The Nosy Neighbor (26 page)

“Like what, Special Agent Connors?”

“You must be thinking about this nonstop. I’m assuming you’ve gone over your relationship with this man a thousand different times. Maybe you remember something that didn’t seem important to you earlier, but which, when added to the mix, helps to make sense of the whole. Anything like that.”

“No. I’d tell you if there was. Are you saying you finally believe me?”

“Miss Baker, I believed you from the beginning. We had to see which way you’d go. Women in love do strange things.”

“Well, I’m not in love. With Jonathan,” she added hastily when she saw the stricken look on Wiley’s face. “Wait a minute. Actually, Special Agent Connors, there is something I think you should know. Hear me out here. That house in Watchung…it’s stark white and round. It’s pretty hard to get past all that whiteness and the roundness. I think all that was deliberate so no one would think about anything other than those two things. I remember looking at the fireplace and thinking how odd it was that it was white. It looked like it had been used, but the more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself it was just scattered ash. There’s a trapdoor on the floor that you open and brush the ash through as opposed to shoveling it out. I have the same thing here in my own house. I think that’s where Jonathan hid whatever he’s hiding. I’m trying to help here. It’s up to you to check it out.”

“Okay, we’ll check it out as soon as we can. In the meantime, we’ll do our best to get to you as soon as possible. Don’t do anything rash. Just be aware.”

“All right. We’ll save some dinner for you and your partners.”

“That would be nice. The hotel here is just about out of food. We’re going to try and get some additional cell phones. I’ll call you with the number if we’re successful. There is every possibility we’ll be cut off from one another for a while. I don’t want you to panic.”

“I won’t panic, Special Agent Connors. I told you, I have a gun, and the dogs. If you can’t get here, Jonathan can’t get here.”

“We’ll be in touch, Miss Baker.”

Lucy handed Wylie the phone. “You heard my end of the conversation. Their cell phones are dead, but they’re going to try to get others. The good news is they’re going to commandeer a snowplow as soon as they can. If we’re lucky, they might be able to get to us late in the afternoon.”

Wylie reached across the table for Lucy’s hand. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been up at this hour. I’m going to be forty in a few months. Those days of partying and staying up late are long gone. Just so you know, I’ve become a creature of comfort and habit.”

Lucy smiled as she scooted her chair closer to Wylie’s. “I was never a party person. Maybe I take myself too seriously. At least my brother thinks so. Guess what, it’s not a bad thing. At least I don’t think it is. Did I tell you in my dream we were going to Hawaii for two weeks on our honeymoon?”

“No kidding! Can we afford Hawaii?”

Lucy giggled. “I didn’t get that far in my dream. I guess so.” Her voice turned fretful when she said, “Who is going to take care of the dogs?”

“My mom and dad will come and stay at my house. They love Coop, and Mom doesn’t mind mixing up meat loaf every day. Not a problem. So, we’re getting married. When?”

When indeed. “When I get a new wedding gown. When this thing in my head goes away. When this is all over. I think the big question is where we are going to live. I want to make sure we do it right, Wylie. Do you understand that?”

Wylie squeezed her hand. “Perfectly. In my off moments, I’ve been thinking of selling my half of the firm to my partner and devoting all my time to my thesis. If I do that, I think I could be done by August or September. That’s not too long to wait, is it?”

Lucy looked up at Wylie. She loved this man, really, truly loved him. And yet she’d only known him a short while. She felt like she’d known him forever. She laughed out loud when Wylie said, “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

“Now who is reading whose mind. I was thinking the exact same thing just this minute. I’m so very happy, Wylie. I don’t have the words to tell you. They say everything happens for a reason, and I guess you were the reason. The Jonathan thing. I’m not going to lie to you, I’m petrified at what that man can do. Yet, I’m happy. Explain that please.”

Wylie looked befuddled, his hands rubbing at his bristly cheeks and chin. “We were meant for each other. That old shoe and old sock thing my mother always talks about. The whys, the hows, the whats simply don’t matter.”

Lucy leaned her head on Wylie’s shoulder. He put his arm around her. “It’s three-thirty in the morning in case you’re interested.”

Laughter gurgled in Lucy’s throat. “I’m not interested. It’s nice sitting here with you in the kitchen.”

“When I was growing up, our kitchen was always the busiest room in the house. All of us kids did our homework at the kitchen table, and let me tell you, that took some juggling, especially with our milk and homemade cookies. We played board games on the same table. Mom was always cooking or baking. We had a picnic table and benches for a table because there were so many of us. The dog’s bed was in the kitchen by the vent. The cat slept next to him. All the neighbor kids, all our friends, hung out at our house. Mom always made everyone feel welcome. She fed all of us and our friends. Stuff cooked in one pot to make it stretch. Was it like that for you?”

Lucy shook her head. “Not in the least. Remember, my parents were lawyers. We had a series of housekeepers. Summers, Steven and I were sent to camp. We had all these after-school activities to keep us busy. There was no time for neighborhood friends or playing outside. My only outlet was the track team. After college I was invited to the Olympic trials, but I had to decline when my mother got sick. I spent two years nursing her. Steven was younger, and we were pretty close. We became really close when we were teens. As to food at mealtime, my parents were rarely home at dinnertime. Usually it was just Steven and me. We used to have a Sunday supper where our parents would ask us for a summary of our week. Then we were dismissed. We weren’t a warm and fuzzy family. And, we weren’t allowed to have pets. Steven had a goldfish named Burt, but it died, and he never wanted another one. He used to talk to Burt for hours.

“We had to say, yes, ma’am, and yes, sir, to our parents. My parents never called me Lucy, it was always Lucille. Steven is the one who started calling me Lucy.”

Wylie digested all this, his heart sad. “Didn’t you have aunts and uncles or grandparents to pick up the slack?”

Lucy shook her head. “We did, but they were just like my parents. I wish you could have seen what our Christmases were like. The family came to the house on Christmas Eve, each of them brought us one present. Usually it was something we didn’t want, need, or that was either too big or too small. Even as kids we knew they weren’t interested in us. The really funny thing is, the wrapping looked like it cost more than the actual present. My mother dressed us up like we were going to be photographed for some magazine ad. We had to stand by the piano no one knew how to play and sing a carol. Steven could never remember the words, so I had to do most of the singing. I hated every minute of it. We didn’t get to sit at the table with the grown-ups. We ate in the kitchen with bibs on so we wouldn’t mess up our fancy clothes. Then we were dismissed.

“Every damn year, Steven and I would huddle upstairs and stay awake all night to see if, when we were younger, Santa would leave gifts. Then, as we got older, if our parents would leave gifts under this enormous fancy tree.”

Wylie sucked in his breath. He hated what he was hearing. Hated that the woman sitting next to him, the woman he loved, had experienced even one moment of childhood angst. His voice was gruff, bordering on harsh. “And did they?”

“There were always presents but never what either one of us wanted or asked for. We were never greedy. We’d each ask for one thing. It never happened. We got books, usually leather-bound classics, scarves, gloves. I think I was thirteen when I found out the housekeeper did the Christmas shopping as well as the wrapping. I almost think that was worse than finding out there was no Santa Claus. After a while, neither of us bothered, and we did our best to sleep through Christmas. Then when we went to college, we didn’t bother going home for the holidays. We’d go off together somewhere, just the two of us, and make our own Christmas. Steven is just a year younger than I am, did you know that?”

“Jesus. Well, I knew your brother was younger but I didn’t know it was just by a year. That’s a good thing, Lucy. You could relate to one another growing up with no distance between you.”

Lucy got up and walked over to the coffeepot. She reached for Wylie’s cup. “I’ve been having these chaotic thoughts the past couple of days. I guess that happens when someone is out to harm you, especially when that someone was a person you planned on marrying. You, Wylie, are the only person I ever discussed my life with, aside from Steven. So, as long as I’m telling you all about me, I might as well tell you the rest. My guilt. For years I’ve said I was okay giving up my dream of going to the Olympics and competing to take care of my mother. After a while, I think I even started to believe it. The truth is, I resented it. I didn’t want to do it. In fact, I hated doing it. But a daughter is supposed to do those things, so I did them.

“My mother was incredibly demanding during those two years. She absolutely refused to have a nurse, someone she considered a stranger, taking care of her. She had no idea what a stranger I was to her. She had no idea at all. She wore me down, beat me down, almost to the ground. Steven went off on her once for the way she treated me, and she looked right through him and didn’t even respond. He’d come to the house to give me a break for a night out. He was going to sit with her, but she would have none of it. As sick as she was, she ranted and raved. Steven just left the room and closed the door and forcefully pushed me out the door. I went to the park and just sat for hours.”

Wylie wanted to stop her, but he knew Lucy had to get it all out. All he could do was listen.

Lucy walked over to the table and set the cup down with a steady hand. She remained standing, her gaze far away as she continued on. “I paid for that little outing. Big-time. That’s when I started going to a shrink. Flash forward, he told me it was okay for me not to like my mother. Once I accepted that, I hired a nurse and a relief nurse. I did the things I was supposed to do and no more. When my mother died, I knew in my heart I had done everything humanly possible to make her comfortable. I didn’t have to shower her with love because I had no love to give. I didn’t grieve, nor did Steven. We were just relieved.

“Do you know what both my parents’ goals in life were, Wylie?”

“No, Lucy, what was it?”

“They wanted to be judges. They wanted those black robes. They wanted the bench and the gavel. That’s what their whole lives were about. Do you believe that?”

Wylie shrugged. “Is that why you turned down the appointment? Did you consider it sacrilegious or something?”

Lucy looked around, a vague expression on her face. “Or something. Well, that’s my story. Pretty sad, huh?”

“Nah. Stuff like that happens more than you know. People have a hard time opening up and spilling their guts. What they don’t understand is when they do that, the healing process begins. If you don’t get it out, it festers like a boil that needs lancing. I’m proud of you, Lucy. Steven, too, though I don’t know him.

“Listen, we’re going to have a wonderful life. I promise. We’re going to live in a college town that has sidewalks and big, old trees. We’ll go to rallies, cheer on the school’s team, interact with other professors and teachers. We’ll help students get their start. You and I can sit in front of the fire and discuss our days. We can take turns cooking and walking the dogs. We’ll rake leaves and burn them, and plant flowers. I love the smell of burning leaves. We’ll pick pumpkins and put them on the front steps with candles inside. We used to do that at our house. Kids will drop by for extra help, we’ll invite them in, and they’ll become our friends and we’ll mentor them. We’ll have a big open house at Christmas with a grab bag so everyone gets a gift. We’ll go out to some field and cut down the biggest tree there is. We’ll lug it home on the truck and invite the kids to help decorate. Lots of kids don’t go home for the holidays, like you and Steven and a lot of the foreign students. Home and hearth stuff, making a difference. It won’t be an exciting roller-coaster kind of life, but it will be filled with love and contentment. That’s how I see it anyway. It’s what I want. I hope you do, too, Lucy.”

“I do. My God, you have no idea how much I want that, crave it. It’s what I need. Do you think we’ll have fights?”

“Hell yes. Think about how sweet the making up will be.”

Lucy laughed. “Do you have any idea how good you are for me? What’s that saying, ’you’re the wind beneath my wings’? Together we’ll soar. So there.”

Wylie kissed her, a long, lingering kiss that spoke of endless tomorrows, a kiss that she returned with just as much passion and promise.

“I love you, Lucy Baker,” Wylie whispered in her ear.

“I love you, Wylie Wilson,” Lucy whispered in return.

The three federal agents stared at the television screen in their room, their eyes wary and questioning. It was seven o’clock, and the light outside was blinding. Beyond the window, the world was a sea of white snow. Visibility, according to the commentator, had not improved. Still, they were predicting an end to the snow by midmorning. Just three hours away. Sylvia Connors didn’t believe it for a minute. Neither did the others.

“This is only the second storm to be labeled a national disaster.” The commentator on the television news station droned on, citing similarities to the first national disaster in Buffalo in 1977. It was obvious the man was tired, he had dark circles under his eyes and was dressed in the same clothing he’d been wearing for the past three days. “The army is being called in to augment the National Guard. Sad to say, ladies and gentlemen, there are going to be a lot of Thanksgiving tables with empty chairs this year.”

The three agents turned away and walked to the window as the anchor rattled on about how the snow, when it was finally removed, would have to be dumped in the Raritan River. A plea, he said, was going out to everyone who owned a snowmobile or four-wheel drive, to stand ready to donate them for rescue efforts. Everyone was urged to stay tuned after still another warning to stay indoors.

Agent Mason started to pace. “That guy used the word
paralyzed
six times in two minutes. How many times has he said twenty-nine people died in 1977? How many times did he say visibility has been zero for the past thirty-six hours, and how many times has he said wind gusts range from thirty to forty to sixty miles an hour at times? A hundred!” he said, answering himself. “How can that guy,” he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the television, “possibly know or even estimate the damage at $200 million at this point in time? Sometimes I hate the media. They run with something and don’t know when to stop.”

“What do you think of Lucy Baker’s phone call in the middle of the night?” Sylvia asked carefully. She was fed up with talking about the snow and the storm.

“Cairo, my ass,” Lawrence said succinctly. “We have proof he came into this country with phony papers. The guy is trying to scare her. I’m having some real trouble with the fact that he’s even here at all. We never should have lost him. The guy’s a pro, which means he’s smarter than our guys. Why didn’t he just cut his losses and lose himself abroad? What’s here that he’s risking getting caught?”

Mason nibbled on a hangnail that had been plaguing him for days. His hands were dry and chapped, his cuticles ragged. “The guy fits the profile of a person obsessed with himself. He’s cocky and arrogant. He’s in danger of losing it all, whatever ‘it all’ turns out to be. This he knows. He’s blaming Lucy Baker for what’s going on. So he has to eliminate her so he can go back to his own world. This guy is so arrogant, so self-absorbed, he doesn’t think there’s a chance in hell he’ll get caught. I also think it’s safe to say this storm is causing him some fretful moments. How is he going to get away? The exit is almost more important than the arrival and the mission.”

“And…” Sylvia said.

Mason threw his hands in the air. “There is no
and
. That’s it.”

“Desperate men do desperate things. He’ll find a way. That’s the first thing guys like that plan—not the mission but the escape,” Lawrence said. “Look how long it’s taken us to get this far. Three years. Like you said, the guy’s a pro.”

“So are we,” Sylvia snapped.

“In a fair fight or race, the good guys usually win in the end. Unless the unknown comes into play. Then the playing field opens up wide. All you have to do is look outside. That’s the unknown, the unexpected. It works more to his advantage than ours.” Disgust registered on Lawrence’s face. “Damn, I hate snow!”

Sylvia squeezed her eyes shut as she saw pictures of Lucy Baker, Wylie Wilson, and their houseguest, dead on the floor in Wilson’s house. The picture was so horrendous, she bolted for the bathroom, but it didn’t erase the vision or the knowledge of all the other murders Leo Banks had committed. Her shoulders drooped. Lucy and her friends were sitting ducks, and there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing. She squared her shoulders and walked back into the suite’s living room. “How much longer before that snowplow gets here?”

“They said eight o’clock. It was iffy. When it gets here it gets here,” Mason snapped irritably. He wasn’t looking forward to braving the elements.

“Go back downstairs and see if you can find out anything. Find all three of us some boots and some heavier outerwear. Explain to the manager we’ll reimburse everyone when this is over. Tell them to give me an outside line immediately and to keep it open. Don’t look at me like that, Mason, do it!” Sylvia said, just as irritably.

When the door closed behind Mason, Sylvia looked over at Lawrence. “What do you think, Tom?”

Lawrence scratched at his head as he shrugged. “I don’t know. Everything is getting jerked around by this damn storm. For whatever it’s worth, I think he’s close by, and I think he’s made an attempt already but the storm foiled it. He knows where she is, even if she’s with other people, so that makes his job easier. Where he is, I have no idea, but wherever he is, he has access to a phone, and yeah, he’s trying to scare her. The guy she’s with, Wilson, he’s no lightweight either. Those two dogs would make me take a step backward. And, you said, she has a gun. The visiting guy doesn’t appear to be any kind of threat, but you never know. You wanna run with this or what?”

Sylvia snorted. “Run where? Lucy said she thinks he’s got something hidden under the fireplace. Any ideas?”

Lawrence’s face registered despair, as well as disgust. “Nope. None. It’s got to be something pretty awesome to warrant the kind of security he has installed there.”

Connors’s eyes narrowed. “Not so awesome if Wylie Wilson’s friends dismantled it. I’m talking about the system, not what’s inside.”

“I think our pal was just trying to cover himself from the locals. They wouldn’t know what to make of it. Goes with the profile. He’s cocky, never thinking anyone other than the locals would home in on him. Maybe money, maybe drugs. And, Baker said there was only an SUV in the garage, a car we didn’t even have in our inventory. What happened to the other vehicles? I think people went there and got them, his pals. Do I know why? No, I don’t. What other explanation could there be for the other vehicles? One is left for St. Clair himself. Admit it, Connors, we’re operating blind here. Half our case is assumptions. The guy is like quicksilver.”

A scream ripped from Sylvia Connors’s throat. In the blink of an eye, Lawrence had his gun in his hand as he pivoted to the right and to the left. “Jesus Christ,
what?”
he roared.

“Look, it’s stopped snowing!”

Lawrence mopped at his forehead as he replaced his gun in his shoulder holster. “Christ, Connors, you almost gave me heart failure.”

Connors looked sheepish. “Sorry, Tom. It really has stopped. Look for yourself. In your life, have you ever seen this much snow?”

Lawrence continued to mop at his forehead. “No, and I hope I never have to see this much snow again. Where the hell is Mason?”

As if in answer to his question, Agent Mason opened the door and dragged a hotel dolly into the room. On it were assorted jackets and parkas with hoods, a pile of gloves, scarves, and what looked like a small mountain of boots. “The plow is due in thirty minutes, the outside line is clear, and we owe a fortune for this gear. And, lady and gentleman, it has stopped snowing. They’re singing in the bar downstairs. The booze is flowing, and it’s all free. They ran out of food late last night, in case anyone is interested. There must be seven hundred people milling about. Everyone who made it on the train this far plus all the regular guests. It’s a zoo down there.”

Connors listened with half an ear as she dialed Wylie Wilson’s house. “Mr. Wilson,” she said, when she heard his voice, “this is Special Agent Connors. We’re told that a plow should be here in about thirty minutes. That’s not carved in stone, however. The good news is it has stopped snowing. I have no idea how long it will take us to get to your house but we wanted to tell you we’re on our way. Hold a second, Mr. Wilson.

“Mason, did you get us some cell phones?”

Agent Mason offered up a snappy salute. “Yes, ma’am, Special Agent Connors, ma’am. I managed to snag three Nokias. They belong to the manager, the assistant manager, and the reservations clerk. They put a sticky on the side with the number on it, and they’ve been charged, so we’re good to go. We either have to return them or pay for them.” Mason handed one of the phones to Sylvia.

“Mr. Wilson, write down these cell phone numbers as I read them off to you. Please, repeat them back to me. Good. You’ll see us when you see us.

“Then I guess we should avail ourselves of some of this outerwear and head downstairs to wait for the plow. Does anyone know the temperature?”

Mason slipped his arms into a shearling-style jacket. “According to the television in the bar, it’s around twenty-seven degrees. That’s pretty damn cold if you want my opinion.”

“Mine, too,” Lawrence and Connors said in unison.