Right Next Door

by Leah Montgomery

  “Of course not.” Marcy gives her the name of the store, and they chat about quality sleep and allergens and dust mites until John comes in.

  He catches the tail end of the conversation, when Marcy is telling Jill a fun fact about mattress weight and dust mites. John quickly puts an end to that. “Uh, it’s time for breakfast, which means that if no one wants to see my pancakes twice, you’d better change the subject.”

  Marcy grins, as does Jill.

  John pats Jill on the shoulder. Before Marcy turns around, she sees the flinch. Jill rushes to excuse it away, but it only makes the situation sound worse.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. Mark is… He’s always been very jealous, so I’m cautious about touching or being touched by other men. I meant no offense.”

  John smiles kindly. “None taken. Just a bad habit of mine.”

  “Not at all. I don’t want you to feel bad about it.”

  “Then I won’t.”

  John pops a strawberry from the dish Marcy cut for Caroline into his mouth. And just like that, it is done. Marcy knows it will be as though it never happened. Another talent of John’s that she envies.

  “Pancakes will be ready in about five more minutes. John, why don’t you see if Caroline wants to come down and eat with us?”

  “Uhhhh,” John mumbles, causing Marcy to turn toward him. She sees he’s smiling toward the living room, so Marcy spins further. Caroline is standing in the doorway, her fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt, ratty old tennis shoes on her feet. Marcy sighs. She would take it up with her later, but she’s begun to realize there are some battles she simply cannot win. Those damn shoes are one of them.

  “Good morning, sweetheart. I cut you some fresh strawberries. Why don’t you sit down and start on those? You can sit beside Jill.” Marcy holds up the bowl of berries.

  With no comment, Caroline turns and walks back the way she’d come.

  Jill turns, craning her neck to try and see Caroline, but she’s already disappeared back upstairs. “I hope that wasn’t because of me.”

  Marcy lies. “Of course not. Sometimes she eats up in her room. In fact, she’s been doing that more and more often lately. I need to ask the doctor about it. I don’t know if I should make her come down or just let her do what feels comfortable for her.” She sighs deeply. “Most of the time, I don’t know what the right thing is. I just know that I love her and want her to get better.”

  Jill reaches out and touches Marcy’s hand, compassion etched in the lines of her face. “Mothers love their children. Every good thing starts there.”

  Marcy smiles and turns her hand up to squeeze Jill’s fingers. Then she turns to her husband. “John, why don’t you set out the butter and syrup? And pour Jill some coffee, please. You do want coffee, right?” Marcy asks, turning back to the griddle.

  “I’d say it now qualifies as need.”

  John asks, “Rough night?”

  “Little bit.”

  For a couple of minutes, only the sounds of Marcy’s cooking and John’s clanking of mugs and spoons fill the kitchen. Marcy breaks the silence by turning toward the island with a full platter of perfectly cooked pancakes. “Who’s ready for breakfast?” Marcy sets the platter directly in front of Jill.

  “They smell delicious,” Jill says, inhaling deeply. “Does someone want to say grace?” She looks to John and then to Marcy.

  For a moment, Marcy feels the sharp slice of failure cut into her belly. She smiles through it, though, pushing the feeling aside. “We aren’t in the habit of doing that. You can just dig right in.”

  “Oh, okay. I didn’t want to offend anyone by—” The muted ring of a phone interrupts her. She pats her pocket. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve left it upstairs. I was afraid Sabrina might call, though.” She takes it out and looks at the screen, her expression falling into one of dread. It’s as plain as the glasses that sit perched on the bridge of her upturned nose. “It’s…it’s Mark. I’m sorry, but please excuse me.”

  She gets up and leaves the room.

  At first, Marcy and John hold off eating until she returns. The minutes tick by, though, and after fifteen have passed, John finally asks, “Would it be rude to go ahead and eat without her?”

  Marcy glances at the clock. The food is getting cold, and pancakes are much better warm. “Nah. Let me reheat our plates, and we’ll eat if she hasn’t come back by the time they’re warm.”

  “Thank God. I’m starving,” he says, rubbing his belly with one hand as he extends his plate to her with the other.

  Marcy microwaves their plates. When she sets them down, she considers warming Jill’s too, but if she doesn’t come back right away, the pancakes will be inedible if reheated twice. That’s why she leaves it where it is, and sits down in her spot.

  She smiles over at John, raising her fork. “Let’s dig in.”

  They eat in an awkward silence, no one really knowing what to do or talk about in case Jill comes back. Or in case she doesn’t. It’s a very strange meal, indeed.

  Marcy is clearing their plates away when Jill finally returns nearly thirty minutes after she left the table. She runs a hand through her hair, sending her bangs off in a wild direction.

  “Marcy, I am so sorry. I hope I didn’t ruin breakfast.”

  Marcy waves her off. “Of course you didn’t. Your plate is still waiting for you if you have an appetite. But if not, no worries.”

  Jill’s grin is wry. “Is it that obvious?”

  Marcy touches her shoulder. “Lover’s quarrels always leave us without an appetite. It’s one of the few perks of them.”

  “I don’t even know if this qualifies as a lover’s quarrel, to be honest,” Jill says as she clears her dishes from the island and wets a rag to wipe it down. “This was more of a…confrontation.”

  Of course, Marcy wants all the details, but she restrains herself and answers with a bland, “I’m sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?”

  Jill pauses, turns to face Marcy, and leans a hip against the island. Her fingers fiddle with the rag she’s holding, a nervous gesture Marcy understands all too well. “Actually, he’s coming home this afternoon. He wants to talk. If…if I’m not comfortable, would you be willing to come over? Just for some moral support?”

  “Absolutely,” she declares without hesitation. “You don’t think…”

  “What?”

  “You don’t think he might get violent, do you? I’m sure John would be happy to—”

  “Oh, no. Mark isn’t—” Jill cuts herself off, sighing. It’s a deep sigh, so much so that her whole body moves with it. “You know, that might not be such a bad idea. I think… Mark…” She gives up trying to express herself, shaking her head instead and returning to the chore of cleaning the island.

  “You don’t have to explain. I think I’m getting a pretty good picture.”

  “He was the perfect man when we dated. And even for a while after we married. I don’t know… It’s just hard to say what happened. But whatever is going on with him, I’m not sure it’s fixable. At least not between us.”

  “Sometimes the best thing both parties can do is walk away.”

  “Maybe it’s time.”

  “If it is, we’re here to help however we can.”

  When Jill spins slowly toward Marcy this time, her eyes are glistening and her chin is trembling. “Thank you.” She sniffs as she reaches up to swipe at one runaway tear. “I feel like all I do anymore is cry. Things are just…they’re tough. In ways I can’t even tell you. But just know…just know how much I appreciate you. You’ve been such a big help to me, there’s no way I could ever repay you for all you’ve done.”

  “That’s not necessary. I promise.”

  “Maybe not, but I will. Repay you, I mean. Eventually. One day. Hopefully sooner rather than later.”

  “Don’t concern yourself with things like that right now. You focus on getting things straightened out, on healing. In time, everything else will fall into pla
ce. You’ll see.”

  “I believe you. I have to. If I didn’t think that was true, I don’t know if I could go on. There are some things a woman clings to. Desperately.”

  “Oh, I know. I’ve done some clinging in my time. And, you know what? In the end, it all works out. You just have to keep at it. Don’t give up. You get one shot at this life. Make it the best you can. Take no prisoners!” Marcy offers the last with a raised hand, like a battle cry.

  Jill’s laugh is soggy, but still a laugh. “I like that. ‘Take no prisoners.’ Yeah, that’s the attitude I need to have now.”

  Marcy closes the dishwasher door and wipes her hands before coming to stand by Jill. Gently, she pats her shoulder. “You’ll get there. Don’t you worry.” After a short pause, Marcy starts to nod. “I know what you need.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You need a hot shower. Some time to calm your mind and your body before you tackle all this.”

  “That sounds wonderful. I think I might do exactly that.”

  “Towels are in the linen closet, right behind the door as you walk in.”

  Jill nods and makes her way toward the stairs. Marcy watches her go. When she’s out of sight, her footfalls tapping softly on the ceiling overhead, John appears at Marcy’s side.

  “Sounds like the shit’s about to hit the fan,” he says, keeping his voice low.

  “And guess who’s getting a front row seat?”

  She winks at him and he grins in return. “Like I say, you’re evil, woman.”

  “Maybe just a little.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I pounced on Gabe the instant he got off the phone with his brother. After my discovery of the laboratory, we’d sat down and talked. Tried to figure out the best way forward.

  At first, Gabe didn’t want to involve Garrett again. Said there had to be another way. But he’d soon realized what I had—there wasn’t. No path was easy. No plan was clear-cut. But the one thing we’d finally agreed upon was that Garrett was our only option. So Gabe had reached out. And I’d waited.

  And now…the result.

  “What did he say?”

  “He doesn’t know much about pharmaceutical companies, but he said since they do trials there, too, that it’s possible this lab would have had unapproved chemical compounds on site.”

  It was possible.

  Possible wasn’t a yes, but possible wasn’t a no either.

  Possible was hope.

  It was the first really positive thing to happen to us in weeks and weeks. Or at least it felt like it.

  I was almost giddy with it.

  We’d found something.

  We’d found a real, tangible lead.

  Finding Tallman could be the thing that turned it all around for us.

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “He said a lab area like that, where they’re testing and developing new drugs, would likely be restricted access, so we’re talking about people who either work with the chemical or have reason to be in that area for, like, quality control or whatever. Outside of that, it would have to be a person who got unauthorized access, like an I.T. person or someone who faked a badge. Or maybe got visitor access somehow. I don’t know what those conditions would look like.”

  “Okay, so why don’t you look happy? This is good news, right? We found a legitimate lead.”

  “Yeah, we did, but…”

  “But?”

  “But if the person faked their way in somehow, there will be no record. And if there’s no record…”

  I knew how much he hated to tell me that last part. The sentence was like the point of a needle pokepokepoking at the balloon of my optimism. I could feel it, sharp and persistent. It hadn’t punctured it yet, but it wouldn’t be long if I weren’t careful.

  I forced my mind to stay on track. I was a shark and this was blood in the water. I would not, could not give up. This was a minor setback. Nothing we couldn’t overcome.

  “Well, we won’t know that until we get a list and go through names. I’ll check them out, all of them, and one of them will be him. I have faith. One of them will lead us to Dalton. That’s the way it will be.” I smiled, reassuring Gabe as much as myself. “It will.”

  Gabe’s smile plainly said he wasn’t convinced, but he was too kind, too gentle to tell me that. “Garrett said he would call. He said he’d do everything he could to get us a list, but you know that he’s limited, right? I mean, this is outside what he does, so there’s no guarantee that—”

  “I know, I know. But that doesn’t matter. This will work. It will work. It has to.”

  Gabe nodded. I nodded. But only one of us was deluding herself.

  And it only took a few hours for both of us to know it.

  Garrett called back the next morning with the news that he’d been denied the list of employees. The laboratory’s human resources department read him some kind of corporate policy stating that, since they were a privately held company, they were under no legal obligation to release employee information without a court order. Blah, blah, blah.

  “Why didn’t he try harder? He could’ve pushed and told them that as an employee of the police department, he was trying to help them and that—”

  “He can’t afford to lose his job, babe. He went out on a limb by calling them in the first place.”

  “But—”

  “That way is dead, Shannon.” I deflated. My knees wobbled. My hands shook. I reached out for something to grab onto. Ever sensitive to my emotional state, Gabe rushed to add, “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t another way. There is. We just have to find it.”

  He pulled me into his arms. Tucked my head into the crook of his neck. I knew he was trying to bury my pain, bury my disappointment. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that would be impossible without also burying me.

  “I’ll find a way. I’m not giving up,” I muttered into the soft material of his shirt. “Even if I have to go stake out the—”

  I stopped. Gasped. Jerked back.

  Gabe startled. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “That’s it! I’ll go stake out the Tallman parking lot. I’ll watch the employees come and go. If I spot anyone who looks like it could be him, I’ll follow him. One of them will have to lead us to Dalton. That bastard works there. I know it.”

  “But—”

  “He works there, Gabe, and I’ll find him. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna find him.”

  At any other time, my husband might’ve argued against the wisdom of my plan. He could poke holes of rationale in the most creative of ideas. But not on that day. On that day, he stared down into my eyes. Searched them. Found what he was afraid he’d find. Then, eventually, he nodded his agreement.

  “I have only one thing to add.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If you think you’ve spotted him, you call me. Promise me you won’t go chasing him by yourself.”

  I smiled. A real smile. The first in so long I couldn’t remember. “I promise.”

  That promise was a lie.

  And we both knew it.

  It took me three days of watching Tallman’s parking lot to get the employees’ schedules down pat. Except for a few outliers, most arrived by 7:30 AM. Some left for lunch, took anywhere from forty five to sixty minutes, and returned to work for the rest of the afternoon. Some didn’t leave the building until after 4:00 PM. There were a few exceptions here and there, probably for doctor’s appointments or sick kids and whatnot, but most followed a strict routine. With the exception of a skeleton crew on the nightshift, Tallman seemed to operate largely from eight to five.

  I didn’t concern myself with the cleaning and security staff. I decided I would work my way through the ones most likely to have access to sensitive areas first, and in my mind, those were the ones with day time hours.

  Day after day, I watched people come.

  Day after day, I watched people go.

  I looked at their frames, thei
r gate. I cataloged their features through my binoculars. Searched faces and postures and heights and hairdos. No one looked even vaguely familiar. No one wore a sign that read CLOSET PSYCHOPATH. No one looked like the man who had kidnapped me and still had Dalton.

  I tried not to get discouraged. I was operating on very little information. The two times I saw my captor, I was at a distinct disadvantage. By design, I felt sure. The first time was brief and he was heavily shadowed. Dressed in dark, bulky clothing. Voice modulated. The second time, I was feigning unconsciousness as he carried me to the bench in the clearing. It was night and my eyes were only cracked a slit. Therefore, I knew almost nothing about his physical appearance. That didn’t stop me from looking, though. Something would tip me off. I clung to that like a drowning woman clinging to a life raft.

  I couldn’t give up. Wouldn’t. I’d sit in the lot every day for the rest of my life until he did something, some small thing, that showed himself. When that happened, I would be there. I would be watching, I would be waiting. I would see him slip and I would make my move.

  Weeks passed. I slept less and less. Cried more and more. It became harder and harder to hold onto hope. With every employee that trotted into and out of the building each day, my hope shifted more toward hopelessness.

  One afternoon, I cried myself to sleep behind the wheel of my car. The radio played softly in the background. It was a Friday. While the rest of the working world was bidding their jobs adieu until Monday, making plans for fun and relaxation over the weekend, I was dozing fitfully in my coffee cup-littered car.

  When I woke, it was dark outside. Only the security lights and a couple of office windows glowed in the dark. I sat up slowly. I was stiff and dejected as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Another day had passed. Another useless, wasted day. And I had nothing to show for it.

  I was reaching for the ignition switch when I saw someone walk past the guard. There were only three cars left in the lot. With my bleary eyes, I followed the shape to one of them. A dark Ford sedan.

  I watched the interior light flick on, but my angle didn’t allow me to see any details above the head rest. As quickly as it had switched on, the light switched off. Seconds later, the brake lights flashed. Bright red in the dying light of day. They flicked off again, and the car eased out of its spot. Rolled slowly through the lot. Snaked its way toward the main entrance. Toward the street.