The Perfect Neighbors (24 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

WHATEVER YOU WERE THE
most desperate to escape from always caught up to you, Tessa realized as she crouched behind the bar and stared at her still-throbbing finger. Wasn't that the way it worked in nightmares and horror movies? You turned a corner and ran straight into the killer. You pulled back the shower curtain to see a ghoulish face staring at you. You hid in the basement and heard the stairs creak as someone moved closer, ever closer.

Tessa could feel her past stalking her now, its breath hot on her neck, its jagged fingernails clawing at her.

The police knew. Of course they knew! She and Harry hadn't been very good under questioning. The investigators were circling again. They'd find traces of blood on the kitchen floor. DNA testing could link it to Danny.

The blood. The floor. That night.

The man to Tessa's left jostled her arm and whispered an apology, and someone else began to giggle, but Tessa's mind was drifting across the miles, spinning back in time.

It had started with the uniforms.

“Would you parents mind bringing the boys by my house to pick them up?” Danny had asked at the end of a meeting,
smiling his broad smile. “I coach two Young Ranger groups, so there's a lot to hand out . . . shorts and shirts and caps and sashes. Oh, and I have some samples of things like binoculars and water canteens from the group's catalog, in case anyone would like to order those.”

So Tessa had brought Addison, her precious son—her baby—to Danny's house, and because she'd gotten a phone call from the pediatrician about Bree's allergies just as she'd pulled into the driveway, she'd sat there and taken the call.

The pediatrician was busy. Tessa had been waiting two days to talk to her. She had to take the call.

She'd looked up at the house, a redbrick Colonial with a basketball hoop in the driveway. Danny's sons must have played; it was probably left over from when they'd lived here. It was sweet that he still kept the hoop up; maybe he encouraged the neighborhood kids to use it, she'd thought.

“Go ahead, I'll be there in a minute,” she whispered, and Addison had opened the car door and slid out and gone to knock on Danny's door. When it opened, Tessa had gestured to the phone and made an apologetic face.

Danny had waved and smiled.
No problem
, he'd mouthed.

And then the door had shut, sealing Addison inside. Tessa had expected Addison to grab a uniform and come right back out, but even though the pediatrician had to put her on hold for a minute to take an urgent call, the front door didn't open. Finally, Addison appeared, wearing the uniform, his clothes bunched up under his arm.

“Everything okay?” Tessa had whispered. Addison had given her the thumbs-up.

And Tessa, the woman who could sniff out a threat even when it didn't exist, had turned her focus back to her phone call, completely oblivious to the danger engulfing her son like a dark fog.

•  •  •

“I shouldn't have told him,” Kellie said.

She was standing in the bathroom, her shoulders still heaving from the last of her sobs. She'd burst into tears when everyone had leaped up and shouted, “Surprise!” and although she'd tried to play off her reaction as tears of joy, Susan and Gigi had instantly known. Girlfriends always knew.

They'd whisked her away, saying they needed to get her into a costume. Kellie wouldn't be missed for a few minutes; Gigi could hear the Bee Gees wailing over the speakers and the sounds of bottles clinking and laughter filling the room.

“You were right,” Kellie was saying as she looked up at Susan. She'd told them about her limousine confession, and Jason's reaction. “What you sensed that night, it was real . . . I told Miller we were at the bar because I hoped he'd show up.”

Susan's lips tightened slightly, but she only nodded.

“Here,” Gigi said, holding out bell-bottoms and a tunic. “Try these on.”

Kellie blew her nose into a tissue, but didn't reach for the clothes.

“Come on, honey,” Gigi said. “Jason went to all this work planning the party. And your kids are here with your in-laws and parents. You need to get through tonight, then we'll come up with a plan.”

Kellie rubbed her index fingers beneath her eyes, removing the specks of mascara she'd loosened by crying. “Okay,” she said. She pulled off her dress and slipped into the pants and shirt.

“Let me put some eyeliner and lipstick on you,” Gigi said. “Maybe a little powder, too. Then you'll be ready to go back out.”

She pulled a smoky black liner from her purse and steadied Kellie's chin in her hand. Kellie's eyes were red and watery.

“Do you have Visine?” Gigi asked.

“I think so,” Susan said, opening her purse.

“Is he going to leave me, Gigi?” Kellie asked, then shut her eyes.

Gigi used her pinky to brush away the tear slowly rolling down her friend's left cheek, then she drew on a thick layer of liner, winging it up a bit at the outer edge.

“No,” she said.

“How can you be so sure?” Kellie asked.

“Because he loves you,” Gigi said as she moved on to the other eyelid. “You hurt him, Kellie, but he'll forgive you.”

“I don't deserve him,” Kellie said. Gigi had been about to dab on some pink lipstick, but she stilled her hand when she saw Kellie's lips tremble. “I'm not even thinking about Miller right now. I was so sure giving him up would be awful . . . but if I lose Jason, lose our family . . .”

Susan moved in with a filmy scarf and wound it around Kellie's hair, securing it like a headband and smoothing errant blond strands into place. Forgiveness imbued her gentle gesture.

“But I had to tell him,” Kellie said. “It would always be between us. I'd always know.”

“It was eating away at you,” Susan said.

Yes
, Gigi thought as she powdered Kellie's reddened nose and cheeks,
dangerous secrets are as corrosive as acid.
She thought of Zach's finger slowly stroking the file, like he was petting a cat.

“Ready, Kellie?” she asked.

Kellie nodded.

Susan opened the door to the bathroom, and Kellie stepped out. Gigi could see Jason standing by the bar, chatting with a few guests. He turned to look at Kellie, and in his face Gigi saw intermingled pain and anger and yes, love, too.

Forgive her
, she thought.

•  •  •

Kellie was holding it together. She'd danced a few times—once in a loose circle with Jason and her kids, though Jason kept a physical distance between them—and she'd blown out
her birthday candles. Susan knew exactly what she was wishing for.

Now the children were gone, the lights were lower, and the dancing was more enthusiastic. Frank Fitzgibbons wore a white silk shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, doing a credible imitation of John Travolta's
Saturday Night Fever
routine.

Susan cut him a wide berth and wandered over to the food table, realizing she hadn't eaten yet. She took a little paper bowl and was reaching for the chili spoon when her hand collided with another.

“Sorry,” she heard a man say. “You go ahead, I'm just coming back for thirds. That's the best chili I've ever eaten.”

She turned and found herself looking up at a tall man she'd never before seen. A very tall man. He had to be six foot three. Oh, Randall would hate that.

No, she told herself. All roads could no longer lead to Randall.

“Thank you,” Susan said. “I'm glad you like it.”

“You made it?” the man asked. His voice was deep and rich, his nose was wide and strong, and his eyes were deep-set. There was a little crescent scar on his chin. She wondered about the story behind it. About the stories that composed him.

No wedding ring, she saw.

He was probably gay. He was handsome and fit and seemingly unattached.

“I did,” Susan said.

“I'd love the recipe,” he said.

She felt her shoulders slump. Of course he was gay.

“Sure,” she said. “You like to cook?”

Was he blushing?

“I'm, ah, trying to learn,” he said. “My ex—she was the cook in our relationship.”

“Oh,” Susan said. She could recite the recipe off the top of her head, then go join her friends on the dance floor. She
should probably check on Kellie, and give Jason a hug. And Cole was at home with a new babysitter; she needed to call and check in.

Instead she took a deep breath, then spoke two simple words, words she'd said thousands of times before, that made her feel as shaky as if she were poised at the top of the first big hill on a roller coaster.

“I'm Susan,” she said, and reminded herself to smile.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Newport Cove Listserv Digest

*No Parking Signs

It has been brought to the Newport Cove Manager's attention that some residents have been posting large, professional-looking signs reading “No Parking” on trees that line the curbs in front of their homes. A pleasant reminder that the trees are the property of Newport Cove and all signs need to be removed promptly. Thank you! —Sincerely, Shannon Dockser, Newport Cove Manager

•  •  •

“A few more months until the election,” Joe said as they drove home. “Roughly a thousand hands to shake—need more Purell—and forty Rotary Club meetings . . . and church spaghetti suppers . . . and a junior high school Bake-Off to attend.”

“Seriously? A school Bake-Off?” Gigi asked.

“Lots of voting parents will be there,” Joe said. “Soccer moms. One of my key demographics.” He sighed and eased off his shoes and adjusted the passenger's seat, tilting it back
a few more degrees. Gigi had only consumed a single glass of wine, while Joe had indulged in a couple of vodka Jell-O shooters, so she was behind the wheel.

“You're tired,” Gigi said. “I'm glad we left early.”

“Yeah,” Joe said. He reached over and slid a hand beneath her skirt, running it up her thigh, as she turned down their street. “Not too tired, though.”

She smiled. “Think the girls are asleep?”

“They better be, it's almost midnight,” Joe said. He yawned. “Fun party. Kellie seemed really surprised.”

“She was,” Gigi said. She debated telling Joe more, but decided against it. He had enough on his mind.

Joe withdrew his hand and closed his eyes as she drove toward home, slowly and steadily, gliding to stops, just as she had when the girls were babies and she'd put them to sleep by driving in endless loops at naptime. The circles under Joe's eyes were darkening; he could use a catnap.

She'd forgotten to call home and check on Melanie and Julia. She'd meant to do so around ten, to make sure Julia was in bed. But Kellie had caught her eye just as Gigi had been reaching for her phone, and gestured toward the bathroom.

“Jason won't talk to me,” Kellie had said, her voice quavering. “Every time I go to stand near him, he moves away. Someone tried to get a picture of us and he put his arm behind me but he didn't touch me. What have I done? I've destroyed our life!”

“Just get through the night,” Gigi had advised. “Don't drink anything. Give Jason a little space.”

“Okay,” Kellie had said, but then she'd begun to cry again, and by then, Gigi had forgotten all about her phone call.

She turned down their street, smiling as she noticed two large
N
O PARKING
signs affixed to the trees in front of Mason Gamerman's house. She coasted into her driveway, tapping the brakes and killing the engine. Joe was sound asleep now; she hated to wake him.

She turned off the headlights and stayed in the driveway.
The night was cold, but the car felt stuffy, so she cracked open the door for a little air. She could hear Felix barking.

Gigi frowned. They never let Felix out after ten, by agreement with the neighbors who lived behind them, because his barking had awoken their children once. She glanced at Joe, then slid out of the car and headed for the backyard.

Felix was by the fence, still barking.

“Shh,” Gigi commanded, grabbing his collar. He gave one last bark, as if to prove he was in charge, before allowing himself to be led away.

Gigi guided him up the steps to the deck, to the sliding glass doors that led to the living room. Then she stopped.

The living room was illuminated only by the blue light of the television. She could see two figures on the couch. She could only make out the general forms, but one of them looked too big to be Julia, who was small for her age. Melanie and . . . Raven? Maybe they were back together again.

She lifted a hand to shield her eyes; the back porch light was shining into her face, obscuring her vision. The figures on the couch weren't moving, and Melanie and whoever she was with were both upright—thank God—but they were close together. Too close?

Felix gave a loud bark, startling Gigi. She looked down and gave his collar a little tug to shush him, and when she looked back up, Melanie was pulling open the door.

“Mom!” she said. “What are you doing out here?”

“Felix was barking,” Gigi said.

Melanie shouldn't have had a guest over without permission, but she wasn't going to lecture her daughter, not now. She'd ask Raven or whoever it was to leave, then she'd talk to Melanie. This time there would be consequences. Maybe she'd lose her computer for a week.

But when Gigi's eyes adjusted to the dim light and the tall form standing up from the couch took shape, she realized it wasn't Raven.

It was Zach.

“Hi, Mrs. Kennedy,” he said.

Gigi locked eyes with him. How close had he been sitting to Melanie on the couch? She thought she had an impression of his arm being slung over the back of it, behind Melanie but not touching her. She couldn't be sure, though.

And Zach's clear blue gaze revealed no guilt or fear. He looked . . . bemused.

“It's late,” Gigi said, her tone delivering an unmistakable message.

Zach nodded. “I was about to get Felix, sorry about that. Well, now that you're home I'll head to bed.”

He exited the room, his hips slim in faded jeans, the definition in his arms showing through his plain black T-shirt. Of course Melanie wouldn't be able to resist his attention.

But why was Zach giving it to her?

Gigi turned to her daughter, wanting to ask a question but not knowing how to phrase it. She and Joe had invited Zach into their home. She couldn't fault Melanie for watching a movie with him.

Melanie yawned and stretched her arms over her head. “I'm tired,” she said. She stood up, walked out of the room, and headed upstairs. But not before Gigi saw the smile that had flitted across her daughter's face. A small, involuntary smile. The kind girls gave when they had a secret.

Take ten deep breaths
, Gigi instructed herself. It was the advice a therapist had once given her, after she'd sought an appointment following the shoplifting arrest.

Ten deep breaths would force your body to calm itself. It would help quash rash impulses, and prevent rage-fueled words from pouring out of your body. Gigi shut her eyes and breathed.

Ten exhalations later, she opened her eyes.

She headed for the front door, to go wake up Joe and let him know that if his slimy, soulless campaign director touched her baby, she'd kill him.