The Nosy Neighbor

by Fern Michaels

  Lucy looked down at the tape recorder self-consciously. She was nervous, the words tumbling from her lips in her haste to get them out. From time to time she looked across at Jake Parsons to see his reaction, but his facial expression was totally blank. Wylie simply leaned back in his chair and sipped at his coffee, never taking his eyes off Lucy.

  Thirty minutes later, Lucy threw her hands in the air, and said, “That’s it. The three agents are due today. I imagine they’ll be calling soon. The weather may have slowed them down a bit.” She looked at the two men, waiting for them to speak.

  “Do you want us here when the feds come?” Jake asked.

  “Yes. I think I need witnesses. I’m not hearing anything from either of you,” Lucy said sourly. She fixed her gaze on Jake, and said, “Maybe it all went away, and I’m back to normal.”

  “All things are possible. I never close the door to anything. When you do that, you miss all the good stuff.”

  “Can you tell me if this is a long-term thing, short-term, a fluke? What?” Lucy asked. “Do you know of anyone else who…who can read people’s minds?”

  “No, not personally. As far as I know, there are no documented cases like yours either. However, I have heard of several cases from others in my field. Three, to be exact. All three refused, quite adamantly, to continue with testing, saying they didn’t want to be written up, turned into freaks or sideshows. I also know all three are being monitored, but it will never show up in black-and-white. Anxiety, fear, adrenaline rushes, all three can contribute to what you are experiencing, Lucy. In time, you can probably use your new ability to your advantage once you learn how to control it.

  “I know you want me to explain how something like this could happen. All I can do is try. There have been many, many papers written on ESP, extrasensory perception, and even professors and researchers at prestigious universities like Duke and Harvard have been persuaded that human beings can actually read the thoughts of others. The evidence presented has been hard as well as statistical.” Jake massaged his temples as he tried to figure out how best to explain Lucy’s condition in layman’s terms. “In the 1930s at Duke University, before my time, there was this researcher named Joseph Banks Rhine, who is considered the father of serious scientific research into the paranormal. He had a colleague named Carl Zener, and they did the first systematic study on the subject of extrasensory perception. It was a colorful card study. He used bright colors and geometric symbols. The subjects he worked with were receiving information from something besides the known five senses when they viewed the cards, so he said it was a sixth sense.

  “Rhine defined this sixth sense as ESP. Then he subdivided it into four basic abilities. Telepathy. Clairvoyance. Precognition. And psychokinesis.”

  It sounded ominous to Wylie. “Which one does Lucy have?” he asked carefully.

  “In my opinion, Lucy is telepathic. That’s the ability to tune in to the thoughts of others, or sometimes, inject your own thoughts into another’s mind. I don’t think she has the ability to do the latter.

  “Clairvoyance is the power to see things that aren’t available to you by the five senses and aren’t known by other people.

  “Precognition is the skill of looking into the future and seeing events before they take place. Sometimes through the subconscious or when you’re dreaming or even daydreaming.

  “Psychokinesis is the ability to use the power of the mind to influence matter; moving objects by thought is an example.”

  “That’s pretty scary stuff,” Wylie said.

  “To you, maybe. I deal with it day in and day out. There aren’t that many believers out there,” Jake said. “There are, however, a robust number of people with at least one of the four abilities I just told you about. However, our numbers are growing daily, by that, I mean believers. There was even a television show about a man who got a newspaper a day ahead telling him what was going to occur.

  “Ordinary people can develop ESP with no logical explanation. It simply happens. One day they wake up and can read someone else’s thoughts. I’ve read some of those case histories, and I’ve kept an open mind. Still do. They were not cases like yours, however, where trauma was involved. Some small part of your brain was altered when you got that electrical shock would be my best guess. You aren’t going to die or anything like that,” Jake added hastily. “In time, if your ESP doesn’t fade, you’ll learn to live with it the way the others do.

  “The cases I’ve mentioned aren’t listed by name but by number for anonymity. I remember one in particular had to do with a person who dealt with magnetic fields day in and day out. He gave up his profession and is now a landscape painter. None of the cases were subjected to the traumas that you were is what I’m saying.”

  Lucy’s shoulders slumped. “So what you’re really saying is you can’t help me.”

  “That’s pretty much it unless you want to become a case history. Even then, I don’t think I can help you. You can speak with a psychiatrist or a neurosurgeon if you like. Most people tend to shy away from doing that because, like you, they’ve been tested medically and given a clean bill of health. If you want to go that route, it’s entirely up to you. Like I said, eventually you’ll be able to control what you want to hear and not hear. You’ll try not to subject yourself to undue anxiety. Life will go on, Lucy. You haven’t been able to hear either one of us since we sat down here, right?” Lucy nodded. “Things are quiet, no one is upset, we’re just talking normally. You’re fine.

  “Right now I see the federales as your immediate problem.”

  As if on cue the phone rang. Lucy jerked to attention. Was it the feds or Jonathan? She didn’t know which she feared more.

  When the phone rang for the seventh time, Jake asked, “Aren’t you going to answer it?”

  Lucy grabbed the phone. A moment later she growled into it, “One-thirty is fine, Mr. Lawrence. Of course I’ll be here.” Lucy hung up the phone and looked across at the two men. “It was Agent Lawrence. They’ll be here at one-thirty.”

  “If I might, I’d like to make a suggestion,” Jake said. He reached for the recorder and removed the small cassette to replace it with a fresh one. “Tape the agents while they’re here. Meet with them in your family room so you can keep the recorder between the cushions. This is way too serious for you not to have proof of what’s been said and by whom. I don’t think it will be to your advantage for us to stay here for the meeting. I think the agents and Lucy will be more relaxed, more open with each other if we aren’t hovering. Those guys get pissy when you tread on their turf. They know we’re here as backup, and that’s a good thing. The tape recorder will do the rest. Do you agree, Wylie?”

  “What are you saying, Jake? Hell no, it is not a good idea. No, no, no, we are not going to leave Lucy here with those agents.”

  “Get real, Wylie. They are not going to harm Lucy. All they’re going to do is talk to her, question her. Everything will be recorded. Will you please trust me on this?”

  “Are you sure, Jake? I mean really sure? I don’t like leaving Lucy alone, period.”

  “I think your little lady can handle things. She does have this new ability to hear things. She also has a cell phone and a killer dog to protect her. She doesn’t need either one of us.”

  Wylie looked like he still wasn’t convinced, but he gave in at the mention of the killer dog. “Okay, I’m going to go home now so I can mix up some meat loaf for Coop. I gotta settle Jake in, Lucy. We’ll be back for lunch if you invite us. Noon is good for us.”

  Some nice hot soup with crusty bread would be a really good lunch, especially on a day like this. Lucy whirled around. “I’m not excited. I’m relatively calm. Both of you appear to be calm. So, how come I know you would like some nice hot soup with crusty bread?”

  Jake turned, his jaw slack. “I was just thinking…I don’t have the answer, Lucy. I wish I did. The only thing I can think of is you got upset when Agent Lawrence called you just now. You look…twitchy. Are
you feeling nervous?”

  “Yes, I am. I dread meeting and talking with them because I know they think I’m lying. If they can’t get Jonathan…Leo, whatever his name is, they’re going to get me.”

  “When the roads clear a little more, maybe we should check out that multimillion-dollar house the FBI says you own. There might be something in the house that will help us figure out exactly what is going on,” Wylie said.

  Lucy nodded.

  Wylie whistled for Coop, who came on the run, Sadie and Miss Lulu alongside. All three skidded to a stop as they tried to figure out if they were going out, staying, or what. Coop galloped to the door when he saw Wylie slip into his jacket. Miss Lulu pawed her owner’s leg to be picked up, while Sadie hugged Lucy’s leg.

  At the last second, after Jake marched ahead of him, Wylie turned, his face a mixture of emotions. He leaned forward, smacked Lucy on the lips, and squeezed her arms. “Call if you need me!” He kissed her again when Jake bellowed for him to hurry up.

  When the door closed behind her guests, Lucy felt a little dazed, but in a good way. Smiling, she took Sadie into the kitchen and offered her a treat. Sadie turned her head, walked over to the sliding door leading to the deck, and lay down, her head between her paws.

  Ten minutes later, as Lucy was emptying the dishwasher, she heard Sadie slam herself against the sliding door, her bark loud and shrill. She went into the family room in time to see Coop bound through the snow with Miss Lulu’s pink sweater clutched between his teeth, Miss Lulu attached to the sweater. Miss Lulu looked happy as a lark, her pink bow bouncing every which way.

  “Guess your boyfriend can’t stand to be without you, Sadie,” Lucy said as she opened the door. Sadie almost turned herself inside out as she romped and barked with her buddy. Miss Lulu sat on the sidelines watching, her dark eyes sad and forlorn. This time Sadie was the one who nuzzled the little dog until she had a firm hold on the pink sweater. A second later, Miss Lulu perky as ever, went along for the ride. All three dogs trotted through the room, then down the hall to Sadie’s lair.

  If only life were that simple, Lucy thought as she sat down at the table. Was it a good idea to go to the mansion in the Watchung Mountains? If there was as much security as the agents said there was, how would she ever get in? Since she was the owner, according to the FBI, she could call the police, give them some story about losing the code or something to that effect so they wouldn’t investigate and arrest her when she set off the alarm. Where there’s a will there’s a way, she thought grimly.

  Lucy pondered the more immediate problem that was Jonathan. How could she have been so stupid where he was concerned? Why wasn’t her heart broken? Why wasn’t she feeling anything other than fear?

  Her gaze swept to the portable phone on the kitchen counter. She should have called Steven days ago. Her brother, razor-sharp, might have some ideas on how to deal with the feds. If she told him, he’d worry about her and become a pest. Steven had always felt the need to play the role of big brother even though he was her little brother. Wylie was a good stand-in. Why cause Steven grief?

  Steven had never liked Jonathan. The truth was, Steven had never liked anyone she dated more than three times. He’d said Jonathan was a phony. At the time she’d thought of it as a “guy thing” and didn’t pay attention. Another time, Steven had said Jonathan was a gutter fighter. Just feelings I have, he’d explained. Well, how right he was. Maybe the reason she’d never told him what was going on was because she didn’t want to hear him say, I told you so.

  Lucy bolted out of her comfortable chair when the phone shrilled behind her. Sucking in her breath she reached for it, her greeting cautious. “Steven!” she said in relief when she heard her brother’s voice.

  “I’m just calling to check on you,” a deep voice said. “How’s the weather in Jersey?”

  “Pretty much the same as in New York, little brother. Did you open the office?”

  “I’m here but that’s about it. Listen, sis, I’m calling to ask if you mind if I don’t make it for Thanksgiving. A couple of the guys want to go skiing. Your fiancé isn’t one of my favorite people as you know. You two won’t miss me at all.”

  “Actually, Jonathan can’t make it, so I’m having dinner with a neighbor. It’s fine, Steven, don’t give it another thought. Don’t go breaking your legs. I’d make a lousy nurse, and you’d make a worse patient.”

  “I’ll be careful. I’ll call you when I get back. Give Sadie a hug for me.”

  “Will do. ’Bye, Steven.”

  Lucy walked back into the living room to get the manila folder lying on the coffee table. Earlier she’d been too panicked to go through the material the agents had left her. Now, though, she needed to look at everything carefully, using her legal brain, not the paranoid brain she’d used thus far.

  At twenty minutes to twelve, Lucy stuffed the deeds, the copies of insurance policies, the brokerage statements, her tax forms, and the titles to boats and cars back into the envelope. She closed it securely. She hoped she never had to look at it again.

  How in the hell could anyone with a brain believe she was capable of money laundering? How? Angry beyond words, Lucy stomped her way to the family room. On the count of three she was going to toss the whole mess into the fire. Suddenly, she was angrier than she’d ever been in her life. In the end she dropped the envelope behind the wide-screen television set. Since the monster set sat catercorner, it was doubtful anyone would look behind it to the tangled mess of wires from the VCR, the cables, and the new DVD player she’d installed just last week. She didn’t know why she felt the need to hide the envelope.

  Her eye fell on the stolen library book, The Frontier of the Mind. Unfortunately, both Wylie and she had closed the book in disgust, with Wylie saying, “Between us, we have two fine, legal minds, and neither one of us can make sense of this brain stuff. You know what I think, Lucy? I think you got it, and you’re stuck with it.” And she was…stuck with it.

  Back in the kitchen, Lucy picked up the phone to call her neighbor. Her message was short and curt, “I’m making lunch now.”

  Lucy’s anger stayed with her as she banged pots and pans and slammed the refrigerator door. Anger was better than tears, she thought, as she slapped cheese between slices of bread.

  The dogs didn’t bother to investigate when Wylie and Jake came through the front door.

  Lucy forced a smile as she opened soup cans. She turned back to the business at hand and strained to see if she could hear either man’s thoughts. Her head felt clogged up the way it did when she had a sinus infection. She’s never going to agree to go to Watchung. She’s too pissed. I never saw such a rigid back. She’s no match for those FBI stooges. She won’t know what hit her by the time they get done with her. If I ever get my hands on that schmuck who set her up like this, I’ll strangle him. The words were crystal clear, but she couldn’t tell which man she should attribute the thoughts to. Possibly both of them. It must be Wylie, she decided. She felt pleased that he cared enough to want to strangle Jonathan. Not that he would. Still, the thought was nice.

  My mother always served those little white soda crackers with tomato soup. Tomato soup isn’t the same unless you have those little crackers. Lucy reached up into the cabinet for a package of the crackers Wylie was thinking about. She turned and plopped them in the middle of the table. He looked at her in awe. She nodded.

  Jake stared up at her. “If you can harness that anger you’re feeling right now, you just might be able to figure out what the agents have in mind. That’s another way of saying work yourself into a frenzy before they get here. Can you do that?”

  Lucy threw her hands up in the air. “I don’t know. This is all new to me. I tried the other day to…to do it, but it didn’t work. I was upset, but I wasn’t angry at the time. All I can do is play it by ear and hope for the best. You’re right about something else, too. They might look like the Three Stooges, but they aren’t that stupid.”

  Jake toyed with the
silverware in front of him. “You read my mind. I am totally amazed. This is the first direct contact I’ve had with a person who could actually do it. Reading case histories is not the same thing.” Subdued excitement rang in his voice, and it did not go unnoticed by Lucy. She felt herself shivering at the realization that she’d become a freak.

  “By the way, we were watching the Weather Channel at Wylie’s. The worst of the storm is over, and the roads have been sanded and salted. We can make a try for that house in the mountains after the agents leave if you’re up for it. The bad news is there is another worse storm riding on the tail of this one. They’ve been using the word blizzard a lot.”

  Lucy ladled soup into bright yellow cups. “I’m up for anything at this point” she said curtly.

  6

  Jonathan St. Clair eyed his expensive crocodile luggage with a jaundiced eye. He was getting damn sick and tired of packing and repacking his pricey luggage. He was also damn sick and tired of airplanes and hotel rooms. It didn’t matter if the airplane was his own private Gulfstream V or that the rooms were suites in five-star hotels. The truth was he was damn sick and tired of just about everything in his life. And today he hated Chile in particular.

  Stepping back, cutting back, whatever you wanted to call it, wasn’t working for him. He told himself the bottom line was his own greed, but that wasn’t really true. What he was experiencing, and what he refused to acknowledge, was panic. With Congress’s passage of the Patriot Act, he was now on the FBI’s radar screen, and he wasn’t just a little blip. He knew he was a very big blip, which meant that travel back to the States was a gamble. He wasn’t sure he was ready to take that particular gamble. Not yet, anyway. The bottom line was he wanted out of the business that was driving him ragged. When you were the best in your field, and people were comfortable with the results you got for them, why would they want to see you retire? They didn’t. Instead, they offered to pay you more and more until you couldn’t refuse the high-seven-figure commissions. It was that simple. Besides, you couldn’t spend money in a federal prison.