waft in and alert the owners to her presence. Once inside, she stood still as her eyes adjusted. After almost a minute, she was comfortable enough to walk around.

  She went to the den first. The cushions were back in place. The wine glasses had been picked up in spite of the medical situation. These people were organized. They didn’t suffer a house that wasn’t in order. They didn’t like chaos, Libbie realized.

  She grinned devilishly at the thought.

  She turned to the cabinet of figurines. She couldn’t quite understand the fascination with these, but she knew that for some people collecting was both an obsession and a way to cope with solitude. She leaned closer to look at the dolls. The bear she had given Tom was prominently displayed on top.

  Libbie wondered if he would realize she was taunting them.

  She padded out of the living room and went to the kitchen. Because of the large window, moonlight came in directly here. On the refrigerator door were a number of pictures held up by takeout restaurant menus which acted as magnets.

  On one picture, Alice was on a beach with palm trees behind her. She smiled demurely as if she was embarrassed to have her picture taken. On another, Tom was taking a break from mountain biking. He was sweaty but happy.

  A third picture—this one the best and clearly a Granger favorite—featured both Alice and Tom dressed to the nines. It could’ve been a corporate event or a wedding. They were in each other’s arms, beaming.

  Their happiness made Libbie want to scream.

  Without realizing she was doing it, she slid to the right. On the counter was a thick oak knife block. In one fluid movement, she grabbed a stainless steel handle and yanked out the carving knife.

  Picking up speed, Libbie left the kitchen and found the stairs. She stopped herself before flat out running. She had to be smart about this. She tiptoed up the steps, her heart jumping a beat every time the hardwood complained under her feet.

  Just before reaching the top, she paused. She could easily turn back now, before she did anything.

  It was even darker upstairs, the carpeted hallway claustrophobic. She hadn’t been here yet, but the layout left little to the imagination. There were open doors along the corridor and it was evident that the master bedroom was at the end.

  Libbie gripped the knife tighter and crept forward. She heard snoring. It had to be Tom. She could handle him.

  She could handle both of them.

  The door was half open in front of her and she pushed it in further. Tom and Alice were in bed, asleep. A measly eight feet separated Libbie from the bed. She flexed her fingers. She changed her grip on the knife.

  She could do this.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Alice awoke with a start, sitting straight up in bed.

  She blinked, breathing hard. She felt as if she’d had a nightmare, but was certain that she hadn’t. Tom was sound asleep next to her, snoring as he always did even though he swore he didn’t.

  She wiped spittle off her chin and rubbed her eyes. The room was empty, but something felt off. Alice was a rational person. She didn’t believe in the supernatural. She didn’t believe in ghosts, spirits, or even New Age mumbo-jumbo like auras.

  But as a businessperson, she did believe in instincts. There were times when her decisions were guided by something primeval, something within her which she couldn’t explain. She doubted scientists had ever been able to define that sensation, and yet it couldn’t be denied.

  That’s what she was feeling right now, something strong and compelling, albeit inexplicable.

  Like she was being watched.

  She had taken a self-defense class once, in college. There had been a rash of assaults on campus and self-defense instructors—either real accredited ones or scam artists—had seen their business boom. She recalled one sales pitch in particular. I may not be a black belt but I can teach you to defend yourself. Isn’t that worth taking a chance?

  Everyone had been so scared of being the next victim that cheesy sales tactics hadn’t mattered. Every single instructor in town had been booked for months. In hindsight, Alice wasn’t sure if her hundred dollars had been well invested, but there was one thing she remembered: instincts were real. Instincts should be trusted.

  That’s what she did tonight.

  There wasn’t much of value in the house. The neighborhood wasn’t affluent or a destination for junkies in need. So why would anyone break in? To rape her?

  She didn’t completely dismiss the idea but, realistically, the odds of that were low. Statistically, she was more liable to be attacked when alone. But there was something Libbie—and Tom—had said earlier. Rusty.

  Rusty had a crush on her.

  Alice still believed that he was harmless, that it was nothing but an innocent crush. And yet Libbie’s story echoed through her mind. That boy down south. He broke into his teacher’s house and murdered her. Would Rusty go to these lengths? Was he that obsessed with her?

  Even though she didn’t want to put stock in this theory, she found herself unable to ignore it.

  Isn’t that worth taking a chance?

  She swung her legs out of bed and slowly stood. She looked around her. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Her robe was on the easy chair in the corner. Her clothes were on the floor. Nothing had been disturbed.

  Not bothering to cover herself up—she was wearing fuchsia pajama bottoms and a white tank top—she walked down the hallway. She peeked inside Tom’s office, into the bathroom. Nothing. She went downstairs.

  The lights were still off. She paused to listen. An intruder would be breathing hard, wouldn’t he? She didn’t hear anything aside from the ticking of the clock.

  She dipped into the living room. It was as she’d left it after her embarrassing diabetic episode. She should know her body better by now. Why did she insist on taking chances? Drinking the champagne, so much of it, it had been a bad idea. She’d let herself forget the usual precautions during Libbie’s visit.

  She checked the f
ront door. There was no sign of a break-in. The door was locked. She went to the kitchen and made sure that the side door was locked as well. It was and no window had been broken.

  She relaxed for the first time. Her mind was playing tricks on her. It had to be the medication, not to mention the alcohol. She just couldn’t trust her instincts anymore.

  Fully awake after drinking a glass of water, she decided to get her computer and start working on the project. She didn’t give a second thought about the carving knife which was on the counter instead of sheathed in the block as usual.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Libbie was back sitting squarely on her chair by the vent.

  She was breathing heavily. The trip upstairs had been exhilarating. It had been sensual. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been thrilled this way. No man had ever made her feel this level of excitement.

  She heard the kitchen faucet through the vent. The lightness of the footfall meant it was Alice. She had unnerved her.

  “Yes…” Libbie whispered to herself, closing her eyes and letting her fingertips run up and down her chest.

  She could have ended it all tonight. It would’ve been easy. It would’ve been clean. Hell, it would’ve been amazing!

  Only there was potential for so, so much more. She’d almost given in to her impulses. It was a good thing she’d stopped herself just in time. She had a plan and she needed to follow it.

  Her revenge would be so much more rewarding if she drew it out. Cats played with their prey before killing them, didn’t they? Yes, cats understood.

  Chapter 8

  “It’s not working,” Alice barked at herself, dropping her pencil.

  She was at the kitchen table, her books and notes and laptop laid out in front of her on the table. Tom was at the sink washing vegetables for tonight’s dinner. He turned toward his wife.

  “I’m going to wager a shiny nickel things are not going well?”

  Alice wasn’t in the mood to banter with him but his smile was disarming. She mellowed and shrugged. She leaned back in her chair, opting to take a breather. Meanwhile, Tom returned to the vegetables and stared out the window.