Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
THURSDAY NIGHT, SEPTEMBER 7
C all the police!
I rummaged through my handbag for my cell phone and extracted it, tapping the surface to turn it on. Out of battery! I couldn’t remember the last time I’d charged it. I threw the thing on the front seat, swearing.
Should I drive to the police station and report a break-in? By the time I did that, the intruder would surely be gone. I thought of the skeptical expressions on the cops’ faces when we’d discussed my witnessing the bleeding woman on Pine Hill. If the intruder escaped, would the police arrest me for submitting another “false” report?
Unsure what to do, I backed out of the driveway and parked down the street, scanning the area for parked cars that looked unfamiliar. There were none. Before I had time to talk myself out of it, I got out of the Honda, locked it, and walked back to my house.
I crept along my neighbor’s side of his overgrown privet hedge, for once thankful old man Schumer was such a lazy landscaper. I peeked through a hole in the hedge where he’d overzealously sprayed poison ivy in a rare burst of yard tidying this past spring. As my pupils adjusted to the lack of light, I was able to see my back deck perfectly, including the steel screen door leading into my kitchen.
The door squeaked open, and a shadow appeared on the deck. I clamped my mouth shut, breathing unsteadily. The form shuffled across the deck, appearing to be quite short. A neighborhood kid out for kicks or quick cash? It was only when the shadowy figure started down the steps that I realized who it was. The slow, jerky way she moved told me all I needed to know. Why on earth had Mary Whitton broken into my home?
As I struggled to emerge from the hedge, my blouse sleeve snagging on a twig, Mary made her way to the far side of my property and crossed through the few scraggly trees between our houses. By the time I crossed my yard and stepped into hers, she was opening her basement door.
Why was she entering her house through the basement?
Did she want to avoid being seen emerging from my house? Even in the dark, our neighbors could notice her when the headlights of passing cars spotlighted her presence on my front stoop. I heard a click that told me she’d locked her door behind her.
I rushed to the door and banged on it with all my might.
With another click her face appeared in the opening, looking innocent and confused. “Caroline, what are you doing here?”
“Don’t play innocent, Mary. How dare you sneak around in my house when I’m not there.” My face flushed and my breath came in uneven spurts.
“Please come in,” she said, opening the door wider. “You’re always welcome in my home.”
“You are not always welcome in mine,” I said, stepping past her and into the dank basement, the smell of mildew heavy in the air. I looked around the area, a moment’s hesitation making me pause, taking in the bare bulb dangling from one of the room’s ceiling joists. I’d never been in Mary’s cellar. Glancing around, it had the creepy closed-in vibe of all unfinished basements but looked otherwise innocuous. It was empty except for broken furniture piled in one corner, a stack of empty liquor boxes in another, and a half dozen translucent plastic trash bags stuffed with empty bottles and cans on the concrete floor between them. The walls were covered in a cheap pressed-wood rendition of paneling, the kind people thought looked good in the 1970s.
“I don’t see why you’re so upset, Caroline. I was looking out for your interest.”
“My interest? My interest is to not have you or anyone else in my house when I’m not home!”
“Exactly. I noticed lights flickering in your place, but I’d seen you drive away earlier, and Tim told me he was on vacation this week. So, I went over there to find out who was in your house.”
I stared at her through the dim light cast by the low-wattage bulb above us, the thick, moldy air making my nose clog. I fought the urge to sneeze. “Are you for real?”
She smiled her crooked-toothed grin. “Last time I checked.”
“But I don’t... why would...”
She shrugged. “I figured I had nothing to lose. I’m just a visitor, right? So, I knocked on your front...”
“Door?”
“Yes, yes.” She nodded. “Nobody answered, but I peeked through the sidelight window and saw a shadow cross through the living room and into your kitchen.”
My jaw dropped open. “What did this... this shadow look like?”
Mary shrugged. “Don’t know, just a shadow, but a big one. A man’s shadow, I think.”
“A man?” I tried to think of what man, other than Tim, would want to be in my house. If I hadn’t been with Jeffrey, I’d have suspected him, but of course I could rule that out. After our coffee, he’d gone back on shift. He’d likely assumed I’d gone straight home after our chat. My mind hovered over the idea of Jane’s mystery man breaking in. After all, Jane knew my address. Ice shot up my spine.
“I was planning on telling you all of this in the morning, Caroline, but you didn’t?—”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “How did you get in my house?”
“You gave me that spare key, but I didn’t need it. The front door was unlocked.”
“I never leave the house open like that,” I said, wondering if locking the door was one of the many things I’d forgotten lately. Another dangerous omission in my life.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Caroline.” Mary sighed. “When I arrived it was unlocked, but there’s nobody in there now. I checked. And I locked up behind me.”
* * *
As I crossed back into my yard, looking constantly over my shoulder, I thought about the idea of a man in my house. I hadn’t met many men in the short time I’d lived here. The postal carrier, UPS driver, and Tasha’s husband, Nelson. That wasn’t much of a list. Jane’s mysterious neighbor, her husband, Rod, and Muzzy’s husband, Johnny, were on the periphery of my life, but I’d never actually met any of them.
I entered my house through my back door, realizing as I slid the bolt and chain on it that it had probably been easier for Mary to use her basement door at night rather than pick her way through the tree roots and random stones in her side yard en route to her front entrance. I turned on every light in the house, and checked each window and door to ensure they were all intact and locked. I closed every blind and looked around the house. Things seemed different, altered. The hallway table’s drawer was open. Had I merely neglected to close it? The angle of the cushions on the sofa and upholstered chair in the living room made them appear to have been pulled off and hastily replaced. I picked up a throw pillow from the floor. It was entirely possible I was responsible for the disarray. I’d been so disinterested in housekeeping lately.
Or was something more sinister at play? Had someone been searching for something to steal?
Doubtful. I owned nothing of monetary value besides my wedding rings, which were still on my left ring finger. Our electronics were modest. I glanced from the thirty-two-inch TV screen on the living-room console table to the portable stereo next to it. I was certain our other small TV and my cheap work laptop were still in my bedroom. I walked toward that room. One of two things must have happened: Mary, in a booze-infused state had imagined an intruder and used her key to enter my place—and lied to me about using it—or I’d left my doors open, inviting the world into my private spaces. An invitation someone had readily accepted.
Crossing into my bedroom, I yawned, suddenly exhausted. Looking at my desk to ensure my laptop was still there, I stripped off my clothes and opened the closet, noticing multicolored materials puddled on the floor. Had the items slipped from hangers, or had I dropped them there? I snapped my head to the right, sliding my gaze along my dresser and lingerie chest. Were the drawers open a little?
I crossed the room in two strides and pulled open the top dresser drawer. The sweaters looked pawed through, didn’t they? Or was that how they always looked? I opened the next drawer and plucked out a pair of pajamas. Was I imagining things, or did the sleepwear appear more rumpled than usual? I pulled on the flannel bottoms, buttoned up the top, a tremor running through me.
Items in every drawer appeared slightly dislodged, but nothing was missing. Ditto for Emmy’s dresser drawers. Had Mary arrived before the intruder had a chance to take anything? Or had it been Mary herself looking for something? Perhaps her alcohol stream had run dry, and she was hoping to find a bottle in my kitchen. When she didn’t, she may have suspected me of hiding it elsewhere. That would explain the state of my drawers.
Fatigue battled raw nerves. I needed rest but knew that only a pill would help me sleep on this unsettling night. I took one, washed it down with water, and tumbled into bed, waiting for the chemicals to usher in much-needed rest.