The Girl Next Door (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 4)

by A J Rivers

  She wasn't always this way with me. She's tried out various different ways to talk to me, different mannerisms and attitudes. She's sampling me, too. She wants to figure out which is the one that's going to reach me. As if one of these times she's going to hit on the type of person I need her to be and I'll split like a geode.

  "I'm here because Sam thinks I should talk to you," I say.

  There's no reason to lie or to shine up the excuse, so it doesn't seem so stark. A therapist's office is nothing if not a place for honesty.

  "Sam?" she asks.

  "I told you about him when we spoke about Sherwood," I tell her.

  Knowing I won't rise to her bait, she nods.

  "The sheriff. And how is your relationship with Sam going?" she asks.

  "Well enough for him to think I need to be here. I'm hoping knowing I've come back and talked to you will make him back off."

  She seems taken aback by the bluntness of the statement.

  "Back off?" she asks, wanting clarification.

  "He thinks I'm losing touch with reality because I haven't been sleeping well."

  "Just because you haven't been sleeping well?"

  I look at her. At the woman sitting across from me, her prim legs in semi-sheer black pantyhose folded at the knee, a pen poised at the ready to capture anything interesting I might have to say on the yellow legal pad on her lap. I wonder what sitting here talking to her is supposed to do. What Sam thinks is going to happen if I pour it all out to her.

  I guess I have to try.

  "Some things have happened in the last few weeks, but no one seems to realize they're happening but me," I start. "Now Sam is getting really wary of me and doesn't believe anything I'm telling him. It's not that he thinks I'm lying. At least, I don’t think he's gotten to that point yet. He just thinks my brain is slipping and I'm living in delusions."

  "Can you explain that to me a bit better?"

  Her fingers almost twitch in anticipation on the pen. It's like they know I'm about to say something they will want to document.

  "I'm sure you read about the incident with the cult a couple months ago," I say.

  It's not a question. I know she has. Everyone has. Discretion is not Creagan's strong suit when he has something to crow about, and the infiltration and takedown of one of the largest and most dangerous cults in the country by one of his agents had him climbing up on the roost and fluffing his feathers for days. The fact that I wasn't an active agent at the time and was investigating a murder, not the cult itself, didn't seem to take away any of his swagger.

  "I did. Would you like to talk about that?" she asks.

  "No," I sigh. "But it's a good starting place."

  I delve into the story. She listens silently as I tell her about my kidnapping, the way they tried to erase my name and sense of self, and the way I barely escaped. I tell her about Ruby, and her disappearance, and the noose hanging from the door at the fairgrounds. About getting trapped in the hotel and the mysterious illness that left Nicole dead. When I finish, she continues to stare at me for a few seconds as if she's waiting for me to add something. Finally, she speaks.

  “And you believe all these things are linked?” she asks.

  “I feel like they have to be,” I offer. “That's too many coincidences. It's too many things happening, one right after the other, for them to not have something to do with each other. It just seems like I'm the only one who can see that.”

  “Tell me more about Ruby Baker,” she says.

  I let out a breath. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything you do,” she tells me.

  “I really don’t know much. I only met her three, maybe four times. She just moved into town after running away from a severely abusive ex-boyfriend. Frank was his name. She got with him after a divorce. Her ex-husband wasn’t abusive, but he didn't thrill her, I guess. She was nice, but she seemed, I don't know how to put it… fragile? Like, even when she was smiling and talking to me like everything was fine, that happiness and enthusiasm was a thin layer over her, just ready to shatter at any second. I don't know if that makes any sense. I hoped she would get stronger over time. Maybe being in Sherwood and getting a chance to have a fresh start would make her more confident. As soon as I saw her get attacked through the window, the first thing I thought was her ex. I figure he found her and wanted his revenge for her leaving him.”

  “And you say no one else met her? None of your neighbors or anyone else in town?” she asks.

  “No. The first time we met, she told me she had been going up and down the street meeting everybody, but when I went to talk to them after she disappeared, they said they hadn't seen anybody in that house and no woman had come to their houses to introduce herself. When I spoke to the company that manages the property, they said no one has shown any interest in it for years. She couldn't be renting it because it wasn't for rent, it was for sale. And when we went inside, there was no sign of anybody ever being in there. She baked me a cake, but the oven was brand new and had never been used.”

  “And what do you think about that?” she encourages.

  “I really don't know. I do know I saw her. I met her. She was in my house. I gave her a cup of sugar, and she joked she was really only borrowing it when she came back with the cake. I still have her cake stand. I don't understand what could possibly have happened. But I didn't just make her up like some twisted imaginary friend,” I insist.

  “But that's what other people think,” she says.

  “That's certainly what some of the people in Sherwood think. and I think it's what Sam's starting to think, too. And if it was just Ruby, maybe I'd think the same thing. It's a lot easier to explain it away as the stress scrambling my mind," I point out.

  "Easier than what?" she asks. "What's the alternative?"

  "Admitting something horrible happened? Realizing there's some common thread to all this and no one is willing to believe it's happening, much less help me?"

  "And if that's the case?" she asks.

  "What do you mean?"

  "If there is a continuous thread that links all of these incidents together, but you still can't make anyone believe you, would you still pursue it? Would you be willing to face that scrutiny and judgment in order to find out what was happening and stop it?"

  I don’t hesitate. My answer doesn't take even a moment of thought.

  "Absolutely."

  “Just be careful, Emma. Sometimes it’s hard to see yourself, and you have to trust that the people around you still can.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Eric is waiting for me outside the office when my appointment is over.

  "So, what did the doc say?" he asks. "Does she think she can glue your broken little brain back together?"

  I roll my eyes at him as I walk past. A cold wind makes me pull my coat tighter around myself, the gesture reminding me of Ruby and her sweaters.

  "Let's make jokes about that when all this is over," I mutter.

  Eric slings his arm around my shoulders. "Come on, Emma. You don't think I actually believe you've lost it, do you?"

  I sigh. "Hold that thought until you've heard the whole story."

  He brings me to lunch at a favorite place of mine, a hole-in-the-wall spot that serves the most incredible Indian food. The warm, spicy smell that fills my lungs with my first step into the restaurant feels like home. It's moments like this when the questions start coming back, and I wonder about my future. I'm dangling directly over two lives, both as much mine as the other, both places home in their own ways.

  We sit in one of the cozy booths, and seconds later, a grinning waiter brings over the bread service I have many times declared I could live on. A basket of warm naan and onion kulcha sits beside a wooden board with several bowls of various accompaniments. I tear off a piece of the naan and dip it into garlicky pickle dip. It's just as delicious as I remember, and I sink back in my seat just to enjoy a moment of peace.

  "You want to tell me wh
at brought you all the way back here to see the therapist you never wanted to talk to in the first place, or should I just start jumping to wild conclusions?" Eric asks after a few seconds.

  The waiter comes back to the side of the table, and we order our lunch. When he walks away, I turn back to Eric.

  "What did Bellamy tell you?" I ask.

  He looks at me like he's going to protest, but then nods, admitting they talked about the situation with Ruby. For some people, knowing their best friends are talking about them behind their back would be upsetting. I'm just glad I don't have to go through the entire story again. I don't want to revisit every little detail and wait for his reaction. Knowing he already has the foundation of the story is reassuring. It not only saves me from the spiel, but it means it's been percolating in his mind. Even if it hasn't taken up the same type of immediate, conscious thought as it has for me, his brilliant brain has pulled it back into its dark recesses and has been dismantling it in the background.

  “It wouldn't be the first time someone covered up a murder by making a person simply disappear,” he offers through a mouthful. “But I've never heard of someone never existing in the first place. Why would you be the only person she met?”

  “I don't know. But there's a reason behind it, and it has to do with everything else that's going on. Someone is trying to tell me something, Eric.”

  I stare at my fingers drumming on the top of the table for a few seconds, then look up at him again. “Is there a way to remotely control someone's cell phone? I'm not talking tracking it or turning it off during dinner. I mean, can someone actually take over another person's phone without that person knowing it?"

  "I'm not sure what you're asking," he tells me.

  "Did Bellamy tell you about the hotel?"

  "She said you got stuck in an elevator shaft," he frowns.

  "That's the Reader's Digest abridged version of it, but we'll go with it. Sam got called for a break-in and asked if I wanted to go, but I stayed home. A little while later, I got a text from him saying he needed me, then another giving me the address. When I went to the address, it was a rundown hotel that's been abandoned past the edge of town for decades. I got more text messages telling me to come inside, then when I was in there, I called him. I swear, I heard his phone ringing. That’s when I went to follow the sound and I got pushed into the elevator shaft. But when I tried to call him again, my phone stopped. It wouldn't even turn on. It had a full charge, so there's no reason it should have done that. When Sam finally showed up, he told me he didn't send those messages, and they weren't on his phone or mine anymore. And as soon as I got out of there, my phone worked again. But they were there. And someone was in that hotel with me.”

  “And you know it wasn't Sam?” he asks.

  "Is that one of the wild conclusions you're jumping to, or do you genuinely believe he would do something like this?" I ask.

  "I'm just going through the facts."

  I think of the thimble tucked far away in the back of a drawer. That thimble represents a time when I lost myself because I didn't want to believe in my heart what my mind already knew. Keeping the memento was promising myself I would never do that again. And I haven't. That's not what's happening this time.

  "It couldn't have been Sam. Someone pushed me into that elevator shaft, and I could hear them coming after me. But when I got outside, his car came into the parking lot. There's no way he could have done both. But I knew it wasn't him. I went inside because I thought he was in there alone and might need me. I even started to leave but stayed because I called his phone and heard it ringing deeper in the hotel. It scared me. I thought something might have happened to him. I didn't believe there was any way he could have hurt me, but seeing him come into the parking lot confirmed it. The timing makes it impossible. But those messages. And the phone ringing. I don't understand how that happened. There's no way I would have known to go to that hotel if I didn't get the address. But neither one of our phones have the messages anymore."

  "There is technology that can make that possible. There are apps that can disguise phone numbers, so it looks like one person is calling or sending a message when it's actually someone else. And there are others that can be used to brick the phone. It makes it unusable. Essentially, those programs put the phone under the control of whoever is controlling the app.”

  “But how could that happen? Wouldn't a program like that have to be installed onto my phone in order to work?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Eric nods. “Someone would have to install the app in order to use it.”

  “But I have my phone with me all the time. Nobody has access to it.”

  “Wasn't it lost for a while?” he asks.

  “For about a day,” I confirm. “But I was at home the entire time, and the only person who was there with me for any part of it was Ruby.”

  “There’s a connection. Is it possible she could have had anything to do with it?”

  “I had it when she was at my house the first time, then found it in my laundry room before she came back,” I explain.

  “So, you just need to convince Sam your phone was taken and modified by a woman who doesn't exist and who wasn't there to put it back," Eric summarizes. “Simple.”

  "Exactly." I take a bite of my curry and let my thoughts tumble around as the flavors roll across my tongue. "The thing is, that's the simple part. What does it have to do with Pamela getting run off the road and lying about it? Or Nicole dying?"

  "You're sure they're connected?"

  "I’m convinced whoever was in that hotel with me killed Ruby and covered it up. Now they're playing a game with me, and I don't know the rules. My therapist told me to be careful and to trust other people to see me when I lost sight of myself. I think that's the problem."

  "What do you mean?" Eric asks.

  "I've thought so much about the house across the street, and what people did or didn't see there. I think it's time I started to see Ruby instead." I stand up and lean over to hug Eric. "Thank you for lunch. And for the help with the phone. I'll call you."

  "You didn't even finish. Where are you going?" he asks, gesturing to my half-full plate.

  "I need to get back to Sherwood. It's time to get to know my imaginary friend."

  As I move to put my coat on, the bottom of my sweater lifts and Eric’s eyes lock on my hip.

  “Emma,” he starts.

  Without a word, I tug my sweater down and walk out of the restaurant. I don’t owe him answers. He doesn’t need to know I could have just as easily called my therapist rather than driving two hours from Sherwood.

  Or that I came into town last night after spending the evening at the range where I trained the first time my father put a gun in my hands.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I don't want to be inside the house when I get back to Sherwood. I'm drawn back out onto the porch. Wrapped in a quilt my grandmother made before I was born, I sit cross-legged on a wicker loveseat to one side of my front door with my computer in my lap.

  I’m scrolling slowly through results from typing Ruby's name into every search engine there is. The name is there, but none of the images are her.

  It's not completely unfathomable that she wouldn't have social media, or that it would be under a fake name. Someone who's gone through what she did would have plenty of reasons to not want to be so easily found. She mentioned her ex-boyfriend Frank isolating her from everyone else around her, which could easily have meant stopping her from having any online presence. Even after she broke away from him, I can imagine her hesitating to open herself up to the murky world of the internet. It's hard to know who you'll find that you can actually trust, or who might find you.

  Thinking about her ex reminds me that I never asked if Baker was her married name, or if she took back her maiden name after her divorce. My mind goes back to her sitting in my kitchen, telling me about the life she left behind, trying to remember every detail of our conversation. I remember her telling me her husb
and's name was James. I type it into the search bar alongside her name, adding the name of her hometown. I'm hoping tossing together as many pieces of her as I can, will finally be what it takes to find her.

  No sooner do I hit enter than I realize I'm right. I just wasn't prepared for what finally finding Ruby would mean.

  The sound of my phone ringing on the wicker beside me startles me. I just barely catch my computer before it slips off my lap. I'm still staring at my computer screen when I answer the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Emma, it's me,” Bellamy chirps. “I might have found something, and I wanted to tell you about it. I went to the funeral home today.”

  The words hit a wall in my brain, bouncing off the screen in front of me and mixing with the words I'm reading off it, so I'm not sure what was actually said.

  “Wait, what?” I ask. “I'm sorry. I’m… never mind. Say that again.”

  “The funeral home, Emma. I told you I was going to ask around at funeral homes about your mother.”

  “That's right,” I say, rubbing my fingers into my eyelids.

  “Are you okay? Is something going on?“ she asks.

  “No. Go ahead. What did you find out?”

  “That's the thing. Not much. I went to all the funeral homes in the area around the house where your family lived and just started asking. But I didn't get very far. They were all pretty closed up and didn't want to answer any questions because I'm not next of kin. I tried to convince them it's been so long that it would be alright and that I wasn't looking for any really personal information, but it didn't help. So, I figured I might have skipped a step, and I went backwards. I headed to the newspaper office and looked through old issues from the year you turned twelve. That's the one bit of information we are absolutely sure about,” she says.

  “Yes,” I told her. “I might not remember everything about being young, but I know she died before my twelfth birthday.”

  “Exactly. So that gave me a narrowed down timeline. I went through all the issues and didn't find anything. Then I found out there was a newspaper during that time that is now defunct. I had to go to the library and see the microfilm. But I found it.”