Right Next Door

by Leah Montgomery

  Jill replaces the lid and buries her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with her soundless sobs. Marcy feels some amount of sympathy for her, which propels her around the island to lay a hand on her neighbor’s back. But in the forefront of her mind are questions. And theories. She can hardly wait to get to the bottom of this most recent curiosity.

  “Why on earth would he leave you when you just got out of the hospital?”

  Jill doesn’t answer directly, but asks a question of her own. “Has John ever done anything that scared you? That made you afraid?” Before Marcy can reply, Jill qualifies her question, and that one small addition reveals more to Marcy than Jill could ever know. “Afraid of him?”

  “Jill, what’s going on?” She stares at Marcy with her red-rimmed eyes, but doesn’t offer to elaborate right away. “Has something happened with Mark? Did he do something to you?”

  “Not to me, no.”

  “Has he done something to someone else then? Is that what’s scaring you?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I can’t be sure, but…”

  “But?”

  “All these things that have been happening… It’s starting to feel like a vendetta.”

  “Did you tell Mark that?”

  “I mentioned something about it to him.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He…he got mad. And he left.”

  “He left?”

  Jill nods.

  “Do you know where he went?”

  Jill shakes her head. “He didn’t say. He’s so…so…secretive. He’s always traveled a lot with his job, or at least I assumed it was because of his job, but… I don’t know. I just have a bad feeling that this is being done to us. The texts, the stove, the cat, Cheyenne’s swing, and now the car.” Jill’s eyes seem to clear when they meet Marcy’s this time. They narrow and fill. With suspicion. Marcy knows it well. “That’s too much to be unrelated, don’t you think?”

  Marcy treads carefully. “It would be quite the coincidence, I think. Do you have any idea what might’ve happened to cause someone to set their sights on you this way?”

  “I have no idea. In the hospital, I did nothing but think. I retraced everyone I’ve ever known in my life, as far back as I could remember. I can’t think of anyone. I can’t think of anything I could’ve possibly done to someone to warrant this kind of violence. Because that’s what this is—violence. It’s retribution. I’m almost positive.”

  “So if not you, then can you think of anyone Mark may have wronged that would react this way?”

  “That’s the thing. The Mark I thought I knew wouldn’t hurt anybody, for any reason, but since we moved here… I don’t know. Things are different. I don’t know if it’s something he did back home, or someone he knew or hurt or maybe left.”

  “Do you…do you think this could be related to a woman? Is it possible he scorned someone?”

  “He’s an attractive man. He gets plenty of attention, but I can’t imagine some small rejection would cause a woman to act this way.”

  “Some small rejection?”

  “Yeah, you know, like if there was a flirtation and he wouldn’t go any further because he was a married man. That kind of thing.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah, I don’t see a woman plotting this kind of thing over a simple ‘no’.”

  “It would have to be more than that. He would—” Jill gulps visibly, her eyes tearing. “He would’ve had to do something truly awful, I would think, to bring a person to this. To follow us here, to plan this out, to do such horrible things. That’s why…that’s why…” She starts to cry in earnest again. “What might my husband be capable of? Do I even know him? Like, really know him?”

  Marcy is at a loss. “Do two people ever really know each other?” Even as she speaks the words, she knows that some people do. She knows John, and he knows her. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful, she and her husband know each other inside and out. But she can’t say that to Jill Halpern. Not right now. She needs support, camaraderie.

  Jill’s laugh is bitter. “I suppose not. But the man he’s been hiding from me, he’s coming to the surface. Mark hasn’t acted like himself since we moved here. He’s moody, withdrawn, sometimes even downright mean. He seems so miserable sometimes. It’s hard to even explain. It’s like he’s a stranger.”

  Marcy rubs her hand down Jill’s arm. “What can I do to help? Would you like me to stay here with you?”

  Jill tilts her head, her expression melting into one of gratitude. “I could never ask you to do that. I don’t even know if it’s safe here. But—”

  She stops herself, bringing Marcy to ask, “But what? There are no buts in friendship.”

  “Would you mind if I came to stay at your house for a couple of days? Just so I can heal. And think. Get some things figured out. I won’t stay long. I…I really just don’t want to be here.”

  Marcy’s smile is gentle and sincere. “Of course you can. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to.”

  “I can’t stay too long. I’ll have to figure out something before Sabrina brings Cheyenne home.”

  “Whatever you need. Just let me know how I can help.”

  Jill takes Marcy’s hands. “I really appreciate this.”

  Marcy squeezes Jill’s fingers. “It’s my pleasure. I promise.” And it is.

  “John won’t care, will he?”

  Marcy waves her off. “Of course not. He’ll be thrilled to help, too.”

  The corners of Jill’s mouth twitch up. “He’s a great guy. You two really are perfect for each other.”

  Marcy smiles, ignoring the edge to her neighbor’s tone. She’s certain Jill doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s in a tough spot. It’s natural to be a little envious of a healthy marriage when your own is falling apart. “Can I help you get some things together?”

  “No, I’ll just throw a few things into a bag. Will you stay and eat with me first? I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

  “Why not? Are you nauseous.”

  Coffee-colored lashes flutter down over matching eyes. “No, it’s not that.”

  She doesn’t elaborate and Marcy doesn’t press, but she’s already forming ideas and mentally rifling through possible scenarios. The most likely is upset over the situation, but it’s not impossible that she’s pregnant and just doesn’t want to talk about it yet. Of course, there are a dozen other things it could be, things that lie somewhere between the realistic and the outlandish. Marcy takes nothing off the table. It’s only on rare occasions that she gets to let her imagination run away with her. She relishes every excuse to do so when an opportunity comes along.

  “Then let’s eat. Afterward, you can get yourself and your things ready, and I’ll take you over to the house.”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  Marcy doesn’t press Jill for any information during dinner. She’ll have all the time in the world to pick her brain over the coming days. What a joy that will be!

  When they’ve finished eating, Marcy tells Jill to see to her business while Marcy cleans up the kitchen. It only takes her a few minutes to clear their small mess, and she’s just wiping off the island when she hears Jill call her name from upstairs.

  Marcy follows the voice, replying from the bottom of the stairs. “Yes?”

  “Would you mind grabbing my over night case from Mark’s office? It’s with the other luggage, in the bottom of the closet. It’s the room to the left of you, off the foyer.”

  “Sure. I’ll bring it right up.”

  Marcy is practically salivating at the thought of going into Mark’s office with his wife’s permission. No reason to waste a chance to poke around in there for a minute or two.

  She goes in search of Mark Halpern’s office, her mind already spinning with questions like where would a man like him hide things he didn’t want found. She stops in the doorway and takes in the room. It’s the quintessential man’s space with its wood wainscoting and dark blue walls. Th
ere’s an enormous walnut desk that has a lamp on one corner and a closed laptop at its center. She immediately crosses off that option. She’s no tech wizard, but Mark is. He works in IT. His encryption probably has encryption. Besides, Marcy is looking for physical evidence—letters, pictures, souvenirs, things that couldn’t be stored digitally.

  She steps inside, taking one cautious look behind her before she ducks behind the desk and starts opening drawers. On one side is a sparse filing system that appears to be for legitimate business like tax information and financial portfolio. A collection of office supplies like large envelopes and boxes of checks fills the other side. The two narrow drawers near the top hold nothing unexpected either. Marcy starts to rise, and sees a corner of paper sticking out from beneath the blotter that covers the desktop. She tugs it out.

  It’s a legal document. A deed. Some tract of land here in York County. The transfer is dated two weeks ago, and conveys property from Thomas William Parnell and Maeve Farley Parnell to Steven Roger Masters. Marcy doesn’t recognize any of the names. Not that she would. She’s new to the area. The unfamiliar names aren’t what bother her anyway; it’s the absence of a familiar one. A Halpern, or at least some variation of Jill or Mark’s name.

  Why would Mark have a copy of someone else’s deed? And if it’s for a legal reason, why hide it beneath the blotter? Marcy can’t think of a good reason.

  Unless…

  Unless Mark Halpern isn’t who he says he is.

  Whatever the reason, Marcy finds it suspicious and commits it to memory just in case it’s an important detail, then replaces the deed and moved away from the desk.

  Next, Marcy focuses on to the built-ins behind the desk.

  Shuffling quickly through the shelves in each one, she doesn’t discover anything exciting, much less contraband of some sort. Standing, she glances around the room for any other good hiding places. She finds none, so she heads to the closet to retrieve the overnight case Jill requested. She can’t waste too much time searching; it might make Jill suspicious.

  Marcy opens the door and instantly knows which luggage belongs to Jill. Hers is pale gray and functional, only moderately feminine, while Mark’s is sleek, black, and masculine.

  Marcy reaches for the smallest of the three cases stacked on the right, sitting opposite Mark’s set on the left. She’s about to close the door when she decides to give his luggage a quick peek. She doubts that many people would look inside empty luggage for incriminating evidence.

  And as it turns out, that’s for good reason. It’s as empty as one would expect it to be.

  Just as she’s reaching to replace Mark’s cases, she notices a vent cover on the back wall of the closet. It’s a white grate like a person might find in any house in America. The thing that strikes Marcy as odd is its location. Why would anyone put a vent in a small, closed room?

  She reaches down to touch it and it falls away from the wall. The screws aren’t actually screwed in, but just lying in the holes in the dry wall, as though someone has removed and replaced the cover dozens of times. Getting down on her hands and knees, Marcy looks inside. It’s dark in the small hole, heavily shadowed, so she runs her fingers along the floor of it.

  And she feels something.

  A manila envelope.

  With her pulse thrilling along in her neck, Marcy removes the rectangle. She stares down at it for a few seconds, reveling in the satisfaction of actually having found something, even though she has no idea yet what she’s found. She knows about the things people hide, though, and she doesn’t even pause before she straightens the metal clips and opens the flap to reach inside. She’s debating whether to risk taking time to look through it when Jill’s voice startles her into action.

  “Did you find it?”

  “Uhhh, just have,” she replies, fumbling to put the vent back into place and stuff Mark’s luggage back into the closet.

  Marcy hurriedly stuffs the envelope into her waistband, snugging it up to the curve of her lower back. She pulls her shirt down over her hips and rushes from the room, dragging Jill’s small, wheeled case behind her. She mounts the stairs and goes in search of the master suite. She pays little attention to anything she passes, instead focusing on walking carefully so as not to dislodge the cool paper pressed against her skin.

  The subtle sounds of Jill moving around, opening and closing drawers, brings Marcy to the end of the hallway. She knocks on the jamb of the door before stepping inside the spacious master suite. It’s a soothing blend of male and female, of rich browns and silvery blues on tasseled pillows and ornate draperies.

  “Here you go,” Marcy says, rolling the luggage over to Jill, who’s making a pile of clothes on the king sized bed.

  “Thank you so much.” She lifts the case onto the bed, and immediately unzips and starts to fill it. “I can’t believe this is happening to me. I can’t believe this is my life.”

  “I’ll tell you what I’ve always told myself during hard times. This is one bump. It doesn’t have to be the end of the story. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Take your lumps today and move forward tomorrow.”

  Jill tries to muster a smile, but it fails miserably. “That’s good advice. Thank you.”

  Marcy nods. “Of course. I just wish I could do more.”

  “There’s nothing anyone can do. This is my mess. I’ll figure a way out of it.”

  “Maybe I can at least help you find out what’s going on with Mark.”

  “I’m not sure I even want to know. I just want to keep my daughter safe.”

  “I understand that. Caroline will always be my first priority.”

  “That’s the way it should be for a mother. Our children…we’re all they have. If we don’t protect them, who will?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I would do anything for my child. I would fight a bear, lay down on railroad tracks. Anything. There are no lengths I wouldn’t go to, nothing I wouldn’t do.” Jill’s words are fierce, even though a thread of painful and uncertain desperation weaves throughout each syllable.

  “That’s what makes you a good mother.”

  “I hope so. I want to do the right thing.”

  “You are. You’re putting her first. Everything else will work itself out.”

  Jill nods as she finishes filling the overnight case, and Marcy doesn’t interrupt the silence that falls down around them. She’s lost in thought, excited to find out what sort of information is growing warm beneath the waistband of her pants.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  It was a Thursday when the questions started. I knew I’d never forget. It was the day Gabe and I both got to relive every horrible detail of the previous weeks.

  We were sitting on the couch, staring into oblivion. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d watched television. We turned it on a couple of times shortly after I’d returned, but it played in the background while we sat, side by side, lost in thought. Somewhere along the way, we’d stopped even turning it on. Stopped pretending.

  Gabe turned to me. His expression was a little more defeated than it had been the day before. That was a pattern I’d begun to notice. With every day that passed, every night that fell and every morning that dawned, my husband grew a little more despondent. I felt for him, I really did. Gabe had always taken his role as father, husband, head of household, and family protector very seriously. He believed that it was his responsibility to make sure Dalton and I had everything we needed, and were safe and happy at all times. I’d known from day one that was too much of a burden for any one person to carry. I’d come to understand early in life that we are all in charge of our own happiness. Dalton, not so much, simply because of his age, but one day he would have to take ownership of his own wellbeing, too. I just wasn’t sure Gabe would ever be able to let that happen. At least not completely. I knew he never would when it came to me. He loved with his whole heart. With his whole life. I knew he would lay down either for me or for our child without giving it a second t
hought.

  I wondered if that was why the kidnapper chose me and not him. Gabe would’ve just fallen on his sword. Evidently, I wasn’t that strong.

  His lackluster eyes stared over into mine. I imagined mine looked as empty to him as his did to me. Then he asked what I knew had been on his mind for weeks. “Tell me what happened.”

  I was silent for a long time. Lost in thought. Lost in memories.

  Lost in blame.

  “I didn’t know at first, but he took me from my car. At the airport. Must’ve dosed me with something somehow. I wasn’t even aware of it. I just woke up in the dark.” I paused. Allowed my mind to return to those first moments when I opened my eyes. I went back for just a few seconds. That was all I could bear. “That dark, it was… I’ve never known dark like that. I couldn’t see anything, not even my hand up in front of my face. And it was hot. So hot. And humid. Like floating in hot water. At first, I was confused, but little by little, it started to sink in. I realized I was naked. And alone. And chained.” I saw Gabe close his lids, but it didn’t really register in my brain that it hurt him to hear the details. My mind was elsewhere. I knew that some part of me would always remain there. In that place. In the dark. Part of me never left. “I came and went. Time was strange. I had no idea if it was day or night, or how many days passed. I slept and woke, and slept and woke, and nothing ever changed. I was always naked and alone and chained. Just me and my thirst. And my fear.”

  Gabe’s words were slow and steely when he spoke. “That bastard didn’t even give you water?”

  “He did eventually. I guess he knew I wouldn’t survive long without it otherwise.”

  “Do you know where he held you? Did you ever see the room?”

  “I explored it as much as I could in the dark. The walls were padded with mattresses and covered with chicken wire. There was a drain in the floor and a pipe in the ceiling. I didn’t find out about that until the first time he gave me water. It woke me up. I heard it dripping into a small puddle on the floor.” I laughed, but it had no mirth. It was as bitter as the aftertaste of the water I’d lapped up from the concrete. “It couldn’t have been more than a few ounces. I cupped my hands under it and caught what I could. I licked the rest up from…from where it fell.”