Right Next Door

by Leah Montgomery

  “I hope it works out.”

  “You and me both.” After a few moments of silence, Marcy dips a toe in. “How are things at the Halpern house? You okay after…” She nods meaningfully.

  Jill swallows hard. “Yeah. We’re... Yeah, I’m okay.”

  “Any luck figuring out what happened?”

  “No, not at all. I did file a police report, though, so hopefully that will accomplish something. If nothing else maybe just to alert them if it happens elsewhere. I don’t know. I’m not sure that was even the right thing to do.”

  “Of course it was! That’s bound to be a crime of some sort. Do you think the person came onto your property to do it, or…?”

  “I can’t be sure. I suppose there’s a chance, but I don’t know how we’d ever find that out. Although.” Jill pauses, glancing down at Cheyenne, who has fallen asleep in her arms. “I did find a few drops of what look like b-l-o-o-d.” She spells out the word in deference to the little ears so near. Despite the appearance that Cheyenne is asleep, Jill must know what Marcy knows—that one can never be too careful around a kid.

  “You did? Oh my God!”

  Jill cringes. “I know. I’m just beside myself.”

  “Well, let’s pray this was some strange kind of accident and not the malicious act we fear it might be.” Jill nods her agreement. “Did you tell Mark about it?”

  “I did. He wasn’t very worried. He seems to think it was some kind of accident.”

  “Maybe he’s right.”

  “We can hope.”

  “How is everything else on the home front?” When Jill fails to answer right away, Marcy softens the directness of her question by adding, “And work? How are things there? Still so busy?”

  “I think everything else seems to be going well. And it’s about time, too. I’m tired of the stormy weather. I’m ready for some blue skies.”

  She smiles and doesn’t go into detail. Marcy wishes she would, but doesn’t push. If they’re successful tonight, she might not have to pry for information from Jill.

  A jolt of jubilation skitters through her at the idea of their success. It’s with a deep grin that Marcy tips her head toward Cheyenne. “Looks like she’s down for the count. How about a glass of wine?”

  Jill exhales in relief. “I think that sounds fantastic.”

  Marcy goes to retrieve both bottle and glasses, fully prepared to ply the Halperns with as much alcohol as they’ll take.

  Minutes drift by comfortably between the women. “Would you like to lay her down on the sofa? I still have Caroline’s baby monitors. We could bring one out here and listen for her if she wakes.”

  On her second glass of wine, Jill is much more relaxed. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ll just lay her down and be right back.”

  The smile never leaves Marcy’s face as she waits for Jill to return. The mention of the baby monitors gave her an idea. If tonight doesn’t go as planned, or if John isn’t able to uncover much, they could always try to get one of the monitors over to the Halpern house and listen in to their conversation. It worked on television. Surely they could make it work for them.

  Marcy feels like a spy. She is all Mrs. Cleaver on the outside, but only John knows what lurks just beneath the surface—a sharp and determined woman with a clever mind. People have always underestimated her, but only to their detriment. Marcy Stanley is no fool. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool themselves.

  Her head is buzzing with pride by the time Jill comes back, childless. They smile at one another.

  “Caroline used to sleep like that. Anywhere, at any time.”

  Jill’s expression falls into one of concern. “She doesn’t sleep well now?”

  “Not very often. Whatever is going on in her mind keeps it going more than most, I think.”

  “I’ve heard some say that autism is actually the sign of a more highly evolved brain.”

  “She’s brilliant. There’s no question. Just learning how to work around these…obstacles is the key.”

  “You’ll come up with something. I have no doubt,” Jill says kindly.

  Marcy blooms under the compliment and encouragement. “I won’t stop until I do.”

  “Who’s ready for a burger?” John calls from the other end of the patio.

  “I’m starving,” is Jill’s hearty reply.

  The quartet set about fixing their plates as dusk falls around them. Before Marcy sits down to eat, she fixes another plate. “Excuse me while I take this up to Caroline.”

  “She won’t be coming down to eat?” Mark asks.

  “No. She’s a bit shy and awkward around people she doesn’t know well.” Marcy glances knowingly at Jill, who nods in understanding. It isn’t easy talking about such sensitive things with virtual strangers. Marcy is glad when Mark lets it go and doesn’t push.

  Marcy carries the plate upstairs. She’s surprised when Caroline isn’t in her room. “Caroline?”

  Listening for signs of movement, Marcy’s pulse climbs when she hears nothing but silence. “Caroline!” Her voice is louder and carries every ounce of her instant worry.

  She darts from room to room looking for her daughter. Marcy exhales in relief when she finds Caroline in the guest room at the back of the house. She’s standing at the window, the one that looks down onto the patio.

  “Are you okay?” she asks cautiously.

  Caroline doesn’t respond, but she at least turns to look at Marcy. Her eyes are shadowed, an unsettling blend of vacant and haunted, like she herself isn’t sure what’s going on inside her head.

  Marcy holds up the plate. “I brought you some dinner. Are you hungry?”

  Caroline’s eyes drop to the plate for a few seconds before rising back to Marcy’s. They stare into hers for a flash before she glances away. She’s getting more and more stingy with her eye contact. Marcy understands that it’s not a conscious effort, but it hurts just the same when your child won’t look you in the eye.

  “You could come down and eat with us. I’d love for you to meet the neighbors.”

  Without comment, Caroline walks forward and takes the plate from Marcy’s hands. Marcy steps out of the way and lets Caroline pass. She watches her daughter carry the plate into her room, take a seat on her play rug, and pick up a piece of the burger Marcy cut into quarters.

  Leaning against the doorjamb, Marcy watches Caroline eat. She eats first one part of her burger, and follows it with six fries. She eats another portion of burger and six more fries. Marcy doesn’t doubt that’s the way it will go until she’s finished.

  With a sigh, she walks into the bathroom and fills a glass with water and takes it in to Caroline before making her way back down stairs. She hopes again, as she’s done a thousand and one times, that she’s doing the right things and making the right decisions.

  Marcy forces her mind back to the task at hand as she rejoins her husband and their guests. When she steps out onto the patio, the sky has already turned a deep, luminous blue and it’s sprinkled with a handful of white-diamond stars. It would soon be time for John to make his exit and go over to the Halpern house. She can tell by Jill’s boisterous laughter and Mark’s relaxed posture that the drinks are having the desire effect. Their plan was coming together perfectly.

  Halfway through their burgers, Mark’s cell phone chimes a Tom Petty song Marcy is familiar with. “American Girl!” she observes on a laugh.

  Marcy notices that Jill isn’t laughing, though. In fact, her expression seems to have tightened. “That’s Sabrina,” she explains.

  “Oh. I hope everything is okay.”

  “I can’t imagine why it wouldn’t be. We have Cheyenne. She should be out enjoying herself.”

  Jill goes back to her burger, tearing off a bite and chewing rather angrily, Marcy notes. A dozen questions arise, all of which Marcy tucks away for another time. Her suspicions, however, begin to work double time. Jill is clearly not pleased with the interruption, so there’s that. And the fact that the nanny
calls Mark rather than Jill… Well, Marcy finds that odd, too. And the ring tone? What does that say about their relationship?

  Wheels spin and conclusions form in Marcy’s mind, all while she holds her smile in place and asks casually, “Is she young? You know how they can be.” She rolls her eyes meaningfully. Jill nods.

  “She’s several years younger than me, so that could be it. If she weren’t so good with Cheyenne…” Marcy’s curiosity rises to peak status, but Jill shoots her down. “You know what? Never mind. We’re very lucky to have her.”

  Marcy doesn’t press, but she files this moment away as evidence. Evidence of what, she isn’t entirely sure yet, but she has a feeling it won’t make Mark Halpern look any better.

  Focusing on her food and trying not to be obvious about eavesdropping, Marcy is as surprised as Jill when Mark hangs up and announces, “Sabrina needs me at home for a minute. She’s had some car trouble. I’ll take Cheyenne and come right back.” He addresses this to Jill, who merely nods. It’s clear she isn’t pleased, though. Then he turns to John, nodding first at him and then at Marcy. “Sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me.”

  Purposely, Marcy doesn’t glance at John. She schools her expression into one of calm acceptance, even though she’s fuming that their plan was destroyed so quickly and thoroughly. She makes a mental note to better account for the nanny next time.

  “Need some help? I’m pretty handy with engines.” John stands as he offers.

  Mark waves him down. “No, no. I appreciate it, but please. Stay and finish your food. I won’t be long.”

  After Mark collects his daughter, the three watch him walk across to the side door of his house and disappear inside. As Marcy suspected, they left it open. Their plan would’ve worked perfectly. Damn it!

  “I’m sorry, guys,” Jill says in her small, mousey voice.

  “For what?” John asks.

  “For Mark. And for Sabrina. He’s…he’s very protective of her.”

  “Maybe like a big brother?” Marcy offers, fully suspecting that was anything but true.

  “Maybe,” is Jill’s vague reply. Marcy can read the weight on her heart, though. It’s there in the slump of her shoulders, the downturned corners of her mouth. No, this is something more than brotherly. Maybe this is one of the skeletons in Mark Halpern’s closet—he’s sleeping with the nanny.

  Marcy would never have one for that very reason. She is very comfortable with John’s devotion to her, but why tempt fate? He is just a man, after all.

  Dinner continues in silence. It doesn’t feel strained; it just feels…heavy. Dense. Substantial. Like big problems and bigger troubles are teeming just below the surface. And Marcy doesn’t doubt they are. She knew something was going on. She is now one step closer to figuring out what.

  “So, Jill, does Mark do any woodworking?”

  Jill glances over at John, a look of confusion on her face. Her mind was elsewhere, and with good reason. “Woodworking?”

  “Yes. I was driving by one day and saw what looked like some woodworking tools in your garage. It was open, and I just noticed. It’s a man thing,” he offers by way of explanation.

  “Sort of like how we women notice yard signs, right?” Marcy asks with a wink, hoping to soften John’s question. She’ll have to have a talk with him later about tact and strategy. The last thing they need is for the Halperns to start making a bigger effort to hide things because they think the neighbors notice too much.

  Jill’s lips turn up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Oh, right. Yes, we do, don’t we?” She shakes her head before responding to John, as if to clear it. “No, he doesn’t do a lot of woodworking, but he has all sorts of tools. To be honest, I’m not sure what half of them do. The garage isn’t really my place, if you know what I mean.”

  “Mine either,” Marcy rejoins. “Better to leave the man stuff to the men.”

  “It might be something he’d enjoy,” John says, not dropping it like Marcy wishes he would. She remains quiet as he prattles on about rocking chairs and lathes. Marcy can only imagine that Jill is equally bored with it, but stopping him might seem stranger.

  Marcy is subtly checking her watch, noting that twenty minutes have past, when a whoosh booms through the night air. A sudden bright red-orange glow draws their attention to the Halpern’s back yard.

  “Oh my God!” Jill stands up so quickly, her chair rocks back, teetering precariously before finding its feet on the pavers again.

  Marcy and John look right to find Cheyenne’s jungle gym on fire. The Halperns had it erected a couple of weeks after John and Marcy moved in. John had marveled over it as the contractors assembled it. It was one of those large, elaborate ones with monkey bars, two slides, and four swings. It even has a bridge made of rope that stretches from one section of it to the other. The whole set up is made of wood, not cheap plastic or dangerous aluminum.

  Unfortunately, it appears to be highly flammable, too.

  “Holy shit!” John exclaims, coming to his feet as well. “Marcy, call 911. I’ll get my fire extinguisher.”

  Before John can make it back into the house, they hear a door slam. Seconds later, Mark Halpern is running toward the flames with his own fire extinguisher.

  Jill takes off toward him. Marcy waits for John and then, together, they follow. Jill and Marcy stand back as the men spray the flames. At first, nothing seems to work, but within a couple of minutes, the blaze starts to shrink. By the time the fire department arrives, the once beautiful back yard set is a blackened husk that rises up like a skeleton against the deepening night sky.

  The fireman who appears to be in charge approaches the group. He’s wearing the fireproof uniform of his trade with helmet to match. The face shield is raised, however, revealing his clean skin. They hadn’t even had to get dirty with this fire.

  He’s a handsome guy, youngish, maybe early thirties with dark brows and darker eyes. His expression is somewhat solemn when he introduces himself. “Evenin’, folks. I’m Eric Tallent. Which one of you is the homeowner?”

  Mark steps forward, “That would be me.”

  “Any idea what happened here, sir?”

  “Not a clue. I was inside when I heard a strange sound. Then I saw the glow. I came running out and the swing set was already engulfed in flames.”

  Eric nods and then glances around at the rest of the group, which now includes Sabrina the nanny. She’s holding Cheyenne, who is wide eyed and frightened. “Any of you see anything suspicious?”

  John responds first. “My wife and I were on the patio having a burger with Jill when we heard this sort of whoosh sound. Then we saw the flames.”

  Eric turns back to Mark. “But you were over here?”

  “Yes. I’d brought our daughter home and was checking on Sabrina. She’s our nanny.” He tips his head toward the elusive nanny. She’s a bit younger than Jill, a few years at least, and has dark blonde hair and big light eyes. Marcy can’t discern the color in the low light, but she can tell they’re pale. Maybe blue or hazel or even gray. She’s very pretty. That’s the one thing there’s no question about. Much prettier than the subdued Jill, which only makes Marcy that much more suspicious of the nature of the relationships in the Halpern household.

  Cheyenne points to her jungle gym. “My swing,” she whimpers mournfully.

  Jill turns to Sabrina. “Why don’t you take her back inside? I can come and get you if they need to ask you any more questions.”

  Sabrina nods and turns to leave. Cheyenne stares over her shoulder, her eyes glassy as her burnt play set recedes.

  When they are safely inside, Mark spins back toward the fireman. “How can this happen? Could it have been something with the wood? Is that possible?”

  “Possible, but unlikely without a source of ignition.” Eric Tallent swings his gaze skyward. “If it were storming, I might chalk it up to a lightning strike, but the weather’s clear. Not even any heat lightning crackling up there.” He pauses, crossing his arms over his ch
est and pivoting from the waist up, left then right, to take in the quiet neighborhood. “Any teenage kids that you know like to get into mischief?”

  “Not that I know of,” Mark replies. “And even if there were, I doubt they’d be able to pull this off without being seen. I mean, my wife was on the patio next door, for God’s sake. Shouldn’t we have been able to see someone setting my daughter’s swing set on fire?”

  “In theory, yes, but if someone were skilled and intent on doing this without getting caught, there are other ways.”

  Jill’s slight inhale is heard in the silence that follows his statement. “Are…are you saying this could be, like, a real arsonist?”

  “We’ll have to get the arson investigator out here to rule out something like that.”

  “But wh-who would do something like this? Here, in this area? It’s supposed to be one of the safest places to live.”

  The fireman pulls no punches when he narrows his eyes on Mark and Jill. “Either of you have any enemies that you can think of?”

  In that moment, Marcy sneaks a quick look at John. A wrinkle has spread across his brow, and when he meets his wife’s eye, she can see that if he was on the fence about believing Marcy’s suspicions, he wasn’t anymore.

  Their neighbor has a dark past.

  And things are getting ugly.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Blurry.

  That was how everything felt—blurry and surreal.

  Words and sensations blended haphazardly with thought and reality. I couldn’t tell what was real. Or if any of it was.

  I was aware of a presence. I hoped it was my husband and not some sort of psychotic manifestation. Something born of the breaking down of the human brain.

  I tried to orient myself. Tried as hard as I could, but I just couldn’t seem to get a good grasp on what was what.

  I was adrift. Mentally. Emotionally. Sometimes, I thought even physically. I bobbed in a sea of horror and disbelief. Pain and an excruciating kind of hope.