The Nosy Neighbor

by Fern Michaels

  “I don’t care. They aren’t mine. I don’t even know what a cigarette boat is. I think I heard the term once when I watched Miami Vice on television, but that’s all I know. I didn’t know about the cars until this moment. I drive a BMW. I make payments every month. It’s a leased vehicle, for God’s sake. I’m telling you the truth.” Lucy cringed at the desperation in her voice. Fear, unlike anything she’d ever experienced, rushed through her.

  “What about these?” Special Agent Connors asked. Lucy watched in horror as brokerage statement after brokerage statement slid out of the manila folder Connors had been holding. Goldman Sachs, Prudential, Merrill Lynch, Smith Barney, Charles Schwab, and a few more she couldn’t read because they were upside down. “Your name is on every single one of these accounts. The account total in case you’re interested, is 21 million dollars. These statements make you a very wealthy lady, Miss Baker.”

  A scream built in Lucy’s throat. “They aren’t mine! I can’t even begin to comprehend 21 million dollars. Check the signature. I never opened any of those accounts. It’s all a big mistake. You can check my income statements. What are you people trying to do to me?”

  Another sheaf of papers fell out of the manila envelope. An amended tax return—bearing her signature. Agent Lawrence ignored her stunned expression when he said coldly, “We’re trying to get you to help us. Do we have your attention now?”

  Lucy clenched her teeth. “Yes, you have my attention. I want a lawyer.”

  Special Agent Connors snorted. “You are a lawyer, Miss Baker. All we’re doing is asking you questions. If you want to lawyer up, that’s going to make us think you might not be telling the truth. You don’t want to mess with an OOJ charge, now do you?”

  Lucy felt light-headed. No one wanted to mess with obstruction of justice charges. At least no one with even minimal intelligence. She shook her head so hard she thought she was going to pass out from the pain.

  “Good.” Special Agent Connors smiled.

  “By the way,” Mason continued, “Mr. Banks, who began using the name Jonathan St. Clair a good many years ago, is the beneficiary on all those brokerage accounts. The real Jonathan St. Clair, by the way, died as a child, before children got social security numbers. So it was simple for Banks to steal his identity and get seemingly legitimate documents in the St. Clair name. He’s also the beneficiary on all the life insurance policies in your name. Twenty-five million that we know of. We don’t know for certain, but we suspect he has a quit-claim deed, signed by you turning the house over to him for the sum of ten dollars, all ready to go on the house in the Watchung Mountains in case…”

  “In case of what?” Lucy snapped. “I only have a fifty-thousand-dollar life policy. I make quarterly payments. It’s a whole life policy. Prudential Insurance. You’re crazy, you’re all crazy!” Lucy snapped again. Although it didn’t seem possible for her head to pound harder, it was. I’m going to explode right here in front of these people, she thought.

  “Your untimely demise.”

  It was a nightmare, pure and simple. Things like this didn’t happen to people like her. They happened to other people. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach was working its way up to her throat. The pounding inside her head was unbearable. She was going to wake up any minute and realize she was having a terrible dream. She pinched the inside of her arm but felt the pain. She was wide-awake, and this was no nightmare. Your untimely demise. She shuddered at the words, and a chill washed over her.

  Lucy’s eyes snapped open. The three agents were staring at her with pity in their eyes. Agent Lawrence pointed to the pile of papers and the photographs on the coffee table. “We can make this all go away if you agree to help us.”

  Lucy snorted. It was blackmail pure and simple. Her legal brain kicked in. “I want to see that in writing. My brother can handle the legal work. It’s that, or it’s no deal. You do not have my legal signature on any of those documents. Those are forgeries and you damn well know it. Yes, you can drag me down, but in the end, I’ll win because I didn’t do anything wrong.” Brave words that meant squat. She knew it, and the agents knew it.

  The agents stood as one. “You look tired, Miss Baker,” the third agent said quietly. “We’ll be in touch. Soon. Don’t get up. We can see ourselves out.”

  Asob caught in Lucy’s throat. “Take your junk with you,” she said, pointing to the pile of papers and photographs.

  “They’re for you, Miss Baker. We want you to study them so when we contact you again, you’ll appreciate what a precarious position your fiancé has placed you in. We want you to think about what has happened and what can still happen. We’ll be in touch,” Agent Lawrence said, just before the door closed behind him.

  Lucy cried then because she didn’t know what else to do. In the whole of her thirty-eight years, she’d never been so miserable. Lucy thought about Jonathan’s quick little visits, the weekend getaways, the little gifts he’d given her, the way he’d whispered in her ear, the way he’d kissed her. There had been no bells, no whistles, no breathtaking moments. She’d always been contented after sex, though. Her blood didn’t sing when she was around him. Did she love him? She thought she did. She liked him, or at least she had. Now, she couldn’t abide hearing his name mentioned. And yet she was going to marry him. Why was that? Because her clock was ticking, because her friends were all married. Because there wasn’t a line of men outside her door begging for her hand in marriage. Because it was time to get married. Well, she didn’t have to worry about that any longer. She wasn’t getting married to Jonathan or anyone else!

  Her head pounding, her ankle throbbing, she hobbled into the dining room, every expletive she’d ever heard in her life spewing from her lips. With a sweep of her arm, she sent the pile of wedding invitations flying across the table and onto the carpet. The dogs twirled and pranced as they tried to catch the swirling invitations. When Lucy saw that there were four invitations left on the table she was like a maniac as she ripped and tore at them.

  Both dogs, uncertain if this was a fun thing or not, jumped back into the fray, romping on the cream-colored invitations, then chewing at them.

  Satisfied that the invitations were ruined, Lucy pivoted around on her good foot and hopped her way back to the living room, where she collapsed on the sofa. She was suddenly chilled to the bone, more proof that she was probably coming down with a bug of some sort. She reached for the colorful afghan Nellie Ebersole had made her for her birthday and snuggled under it.

  The dream, when it came, was springtime in the Watchung Mountains. She was hosting a gala soirée to celebrate her appointment to the bench. Off in the distance, as she brought her champagne flute to her lips, she could see a man dressed in camouflage fatigues pointing a high-powered rifle directly at her. She screamed when the flute shattered in her hand.

  Did the marksman miss?

  Was it a warning?

  Lucy opened one eye. “Sadie! Don’t bark in my ear like that. Oh, God, now what?” She rolled off the couch and hopped her way to the door. Expecting to see the federal agents demanding to be let in, she was stunned to see Wylie, his arms full of packages. Take-out for Nellie’s party. “What time is it?” she mumbled.

  “Almost six o’clock. The party was canceled. Seems like everyone on the street has the flu or something like the flu. We’re going to have to eat all this stuff ourselves. You look like you have it, too. Do you?”

  Lucy did her best to focus on her neighbor, but her vision was too blurry. He was so cheerful, she wanted to slap him. “I think I’m catching something; but worse than that, I think I might have a concussion. I must have hit my head harder than I thought. If that’s not what it is, then that electric charge did something to my body. My vision is all blurry. It clears up, then the blurriness comes back. My ears hurt, and I have a killer headache.”

  “Do you want me to take you to the doctor? There’s a good one right down the road. He’s a GP, and everyone on the street goes to him. He’ll ma
ke a house call if you need it. Do you want me to call him?”

  The concern in her neighbor’s voice pleased Lucy as she hobbled to the kitchen. Her voice was apologetic when she said, “I think I’ll wait till morning, and if I don’t feel better, I’ll make an appointment. Is he open on Saturday?”

  “Yeah, he has hours from eight to noon on Saturday.”

  “By the way, I didn’t make a meat loaf for Coop. I think there’s enough left from yesterday if you mix it with something.”

  “If you want, I can take the dogs to my house, or I can stay here and take care of them. I can make us some dinner and a meat loaf for Cooper. I can fetch and carry for you, too. Are you running a fever?”

  “I don’t know. Probably. I had chills a while ago. Yes, please stay. I’d appreciate it, Wylie. I’m sorry I never made an effort to introduce myself after I moved in. I guess life just got in the way. I like your dog. I really do.”

  Wylie jerked at his tie and tossed it over a kitchen chair. His suit coat followed. “I like making myself at home. I’ll borrow your slicker to walk the dogs,” he said, pointing to the coatrack by the back door. “When I get back, I’ll make you some hot tea. Do you have any cognac? My mother swears by hot tea and cognac. Makes you sweat. Go back on the couch and don’t do anything. I’ll replenish the fire. You can thank me some other time.” Wylie grinned as he bustled about.

  Even as bad as she felt, Lucy took a moment to marvel at how sexy her neighbor looked in his white dress shirt, the collar open, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. She admitted she had a thing about white dress shirts on certain men. Men like Wylie. Jonathan in the same attire did nothing for her. How weird was that? She pushed the thought away. She had enough on her plate just then without thinking about a sexy neighbor she’d met only the day before.

  Grateful for the help and attention, Lucy tottered back to the living room and the sofa that beckoned. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She heard the door open and close before she drifted off to sleep…again.

  On his return, dressed in jeans and a fleecy sweatshirt that said GEORGETOWN on the back, Wylie set to work in the kitchen. He worked swiftly and cleaned up after himself as he mixed up the meat loaf, slid it into the oven, and removed the contents from the take-out restaurant onto plates. While he worked, he talked to the dogs, who watched him intently. “I’m probably a better cook than I am a lawyer.” He looked down at Coop and felt a pang of something he couldn’t identify. His dog was in love with another dog and her owner. Where did that leave him in the mix? Standing on the sidelines, that’s where.

  As he waited for the water for Lucy’s tea to boil, he set about adding kindling and logs to the dying fire in the living room. When he was finished, he dusted his hands and walked over to the sofa where Lucy was sleeping. He put his hand on her forehead the way his mother would have. She didn’t seem overly warm to him.

  He stood back to watch her. When she was asleep, she looked vulnerable, and so very pretty. He was almost certain he’d met her someplace, somewhere before, but he couldn’t recall where or when.

  He bent over the coffee table to shuffle the papers and photos back into the manila folder lying on the floor. If there was one thing Wiley hated, it was a mess. He wasn’t being nosy, he really wasn’t but he’d never seen so many brokerage accounts in one person’s name in his life. Nor had he ever seen so many zeros. He barely looked at the arrogant-looking, elegantly dressed man in the photos. He was about to replace everything in the folder when he thought better of it. He left the papers and photos just the way they were and headed for the dining room where he saw the litter on the floor.

  Wylie gaped at the chewed-up invitations, knowing instinctively that Coop had had his teeth in the shredded mess. He sighed heavily as he picked up everything and placed it on the dining room table. He wondered what this was going to cost him.

  His shoulders slumped as he walked back to the kitchen, where he made the tea and drank it himself. His lovely neighbor was getting married. Just his dumb luck. Damn, he really liked Lucy. He’d even dreamed about her last night, and he’d almost killed himself getting to her house that afternoon.

  “Story of my life,” he muttered to the snoozing dogs.

  4

  Lucy woke at eight o’clock, when she felt a cold wet nose nudge her chin. Through sleep-filled eyes, she did her best to focus on Sadie and her surroundings. She felt groggy and cranky at being disturbed. When she opened her eyes wider, she saw her neighbor sitting across from her. He looked like he belonged in the chocolate-colored chair. He even looked like he belonged to the room. She wondered how that could be. “It’s eight o’clock,” she mumbled, looking down at the watch on her wrist.

  “Yep, it’s eight o’clock,” Wylie said cheerfully. “Are you hungry? I was starved, so I ate when I fed the dogs. I kept yours warm. How do you feel?”

  Lucy massaged her temples. “Don’t ask. Did anyone call?”

  “Your phone rang four times, but I didn’t answer it. I assumed you had voice mail, and it would pick up your messages. So”—he clapped his hands—“do you want dinner or not?”

  “I’m not really hungry, Wylie. Maybe later. Thanks for taking over. I feel so…so awful. I feel like there’s a Chinese fire drill going on inside my head. It’s like a hundred voices all talking at once, and yet nothing is clear. It’s starting to scare me.” Tears of frustration puddled in Lucy’s eyes.

  Wylie was off the chair and on his knees by the couch in a heartbeat. Papers crunched beneath his knees—the brokerage statements.

  “Hey, it’s all right. I’ll take you to the doctor in the morning unless you want me to phone now for a house call. If it’s really bad, I can scoot you over to Emergency at Kennedy. Do you still have the headache?”

  “Actually, no. But my head is…busy. I’m hearing stuff. My God, maybe I’m having a nervous breakdown.” She shook her head, hoping to clear it of the noise. “I can wait till morning.”

  Wylie inched upward so that he was sitting on the coffee table. “You are not having a nervous breakdown. However, you might have a concussion. You were fine before the fall, weren’t you?”

  Lucy nodded, her gaze going to the dining room, where she’d destroyed her wedding invitations. Maybe she’s one of those people who have telekinetic powers. A moment later, she said, “I am not one of those people with telekinetic powers, Wylie, so get that idea out of your head. I can’t even predict rain when there are storm clouds overhead.”

  Wylie’s jaw dropped. “What are you talking about?”

  “You just said I must be one of those people who have telekinetic powers.”

  “No, I didn’t. I didn’t say a word.”

  “I heard you, Wylie.” I should scoop her up right now and take her to the hospital. “I’m not going to the hospital, either, so get that out of your head, too. Oh, my God, your lips aren’t moving!” Lucy burrowed deeper into the corner of the sofa. Her voice was full of panic when she said, “I just read your mind, didn’t I?” A scream built in her throat. “I did, didn’t I?”

  Wylie stood up and moved back to the chair he’d been sitting on earlier. He had to say something. “Yes,” he croaked.

  …statements…too many zeros…married. “I’m not getting married. You saw the brokerage statements. Were you snooping? You were thinking other things, but they aren’t coming across clearly. You moved away. Oh, God, oh God, oh God! There’s something wrong with my brain. Maybe it was that electric wire. I don’t want to read your mind. Don’t think. Please, don’t think. Make your mind blank. I didn’t hit my head that hard. That wire touched my shoe, but I wiggled away. I did feel a shock run up the side of my body, but then Coop boosted me up, and I got out of there. That live wire was dancing all over the road.” She was babbling, and she knew it. “You aren’t thinking, are you?”

  Don’t think, Wylie. How was that possible? A person had to think. He lied, and said, “No, I’m not thinking.” Wylie struggled for a diversion beca
use this was beyond bizarre. “Listen, Coop got into your invitations and chewed them up. I’ll pay for them. I’m sorry about the bank statements. I was trying to tidy up, but I thought you might think I was snooping. I wasn’t. I left everything the way it was. I did clean up the invitations though.” He was babbling just as she was. “Listen, I have to think. If I don’t think, I’ll go nuts.”

  “Maybe you should go home. Coop didn’t do anything. I’m the one who ripped up those invitations.” She heard fragments of his thoughts again. Klutz…this is scary…. maybe a CAT scan or an MRI. “Are you scared because of me or because you’re a klutz? Or am I the klutz? You’re right, I need to see a doctor about my head.” Lucy’s voice was full of panic when she said, “You don’t think this is fatal, do you?”

  Wylie rubbed at the stubble on his chin. He suddenly felt like Clueless Cooper. “No, of course not. Just a little glitch of some kind. I’m sure there’s a pill or shot for it. Maybe a shrink…” He knew it was the wrong thing to say the minute the words shot out of his mouth.

  “You are crazier than I feel right now if you think that! Even I know there’s no pill for something like this. If I go to a shrink, they’ll lock me up and throw away the key. I’ll be a freak. Promise me you won’t tell anyone, Wylie. I need to think. Really think. Go out to the kitchen and let me see if I can…read…hear your mind at a distance. Promise first.”