by Merry Jones
The flashlight moved away, shining in again through the next window.
‘Christ,’ Evan got to his feet, hugging himself. ‘They’re going around the house? The garbage bags. They’ll find the mattress—’
‘Shut up,’ Sty’s voice deepened, rumbled a threat. ‘Just for once stop yammering and use your brain.’
‘Use my brain? Why? You’re the genius. You’re the one with all the plans. What are we supposed to do—?’
‘I will tell you again, Evan.’ Sty stood slowly. ‘Your panic is counterproductive. Panic is the enemy, the opposite of thought. We will have to improvise, yes. But if we think carefully and follow a rational plan, we will not fail. Just calm down and go along with whatever I say.’ He moved through the shadows to the foyer, noticing a shape – a face pressing against the glass, steaming up a sitting-room window. Sty ignored it, proceeding directly past the armoire and across the old Oriental rug.
‘What are you doing?’ Evan’s voice was an octave too high.
Sty didn’t reply; he simply pasted a smile onto his face and unlatched the heavy carved wood double door.
As Detective Rivers walked away, Harper rang the bell again. For a moment, she stood waiting. Then she set out in the opposite direction, moving from window to window, pressing her face against the glass, trying to see inside. Dim light from the foyer spilled into what looked like a living room, filled with leather sofas and easy chairs, portraits on the walls. Nothing moved. She went to the next window. From there, she could see into the foyer where there was some light. At the bottom of the staircase, she saw a lumbering oversized cabinet standing awkwardly out of place. And movement – a silhouette skirting the cabinet, heading for the door.
Harper straightened up, cleared her throat, hurried back to the front door, just as it swung open, wide.
A young man smiled a greeting. ‘Are you here to sing carols?’ His hair was perfectly gelled; he wore a red Polo sweater and khakis.
Another guy stood behind the first. Paler, skinnier. Dark pants, white shirt, untucked. Harper checked over her shoulder for Detective Rivers.
‘I live next door.’ She said it as if it explained her presence.
The guy’s smile broadened. ‘Yes. Of course. You’re the Ninja lady – you recognize her, don’t you, Evan?’ He turned to the second guy. Evan. Even in the dimness, Harper could see that Evan had bruises on his face. Had he been in a fight? An image flashed to mind: a naked guy getting beaten up in the snow. Could the assailant have been Evan?
‘Harper.’ She extended a hand. ‘Harper Jennings.’
‘I’m Sty, and this is Evan. Come in?’ He shook her hand.
Harper didn’t move.
‘Okay, look. I bet I know why you’re here. We aren’t supposed to be in the house. It’s officially closed. And you noticed someone was here, am I right?’
Harper nodded. ‘I was concerned—’
‘As you rightly should have been, Ma’am. It’s reassuring to know that people in the neighborhood are looking out for our property, keeping an eye on what’s going on in the area.’
Harper’s gaze moved to the armoire.
Sty followed her gaze. ‘Oh, that?’ Sty laughed, gesturing to Evan. ‘She likes our armoire, Evan.’
Evan didn’t move, didn’t speak.
‘You want it? If you outbid our customer, it’s yours. We sold this online and – actually, that’s why we’re here. We’re delivering it to our customer.’
Harper nodded. ‘I saw someone upstairs. In the window . . .’
‘Really?’ Again, Sty laughed, turned to Evan. ‘She saw you!’ He turned back to Harper. ‘As long as we’re here, we moved a bed for a fraternity brother. For next semester. But Evan slipped – smacked right into the window.’
‘A bed.’ Harper repeated. That explained why she’d seen a mattress in the window. They’d been moving furniture. Perfectly plausible. Still, there was something odd about them. A tension. Excitement? ‘Well, that explains it. I was concerned that someone might have broken in—’
‘Understandably. Thank you for checking. We’re lucky to have a neighbor like you.’
Finally, the beam of Rivers’ flashlight came around the corner, moved toward them. Rivers climbed the front steps and adopted a cop’s stance, legs firmly planted, arms at her side. ‘Want to explain what you boys are doing in here?’
Sty began again, from the start.
‘You have permission to be here?’
Sty looked sheepish. ‘Well, unofficially. This is our fraternity. And we aren’t staying long; our parents expect us for Christmas.’
Rivers didn’t smile. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Oh, just a day.’
‘So you weren’t here when that guy was running around naked.’
Sty chuckled, glanced at Evan. ‘What? Are you serious?’
Evan stood with his hands in his pockets, elbows straight, a frozen smirk.
‘You’re saying you didn’t see him?’ Rivers asked.
‘I think we’d remember – wouldn’t we, Evan?’
Evan shrugged. Nodded. Still smirking.
‘So what was he doing, some kind of Polar Bear club initiation?’ Sty suggested. ‘Or maybe it was a case of husband-walks-in-and-catches-naked-guy-with-his-wife?’ He laughed. ‘Guy exits quickly, not bothering to grab his pants.’
Evan snickered, amused. Took his hands out of his pockets, crossing his arms.
‘Must have been quite a show. Sorry we missed it.’ Sty smirked, and his gaze rested on Harper’s belly. ‘Oh, dear. We’re not being very hospitable. Please. Come inside. We don’t have much in the way of snacks, but I’m sure we can fix some tea—’
‘No, no.’ Rivers stepped back. ‘Look. In honor of the season, I’m going to take you at your word that you’re here with permission. But I do not want to get called back here and regret letting you slide.’ She peered past Sty, eyeing Evan’s bruises. ‘Been in a fight?’
Evan opened his mouth to answer, but Sty cut him off. He was telling Rivers about Evan’s collision with the window when, suddenly, a contraction sucked away Harper’s breath.
‘Can I—?’ She took Rivers’ arm. ‘Can I sit down?’
Before anyone could answer, she started into the house, but the contraction was fierce; she wobbled and might have actually collapsed if Evan and Sty hadn’t grabbed her and carried her to a cushiony leather chair.
Detective Rivers walked Harper out the door, down the fraternity’s front steps. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? You should see a doctor and be checked out.’
Harper felt shaken; the contraction had been strong. But, while Evan and Sty had walked Rivers through the house, just to make sure no one had broken in and was lurking there, she’d recovered. ‘I’m fine now. My doctor’s watching the contractions. That’s why I’m on house arrest.’
They walked several steps through the snow in silence. Then, ‘Mrs Jennings—’
‘Detective—’
They both spoke at once.
‘Sorry,’ Rivers said, as Harper said, ‘Go ahead.’
‘No, you first,’ Rivers insisted.
Harper glanced over her shoulder, checking to see that they were alone. ‘So? What do you think? Because those boys send red alerts through my bones. Their smarmy smiles. They’re way too – I don’t know. Confident? Smooth? Like they think they’re smarter than everyone? And their story, that they were moving furniture. Well, it explains what I saw in the window today, but it doesn’t explain why I saw the curtain move last time. Or the light beams that someone flashed through my window the other night.’
‘Light beams?’ Rivers scowled.
‘Oh – didn’t I mention them? I must have forgotten, with everything that’s been going on . . .’ Harper stopped, realizing that Rivers had no idea what she was referring to. ‘It’s not just the naked kid in the woods and odd goings-on in the fraternity house,’ she explained. ‘It’s also that a package came to my house with a dead ra
t in it.’
‘A what?’
‘It was addressed to someone who doesn’t live here. But it shook me up.’
A black SUV turned onto the street, cruised slowly down the snowy road. Harper turned to watch it. ‘Detective, I swear. That same car has been driving past my house every night, as if someone’s watching us. As if they’re casing the area.’ She watched the car move away, then realized that they’d stopped walking, that the detective was studying her, eyebrows knit.
‘What?’ Harper asked.
‘Let’s go inside.’ Rivers gripped Harper’s arm. ‘We’ll talk there.’
Harper went along, hearing snow crackle under their boots, and beyond it, the silence of frigid night.
‘What the fuck was that?’ Evan sank onto the stairs, covering his face with his hands. ‘What the hell were you thinking? Offering her the armoire. “If you outbid our customer, you can have it.” Why didn’t you just open the thing up and let her look inside? What would you have done if she’d tried—?’
‘Damn it, Evan.’ Sty put a hand on the newel post, facing him. ‘Can you please get hold of yourself? You’re clucking like a perturbed hen.’
A hen? Evan stood. The steps made him higher than Sty, gave him an advantage. He pictured pouncing, twisting Sty’s neck, hearing it crack.
Sty didn’t look up at him; his eyes peered into the distance, thinking. ‘There was absolutely no chance she would inspect the armoire once I’d invited her to do so. If I hadn’t offered her a look, she might well have taken one.’
‘How could you possibly know that?’
Sty raised an eyebrow. ‘It was a matter of probability. Human behavior is fairly predictable. You’d know that if you’d study it.’
Evan opened and closed his sore fist. He hadn’t eaten, and his muscles ached from all the cleaning and moving.
‘Don’t get ornery, Evan.’
‘Who said I was ornery?’
‘I know you, my friend. You are a man of passion; that passion is what first attracted me to you as a superior individual. But remember, passion needs to be balanced by rationality and self-control.’
Evan leaned against the wall, exhaled, saying nothing. He wished Sty would drop his affected intellectual posturing. But Sty was a genius, couldn’t help it. And they needed his genius if they were going to get out of this mess.
‘So, what now? Should we get your car and load this thing?’
Sty frowned. His eyes moved toward the door. ‘Not yet. Obviously, we have to alter our plan.’
‘Again?’ Evan snorted. ‘I am not moving that guy again. I refuse—’
‘Calm down, Evan. I mean it. We’re both tired, but we need to remain steady and clear-headed. There’s no need to move him again.’ Sty took a step up and sat below Evan. ‘Think about it. We’ve already informed the police that the armoire has been purchased by a third party. That’s why we’re here, right? To deliver it?’
Evan nodded. ‘That’s what we said.’
‘So, when and if they find it abandoned and discover the body, they’ll also assume that that same third party is responsible. After all, we’re just college boys; what possible motive would we have for killing anyone? And, more pertinently, why would we have offered it for our visitors’ inspection if we’d had a corpse hidden inside?’
A slow, relieved grin stretched across Evan’s face. How was Sty so talented at planning ahead, anticipating snafus, dodging bullets, making contingencies?
‘Think about it. In the worst case, down the road, all we’ll have to do is invent a false identity for the buyer of the piece, and profess our absolute ignorance of what they did with it after purchase.’ Sty reached up, put a hand on Evan’s shoulder, and squeezed. ‘You all right, compadre?’
Evan looked at the armoire. ‘What do we do with that?’
Sty removed his hand, stood. ‘Nobody’s here but us. We can leave it for now.’
Thank God, Evan thought. He rubbed his shoulder, doubted he could move the thing another inch.
Sty went for his coat. ‘Come on. Let’s go get some dinner. I’m so hungry, you’re starting to look like rare steak.’
As they locked the door on the way out, Evan was still uneasy. The police car was still in the neighbor’s driveway. And even though he knew she wasn’t, he felt as if Harper was watching him from the upstairs window.
Back in her bedroom, lying down again, Harper turned on the television but ignored it, glaring out the window at the fraternity house. Rivers had advised the boys to leave and lock up, but she hadn’t questioned them sufficiently. Hadn’t seemed to notice the coincidence of their presence just yards from the site of the assault she’d witnessed. Or the possibility that the victim of that assault might be the missing boy from Elmira. Or that the key she’d found could belong to that boy – might even open the door to his apartment.
In fact, Rivers had flatly dismissed every single one of Harper’s concerns, even the dead rat. Even the SUV that kept cruising the neighborhood.
‘You need to rest more and take better care of yourself.’ Rivers had made Harper sit down in the living room beside the tree, among the decorations and baby gifts, and she’d proceeded to scold her. ‘Your body is under more stress than you realize. That contraction next door – it was alarming. You need to talk to your doctor, Mrs Jennings. You don’t want to put your health or your baby’s at risk.’
Harper had been indignant. She didn’t need a lecture, was quite aware of her condition and her responsibilities. Resented the detective’s tone. ‘Thank you. I assure you I’m following my doctor’s instructions and trying to rest. But how can I rest with all that’s going on around here? Disappearance, assault, threatening packages, trespassers – the baby and I might be at risk from more than contractions—’
‘Please, Mrs Jennings. Listen to yourself.’ Rivers had looked down at her boots, studied them, then looked back up. ‘I don’t know how else to say this, so I’ll just be blunt. You’re imagining problems where there aren’t any. You’re taking random events and inventing connections between them, inferring the worst possibilities. Honestly, things aren’t as sinister as you seem to think they are. Simply put: you’re overreacting.’
Harper had felt slapped. Stunned. Was she overreacting to a dead rat in the mail? A fist fight out her window? Young men prowling around in a house that was supposed to be empty? Why was everyone so determined to dismiss her? Her mother, Lou, Detective Rivers. Why were they all so doubtful? Had they sent out a memo? Had a meeting and decided to explain away whatever worried her as being the result of hormone fluctuations or stress?
An hour later, when the phone rang, she was still seething. She ran a hand through her hair, shut off the television and answered, not taking her eyes off the building next door. Asking herself what was wrong with everyone. Confident, now, that the errors in reasoning or perception were not her own.
Hank had news. ‘Hospital. Today. Went.’
Oh God. ‘What? Why?’ Harper could only make short syllables. The walls around her suddenly slipped away and, as if from above, she saw herself in the garden before his accident, planting tulips, looking up to the roof where Hank was making repairs. Seeing him slip, falling, hitting the ledge below. No—
‘Hoppa?’ How long had he been talking? Harper had missed it. ‘You there?’
Harper grunted, biting hard on her lip, causing pain that she hoped would ground her and fend off the flashback. Hank. What had happened to him?
‘. . . Trent took me. For X-ray.’
X-ray? Harper was still floating, looked down at Hank lying on the hedges, unconscious. Saw a rush of gurneys, hospital beds. She bit down harder, felt a rip of pain, tasted blood.
‘Not worry. Hoppa. Okay?’
Not worry? Hank had gone to the hospital again, and she wasn’t supposed to worry? ‘What happened? Why didn’t anyone call to tell me you’d been hurt?’
‘Did tell you. Hurt my ankle.’
Wait. Harper thought back; H
ank had mentioned that he’d twisted his ankle. ‘But you didn’t say it was that bad – bad enough to go to the hospital. You made it sound like no big deal. Like everything was fine—’ She stopped short, aware that she’d also been omitting things from their conversations, making things sound fine. Apparently, each had been trying to spare the other.
‘Not broken,’ he assured her. ‘Just tendon.’
Just? ‘Damn. Can you walk?’
‘Crutches. Okay. Will be.’
Again, Harper saw him falling, his head slamming the ledge. She dug a fingernail into her palm, focused on the pain.
‘Hoppa?’ Hank penetrated the flashback. ‘I’m fine. Don’t worry. No. Big deal.’
Harper looked out the window. Evan and Sty were leaving the fraternity. Harper ran a hand through her hair, watching them.
‘You okay?’ His voice was gentle, distracting.
Harper closed her eyes, not able to bear how much she missed him. ‘Fine.’ Her voice was lumpy and raw. She swallowed, regaining control. Repeated herself. ‘I’m fine. Why?’
‘Know you.’ Two words wrapped around her like a hug.
Harper’s eyes flooded. Damn. Cut it out, she told herself. She was stronger, more resilient than this.
‘Tell. Me. What?’
She reached for a tissue, blew her nose. ‘Nothing.’ Nothing except that everyone around her discounted everything she said and implied she was losing her mind. ‘Nobody takes me seriously, Hank. I feel like I’m the only one who sees what’s going on—’
‘Like what?’
Harper opened her mouth and words flooded out. But she didn’t tell him about the naked boy in the snow, the missing kid from Elmira, the key she’d found out back, the odd behavior in the fraternity house, Rivers’ implication that she was imagining things because of her frustrating isolation at being in the house all the time. She didn’t mention anything about the dead rat or Lou’s gun, fake IDs and suitcase full of money. Those things would make Hank worry. Instead, she railed about the ugly unwanted Christmas tree, prematurely purchased baby presents, the garish God-awful lights Lou was going to hang all over the property . . .
‘Leslie,’ Hank interrupted.