The Girl Next Door

by Lisa Aurello

  Me. Mason Caldwell was staring at me. Mason Caldwell was checking me out.

  “Hey,” he said as he made his way through the group to come closer. “I’m Mason,” he added with a slight slur and held out his hand.

  He doesn’t recognize me. And he’s drunk. I reached out to take it, my heart slamming against the wall of my chest. This boy… I’d been crushing on this boy for years now. “Hi. I’m… Janine.”

  “Pretty name. You live around here, Janine?”

  “Um, I used to. Now I’m visiting my cousin. How ‘bout you?” I quickly flipped it back to him. The less I had to lie, the better. Even though he totally didn’t recognize me for the moment, the less said the better.

  “Yeah, I do.” He staggered back but quickly regained his footing. His eyes, though dilated, never lost focus and made me squirm. “You look familiar. When did you move away?”

  I took another pull at my beer to buy some time. How did he not recognize me? Did I look that different? “Um, about four years ago, we moved.”

  “Oh, did you go to Sandringham?”

  Shaking my head, I tipped the bottle back. If I was drinking, I couldn’t talk. Plus, I needed to get drunk soon. “Nah, private school. Did you? Go to Sandringham?”

  “Yep, I did. So… are you here with anyone?” His eyes scanned all around me.

  “No. I came by myself.”

  “Do you wanna get another beer and maybe sit outside to talk? It’s so loud and smoky in here.”

  “It is. Yeah, sure.”

  That’s where the memory dissolves into the fog of amnesia. I knew, I just knew there was more to the story, a lot more, but the details refused to budge from their hiding place. Something happened afterward, I know it, and it had something to do with an accident I had in high school, but I just couldn’t untangle the ensnarled memories. I had an accident—wait, no, I got hit by a car—but I’m pretty sure it happened around Valentine’s Day so it couldn’t have anything to do with the Halloween party… but my brain was telling me it somehow did. I just couldn’t connect the dots.

  The accident was traumatic and ruined my whole junior year of high school.

  Sulu and I had gone to a movie. A lot of high school kids were there—it was the opening of a Star Wars marathon. Something bad happened… I can’t remember what… but something… and I ran. I ran right into the road. I saw the SUV only a second before it slammed into me. It was huge, a Suburban, and the white-hot pain upon impact was immersive. And then… then something else followed.

  Something terrible.

  This memory has a passenger: I can sense some kind of disabling depression. I feel it, this annihilating sadness… it encompasses me in a psychic darkness…

  I think someone died. I think someone was murdered.

  Chapter 21

  At seven p.m. Mel was getting dressed for her date with Detective Fitzgibbons. For such a rugged alpha male-type—and he was, at 6’1 with shoulders as wide as a semi—he was kind of shy when he asked her out. He’d gotten her phone number the afternoon they made the chili together. His phone had begun vibrating and he’d put down the knife and wiped his hands on a dishtowel.

  “Fitzgibbons. Yes. Understood. Nine tomorrow morning. I’ll be there. Thank you.”

  Mel tried to act as if she somehow didn’t hear a word of his conversation. When the room went quiet, she sneaked a hurried glance at him. He was sitting there, knees spread wide, just studying her as she glided around the kitchen.

  “What?” she’d asked.

  “Nothing. I just figured as long as I have my phone out I should take your number. You know,” he grinned, “in case I think of any questions you could answer that may assist us on some aspect of the case.”

  She played along with his bogus explanation: both of them knew she had no further information to give him, but if he needed the cover to ask her for her number, so be it. He’d called her the very next night. Tonight was their second date in a week, the first one being a jazz performance in a little dive bar on Ludlow Street. That bar must have been the last holdout of gentrification on the Lower East Side. She was impressed that he liked jazz—didn’t fit the stereotype. Country, yes but jazz was a happy surprise. Good on him.

  As far as the performance went, Mel thought the music was probably good but she’d been too focused on trying not to die of hypothermia to pay it too much attention. The place felt like it had no heat, and the door kept being opened by latecomers, allowing the cold air to rush in continuously.

  Tonight, they’d be inside a warm restaurant and then movie theatre. Much better since it was a bitch of a cold November.

  Rob had told her to wear whatever made her comfortable, so she pulled on a pair of tight jeans, a new imitation-mohair sweater, and chunky-heeled ankle boots. Applying her mascara, her mind wandered to Jane and she thought about the whole grisly thing with the next-door neighbors. Meticulously staining her lips between the liner lines, Mel decided Jane should list her house and move. Brushing on some bronzer, she concluded that it had to be bad feng shui to have a murderer living next door.

  The closer the clock inched to 7:45—the time Rob was picking her up—the more excited Mel became. When she thought of him, her heartbeat galloped. Who knew? Maybe this one would work out… She wasn’t thrilled that he was a cop—for multiple reasons. Still, Rob had more in the plus column than the minus. For a change.

  If not for the specter of the murder investigation, Mel would really be savoring this exploration, but she was getting the uncomfortable impression that Rob didn’t like or trust Jane. When he was telling them about the photo found in Caldwell’s dresser, it had felt more like an interrogation of Jane.

  To banish the dour thought, Mel decided she had time for a glass of wine. She was on her way to the kitchen when the bell rang twice, right on time too. Veering toward the door, she flung it open ready to launch herself at him in a sneak attack, but one look at Rob’s grim face and Mel’s good mood evaporated. He looked… angry. Or maybe troubled. She didn’t know him well enough to be able to discern subtle differences.

  “Everything all right with you?”

  He nodded, tight-lipped. “Yeah, sure. Hungry?”

  “Starving. Where are we going?”

  “Like Thai food?”

  Her eyes widened. “Love it.”

  “Figured as much,” he said, huffing out a sardonic little laugh. “I have reservations at a tiny little place in Chelsea. Food’s supposed to be really good. You ready?”

  “Uh-huh. Let me just grab my peacoat.”

  “So… are you going to tell me what’s up with you?” Mel finally asked him about an hour into their uncomfortable dinner.

  She hadn’t endured a meal with such awkward silences since the family dinner three years before when her Uncle Eddie announced over the salad course that he identified as a woman and wanted everyone to call him Alicia going forward. His announcement was a real conversation killer, Mel remembered. There were a few attempts to get it going again, but after each remark a squirming silence reclaimed the table.

  As dessert was being served Uncle Eddie popped up, went into a bedroom, and Aunt Alicia came out in a royal-blue empire dress and five-inch stilettos. Dessert became riveting to everyone around the table. Eyes glued on their dishes, they all sucked down the pie and ice cream as if their lives depended on it and then scattered like broken glass. Mel stayed at the table, noticing that Alicia’s eyeliner was uneven and gave her some tips on how to avoid that. Her aunt appreciated the advice and blew her a kiss across the blueberry pie.

  “Forget it, Melanie,” Rob’s voice jerked her back to the dismal dinner. “It’s about the case and you know I can’t discuss it with you. Conflict of interest.”

  “Don’t you think you should recuse yourself from it since we’re seeing each other now?”

  “I would,” he said, stabbing a broccoli floret with his fork, “but I just did that recently.” He looked at his fork glumly. “What made people think to eat
these things anyway? Broccoli does not look like something I would’ve put in my mouth if I were a Neanderthal looking for food.”

  “You are a Neanderthal, Rob. Would you finish what you were saying, please?”

  He snorted a laugh. “Tree-hugging commie. What I was saying was that my younger brother was peripherally involved in some trouble and I got myself yanked from the case just to be on the safe side. I can’t do it again… not so soon after… or it will look odd.”

  Whatever, but she still needed to know what was stuck up his ass. He’d shown up at her house moody, and his disposition was not improving at all with beer and food. What was going on? She was worried for Jane. She pressed her lips together, trying to think of a way around the impasse. “What would happen if you told me and I kept my mouth shut? Nothing, right?”

  His eyes shot up from his plate and they looked mean. “The problem stems from the fact that you might not keep your mouth shut and I—”

  “I would keep it shut to protect you,” she interrupted. “Why would I intentionally jeopardize your job?”

  “Not my job, Melanie, but my case. Do you really have to ask me why?”

  “Yeah, as a fucking matter of fact, I really do, Rob,” she spat out his name.

  He scowled, shaking his head, before snapping, “To help your friend. Why else?”

  “My friend? Jane?”

  He just looked at her with hostile eyes.

  “Why would Jane need my help? Is she in trouble?”

  He put down his fork and his lips pulled tight into a straight line. “She might be. Look, that’s all I can say. Can we just have a nice dinner and evening?”

  “Dude, pretty sure you’re the one ruining it. Lighten up and maybe we can. This is only our second date, for God’s sake. It doesn’t bode well for any future,” she added in a jokey way, but the truth of her words hit her sideways. She liked Rob and was enormously attracted to him. Last night all she could think about was getting him into bed tonight and hanging onto those shoulders while he pounded into her. It would be good. She knew he was packing a lot more than his gun, too, because when they kissed goodnight on their last date she could feel his hardware through his jeans.

  Felt pretty substantial.

  She wanted him and wanted this thing between them to progress. Maybe she needed to get him drunk? Although drunk and cop might not be the smartest mix. But a nice little buzz…

  “Let’s go back to my place instead of going to the movies. I’ll make us a couple of Irish coffees, and we can watch an old flick. How’s that sound?”

  Ah, where there’s a will… she finally wrangled a grin out of the man. “Sounds good, Mel. Let’s do it.”

  They sat, thighs grazing, on her overstuffed sectional that took up the entire cramped living room, sipping the strong Irish coffee. Melanie went heavy on the whiskey, adding it to decaf so they wouldn’t be up all night. Whipped cream and cinnamon topped it. Then she searched through her saved recordings for a lighthearted film. It Happened One Night was the winner. She had a feeling that Rob was a black-and-white-old-movie kind of guy.

  Mel picked up the mug and tipped it to her mouth. Heat slid down her throat, both from the temperature of the coffee and the burn of the whiskey. Mmm, she’d balanced the two perfectly. Two years as mixologist at a high-volume Williamsburg bar did right by her even now, years after. Braced with liquid courage, she put the drink down and sidled closer to Rob, curling into his side and easing her hand onto his crotch. The slight touch triggered an instant reaction, his body jerking to attention and his eyes swooping to hers. In them she saw the flare of surprise.

  “What?” she asked innocently.

  “Nothing… just seriously not expecting you to go there.” His brows arched. “We pretty much just met.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to sully your virtue, Detective Fitzgibbons; however, I beg to differ about just meeting. We’ve had two dinners and a show together. Plus, a black-and-white vintage comedy. But if you think it’s too soon…”

  She waited for him to jump in and refute her last comment, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to sleep with her?

  An ugly thing sparked to life in her belly and began to spread its tentacles of poison. Needing to move, she pulled away from him and leaned forward toward the coffee table, again reaching for her drink as rejection merged with paranoia. Was he just using her to get information to build his case? Seemed like a dead end since she didn’t know the Caldwells. But he certainly wasn’t acting like a man who was interested, and Mel had never before been rebuffed for sex. That was—

  His voice punched through her emotional scatter, interrupting the chaos. “Mel, this is a confusing situation for me. I’m a little worried, you know? About how all of this is gonna shake out?”

  “Uh-huh.” Her tone was robotic and she said nothing else, just stopping the film and waiting for him to talk, to say something to end this toxic waste of an evening and get up and leave. But he made no move to go anywhere, so instead she rose from the sofa and took the still mostly full glasses into the kitchen, taking her time in the hope he’d be gone when she got back.

  But he wasn’t. He was still on the couch, elbows on knees, expression inscrutable. She just stood there, six feet away and unwilling to get any closer to him. For Mel, rejection was a kind of infection to be avoided at all costs. She didn’t feel its rot often, but she’d felt it enough to know to keep her distance whenever it so much as bleeped on her radar. There were only two feelings that were worse—a loss to death or a lover’s betrayal.

  Right now, her gut felt torqued. The only cure for it was righteous anger to burn through the bend, but that took a little time to rouse.

  She chewed her lip, wondering what to say to him. Did he really want to watch the rest of the movie? She finally plopped back down, keeping her distance from him but didn’t turn the movie back on.

  He remained stock-still, only raising his eyes to scour hers, looking for… she didn’t know what. After an hour-long minute, he asked, “Can we just finish watching the movie? I want to know what happens,” he added with a weak laugh but got nothing back. “I was still drinking the coffee before you snatched it away.”

  “It’s still on the kitchen counter if you want it. I just thought maybe we were kind of done here. We’ve been on a fast decline since you first got here.”

  “Why? I thought we were relaxing, enjoying each other’s company. I know I was.” Sighing, he patted the empty space next to him. “C’mere.”

  When she didn’t move, he grabbed and tugged on her hand. She allowed herself to be pulled over.

  “Look at me, please.”

  He was using his cop voice on her, the commanding tone that civilians ignored at their own peril. Despite her intentions, her eyes tracked over to him but her lips stayed closed—the portal holding everything in. If she kept them sealed, nothing could spill out of her that she didn’t want to reveal.

  Large hands reached over to cradle her face, and she immediately grasped his wrists, tried to lift them away, but he was ten times stronger, and he wouldn’t allow her to budge them. “Listen to me. I like you and find you immensely attractive. I think you’ve felt how much I’m attracted to you, Melanie. The problem is that I don’t want to begin a physical relationship with you right before I have to stop seeing you. That wouldn’t be fair, to you or to me. And it’s starting to look as if I’ll have to cut off all contact with you for a long while… until this case is over and done.”

  “Why?

  “In the main because you are close friends with a woman whom I may have to arrest for murder.”

  Melanie sucked in a breath, her eyes dark saucers. “What? Why? Jane didn’t do anything.”

  Rob said nothing at first as Mel watched a tic in his cheek and he dropped his hands. His lips flattened into a thin line, his jaw clenched, and he exhaled through his nose, the expulsion amplified. Frustration or judgment? She wasn’t anxious to hear what he had to say next, but he said it anyway. />
  “Things are starting to point her way, Mel. That’s all I can say right now. Thing is, if I’m the lead detective on the case and I’m dating the suspect’s best friend… well, I can’t straddle that fence. It will hurt my case or it will hurt you… or more likely both. It’s no-win, Mel. Unless you’re willing to cut off contact with Jane, I can’t find a way to keep this thing between us going.

  “You know, you don’t even know this lady that long, Melanie. I’m concerned about your safety around her until we can definitively rule her out—and that’s not looking so good lately.”

  “Do you honestly think Jane would try to hurt me?” Mel was incredulous.

  His thick eyebrows hiked up, and the light in his eyes ignited. “Yeah, I kind of do. Why not?” He flounced back into the couch and crossed his leg at the knee.

  “What do you mean, why not?”

  Sucking his teeth, he gave her a disgusted look. “It’s not impossible if she’s guilty of orchestrating someone’s murder… and she thinks you have any evidence or might have seen something.” He wagged his finger in her face. “You want to know what evil looks like? Let me tell you what was waiting for Cate Caldwell’s mother at the morgue, Melanie. Her daughter was a beautiful young woman. She could have landed on the cover of any magazine. The quintessential girl-next-door blond beauty.

  “What was left on the steel gurney for her mother to identify was a body with pasty gray skin and scrambled brains. The brain injuries bulged out her forehead and eyes, giving her a strange look that really upset her mother.”

  Mel’s mouth fell open at the graphic description, but it didn’t stop him. Her reaction might even have egged him on.

  “The hollow-point mushroomed inside her brain, maximizing tissue damage. That kind of bullet never exits—or rarely does—so the havoc is all internal because of hydrostatic shock. Can you imagine all that energy unleashed but contained within someone’s head?