The Nosy Neighbor

by Fern Michaels

  “Looks like a nice guy,” one of the agents said.

  Lucy eyed the two gray suits, hoping the fear she was experiencing didn’t show on her face. “He’s my neighbor. I sprained my ankle yesterday. As you can see, he came over to walk the dogs. Isn’t it a little early for a visit from the FBI? What do you want?”

  “We stopped by the tennis court and track, but you weren’t there. We thought something might have happened to you.”

  “Something did happen to me. I slipped on a patch of ice yesterday and sprained my ankle. I also gave my head a good crack.” She fingered the bump on her head and winced. “I repeat, what do you want?”

  Instead of answering her question, the second agent said, “Was that Mr. Banks on the phone?”

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business, Agent Conover. Why are you here? I told you yesterday I don’t know anything about Jonathan’s business. If I don’t know anything, how can I possibly help you?”

  Lucy wondered how two men could wear identical blank expressions.

  “Then why did you go to his apartment yesterday? Did you leave him a note or a warning? That’s another way of saying we don’t believe you.”

  Pretend outrage rang in Lucy’s voice. “You followed me!”

  “Why did you go there?” Agent Conover asked a second time. “You said you had never been to Mr. Banks’s apartment, but all of a sudden, after we spoke, you suddenly wanted to visit your fiancé’s apartment. I guess you were a little surprised to see that it was empty.”

  Conover had her there, and she knew it. Lucy motioned to the two agents to follow her into the kitchen. She nodded as she watched the water drip through the coffeepot. She turned on one foot and reached into the cabinet for a cup. One cup. There was no way she was going to offer these two a cup of coffee. She tried unobtrusively to sneak a look at the clock on the range to see how much time she had before Jonathan called back. A precious few minutes. “Since you know the apartment is virtually empty, I hope you had a search warrant when you entered.”

  The agents ignored her comment. “We have it on good authority that Mr. Banks will be joining you for Thanksgiving. That’s six days from now. We were going to ask you to come into our office in Manhattan, but seeing as how you’re slightly incapacitated, we can have our superiors come here. We need to talk, Miss Baker. We want you to help us.”

  The words sounded so ominous that Lucy felt herself cringe. What exactly did they mean by help?

  “How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t know anything about Jonathan or his business. Yes, I was upset yesterday after we spoke. I didn’t believe what you said about my fiancé. That’s why I went to his apartment. In case you don’t already know, I picked the lock. I don’t know why there isn’t any furniture other than a few chairs and tables. Maybe Jonathan doesn’t like the area, or maybe he can’t break his lease. He’s only in the city a few days at a time. Perhaps he likes staying at a hotel where everything is done for him. I simply don’t know. There’s nothing I can do to help you because I don’t know anything. What right do you have to come here and turn my life upside down this way?”

  Agent Conover looked pointedly at his watch. “We’ll call you to set up an appointment. Be sure to answer your phone, Miss Baker.”

  The moment Lucy opened the door to usher the two men out, Wylie and the dogs blasted through. She would have slammed and locked the door if not for Wylie and the dogs. Wylie unhooked the two leashes and hung them on the peg on the coatrack. Lucy thanked him and waited to see what he was going to do. Instead of leaving, he followed the dogs to the kitchen. She groaned as she locked the door behind the two agents.

  In the kitchen, Lucy watched as Wylie handed out chews to the two dogs, who trotted off to the living room. It irritated her that her neighbor was making himself so at home.

  “Talk about your steely-eyed whoever and whatever they are. Those guys looked like CIA wannabes to me. Are you okay, Lucy? You look worried. Is something wrong?”

  Lucy brushed at the hair that was falling over her forehead, aware suddenly of how she looked and what she was wearing—a faded plum-colored sweat suit. The phone rang at that precise moment. Answer it, not answer it? Lucy opted for the latter.

  “It’s just my brother. He calls every morning before he goes to work. That old sibling thing. With eight brothers and sisters I’m sure you understand what I’m talking about.” She hated the sound of desperation ringing in her voice.

  “Well, sort of. No one calls to check on me except my mother, and she only calls on Sunday afternoon. Two o’clock sharp, and woe is me if I’m not there to answer. Can I have a cup to go? Listen, I’ll be home early to walk the dogs. Please don’t even try going out. The roads are sheets of ice.”

  Lucy grimaced. “Okay, Dad.”

  Wylie laughed as he made his way to the front door, coffee cup in hand. He waved, then shouted, “Take good care of my dog.”

  “Don’t forget to pick up some stuff for Nellie’s party.” They sounded like an old married couple, Lucy thought.

  Back in the kitchen, Lucy looked at the small four-cup coffeepot and decided to make another pot. When the phone rang, she sucked in her breath, and, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, said, “Hello!” It was Agent Conover calling to say the meeting would be at three o’clock that afternoon.

  Wonderful, one more thing to worry about! The phone rang a second time just as she poured fresh coffee into her cup. This time it was Jonathan with an edge to his voice. Another time, another place, and the hardness might have bothered her. “Where are you, Jonathan?” she asked, not sounding completely friendly herself. The question surprised him. She could tell by the gap in the conversation.

  “Buenos Aires. Why?”

  “Just curious. I thought you were in Guatemala. Sometimes you remind me of a phantom. You’re here, you’re not here; then you’re there, and you’re not there. Whatever will you do when you don’t travel as much?”

  “Spend all my time with you. You sound different this morning. I tried calling you a few minutes ago, but there was no answer.” To Lucy’s ears, the statement sounded accusatory. Normally, she’d fall all over herself with an explanation as to why she hadn’t answered the phone. Just then she didn’t feel like acting normal. She was also feeling a smidgen of guilt about Wylie. “I sprained my ankle yesterday, Jonathan, as I told you. My neighbor came to walk the dogs, and I had to be hospitable because tonight is Nellie’s going-away party. Are you in a hurry or something? It seems to me you’re always in a hurry when you call me.” She knew he would be able to detect the anger she was feeling in her voice. She didn’t care.

  “No, I’m not in a hurry. It just wasn’t like you not to answer the phone. I like knowing you’re sitting there waiting for me to call. I’m looking forward to seeing you. Are we eating in or going out for Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “I’ll leave that up to you, Jonathan, but tell me now if you want me to cook, so I can order the turkey from the butcher. Are you going to be staying here or at your apartment?”

  “With you. I’ll stop by to pick up my mail and repack my suitcase. I’m heading off to Madrid when I leave on the Sunday after Thanksgiving.”

  Lucy knew a lie when she heard it. Almost to a man, every client she’d ever had lied at some point. Even her brother lied sometimes. She wondered if Wylie was a liar, too. More likely than not, Jonathan would get a phone call the day after Thanksgiving and off he’d go. It was his pattern. “You’re only staying for a few days! When will you be back?”

  “For Christmas. For ten whole days. Let’s try to get away for a few days? How does four days in Aruba sound? Or we could go back to Amelia Island and get in some golf.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Lucy said. She wondered when he was going to ask her about her ankle or the bump on her head. Did she tell him about cracking her head? She couldn’t remember, and in the end, what difference did it make? He wasn’t going to ask her how she was, that was the bottom lin
e.

  “Lucy, I have a client who could really use your services. I’d take it as a personal favor if you’d come out of your self-imposed retirement to represent him. It’s a million in legal fees easy. I want to talk about it when I get there for Thanksgiving.”

  They’d had this conversation so many times, Lucy had lost count. She wasn’t in the mood to go three more rounds with Jonathan, not with the FBI spying on her. They were probably listening to her phone conversation at that very moment.

  Jonathan took her silence to mean he’d finally worn her down. “Any more news on your appointment to the bench?”

  Actually, there was news, but she wasn’t about to share it with Jonathan. She’d been dropped from the list of possible candidates. “No, not really. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I’d like to see you wearing a black robe. Preferably with nothing on under it.” He chuckled at his own wit. “Seriously, you earned it, Lucy. I don’t want to see you do something you’ll regret later on. Besides, I think it will be a real hoot to introduce you as, my wife, the judge.” He laughed then. His laugh wasn’t half as nice as Wylie’s laugh, Lucy decided. She felt disloyal all over again.

  Lucy thought about all the seed pearls for her gown and the wedding invitations on her dining room table.

  “I’m being paged, Lucy. I have to go. I’ll see you on Wednesday. Let’s eat in. Just you and me. Promise you’ll dream about me.”

  “Oh, I’ll dream about you, all right, Jonathan. Have a safe trip home,” Lucy said curtly.

  “I love you.”

  This was where she was supposed to return the sentiment. She couldn’t force the words past her lips. She pressed the button to disconnect the call. In doing so, she hoped this wasn’t one of those things she’d come to regret later on.

  • • •

  It wasn’t until she showered and washed her hair that she started to feel strange. The bump on her head seemed to be smaller than it was the night before, the size of a peanut. She wondered if she might have a concussion. When her head hit the road it had been almost incidental compared to the pain in her ankle. She wondered if the electric current that ran up her side had anything to do with the ferocious headache pounding behind her eyes. She’d been more concerned with her ankle than the dull, throbbing headache that had just blossomed into a full-blown, mind-bending headache. Lucy washed down a handful of aspirin and crawled into bed. Maybe if she slept for a few hours in her own bed, the headache would let up.

  When she woke, it was noon. Lucy’s ankle felt better, but she still had a dull pounding inside her head. She lay quietly for a few moments, trying to identify the sounds she was hearing. The television must be on. If not, someone was in her house chattering up a storm. She made her way to the bathroom to swallow more aspirin, then headed for the kitchen, where she ate a bowl of cereal. She shrugged when she realized the television wasn’t on.

  Lucy let the rambunctious dogs out into the backyard, satisfied that the ground was frozen and they wouldn’t return full of mud. Five minutes later they scampered back in and immediately ran down the hall to the guest room, where Sadie kept all her junk. Lucy headed for the couch, walking gingerly to avoid putting pressure on her ankle. She called Nellie to explain the situation and express her regrets about not being able to attend the going-away party.

  Lucy realized she had nothing to do until three o’clock, when the FBI agents would arrive.

  She finally admitted to herself that she was bored. The law had been her life. Maybe she needed to think about going back to the firm and taking on only those cases where she was convinced her client was innocent. As if that were even possible.

  Lucy leaned her head against the back of the sofa. Her ears were starting to hurt. She wondered what that meant. Maybe she was coming down with a bug of some kind. It was almost three o’clock. Time for her visitors. If she didn’t help the agents, they could charge her with obstructing justice. When they got done with her, she’d never practice law again. Oh, God, Jonathan, how could you put me in such a position?

  To pass the time, Lucy made herself a grilled cheese sandwich with a small green salad. She barely tasted what she was eating because her brain was going ten miles a minute as she tried to figure out what was going to happen to her life. Her thoughts were so scattered she felt like a kaleidoscope was inside her brain. In brilliant color. She had to keep blinking her eyes to ward off the blurriness.

  After she tidied up the kitchen, Lucy made her way to the living room to wait for Frick and Frack’s “superiors” to show up. Before she sat down, she threw some logs on the smoldering embers and watched the fire spring to life. She felt just like the fire, like her body was crackling with something…electricity. To prove her point, she ran the palm of her hand up and down her arm and heard the little snicks that told her she was right. Again, she wondered what it meant.

  Precisely at one minute to three, both Coop and Sadie raced to the door. A second later the bell rang. Lucy calmed the dogs as she dragged her injured foot across the carpet. At one point, she thought she saw sparks on the carpet. I must need glasses, she thought as she opened the door. Coop reared back and howled. Sadie barked her disapproval. Neither dog moved, but both of them tucked their tails between their legs. A clear sign to anyone who knew dogs that meant don’t mess with me or anyone close to me.

  The two men and one woman stopped in their tracks as they eyed the two golden dogs. “Stay,” Lucy said to Sadie. She knew Clueless Cooper would do whatever Sadie did. She motioned for the trio to follow her into the living room.

  Lucy offered them nothing more than a place to sit. “Let’s skip the small talk and cut to the chase. I told your two agents I know nothing about my fiancé’s affairs. I don’t see how I can possibly help you. What is it you want from me? Just so you know, I am not one bit happy with what is going on. Until yesterday, I had a nice life, and you and your agents are turning it inside out.”

  The agents stared at her, obviously paying little if any attention to what she was saying. “Allow me to introduce myself,” the tallest of the three said. “I’m Agent Harry Mason, this is Special Agent Sylvia Connors, and the man on my left is Agent Thomas Lawrence. Fine animals you have here. Very protective, I see. That’s a good thing when a woman lives alone.”

  Lucy nodded. She wasn’t giving up anything, even if it was the mating habits of dogs. She stared across at the agents with unblinking intensity, wishing Mason would get on with it so she could take a nap. She blinked, then rubbed her eyes. For just a second the room was fuzzy, slightly distorted. Concussion. The thought made her heart race.

  “Miss Baker, Agent Conover’s report indicates he’s explained our suspicions concerning Leo Banks. You, of course, know Leo Banks as Jonathan St. Clair. I’d like you to look at these photographs and tell me if the man you know as Jonathan St. Clair is the man in the photographs.”

  Lucy reached for the eight-by-ten black-and-white glossy prints of her fiancé. How handsome he was. She nodded. “Yes, that’s my fiancé.”

  “Now, I want you to look at these pictures. This is Leo Banks at his high school graduation, his college graduation, random pictures taken over the past three years by one of our agents. Do you agree they are pictures of one and the same man?”

  Lucy sucked in her breath. There was no denying the likeness. She nodded again, biting down on her lip so she wouldn’t cry. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t help but stare across the room at the dining room table. The female agent followed her gaze and looked at her with pity in her eyes. Lucy felt faint with the realization that the agents hadn’t lied to her.

  Anger at her circumstances rippled through her. “A lot of people change their names for a variety of reasons. That doesn’t necessarily make them criminals. What is it you think Jonathan has done?”

  “Do you want the long or the short version, Miss Baker?” Lawrence asked coolly.

  Lucy brought her hands up to massage her temples. “I want you to tell me everything,”
she whispered.

  Lucy almost jumped out of her skin when the reply came firm, hard, and cold. “Murder, drug dealing, money laundering. None of which we can nail him with. The list is very long. Your boyfriend is a very arrogant, respected, sophisticated businessman. He has his fingers in a lot of different pies. His legitimate enterprises are a front for a very sophisticated money-laundering operation that no government has been able to penetrate until now. In the last five years we suspect he’s moved three billion, that’s billion with a b, through his legitimate businesses.

  “Where did you get the money to buy that ten-million-dollar house in the Watchung Mountains, Miss Baker?” Agent Mason demanded.

  All Lucy could do was gape at the agent. “What ten-million-dollar house? I’ve never been anywhere near the Watchung Mountains in my life. This house you’re sitting in right now is the only property I own.” Before she could blink, a property deed was thrust under her nose.

  Lucy skimmed the contents. Her throat constricted, making it difficult to swallow. “This isn’t mine. There must be some mistake. It’s not mine,” she said again, this time more forcefully. “I don’t care what that deed says.”

  Agent Lawrence stared at Lucy with a jaundiced eye. “Mr. Banks leased that property for a number of years. It’s his home base. It’s where he goes when he’s here in the States. A little over a year ago, he bought the property outright and transferred the deed into your name. Without a doubt, it is a valuable piece of real estate. The security system alone is worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. The whole place is loaded with motion sensors, laser trip wires, and tremor plates. Terrorists and drug dealers use devices like that. Now, to our way of thinking, if you’re a normal person who just safeguards his privacy, that’s one thing, but systems like the ones installed on that property make us wonder what Mr. Banks is hiding. Or what you’re hiding since the property is in your name. In addition, there are a half dozen very-high-end vehicles parked in the six-car garage. Six-car garage,” the agent repeated sourly. “They’re all in your name, too. A Bentley, a Mercedes, a Porsche, a Rolls-Royce, a Lamborghini, and a 1965 restored Mustang convertible. Not to mention the fleet of cigarette boats he has stashed in Florida. They’re in your name, too. Those cigarette boats raise your net worth considerably.”