The Woman Next Door (26 page)

“No. This is my house. No one has to walk through it but me. They’ve seen the paintings. They got pictures. The police made their report. The insurance company can work with that. I want you
all
to leave.” She stood stiff and straight for a minute, then marched past the three of them and went to the door. That was when she saw Amanda pull into her driveway.

Shaking with anger, Gretchen marched out the door, down the walk, and across the street.

***

Amanda had barely climbed out of her car when Gretchen advanced on her looking stiff-backed and angry—and, for a split second,
she had visions of a confrontation over Graham. But Graham wasn’t around, and the three strange cars in front of Gretchen’s house suggested something else.

“I didn’t ask them here,” Gretchen said, sounding more Maine in her upset. “I don’t think they have a right to be here.”

“Who?” Amanda asked.

“Insurance people. And Ben’s lawyer. I asked them to leave, but they keep ignoring me.”

Relieved that the problem had nothing to do with Graham— ashamed that she had even
thought
it—Amanda said, “Come,” and set off for Gretchen’s house. It had been a madhouse of a day at school, with parents still calling about their children in the wake of Quinn’s suicide, teachers still wanting advice on how to deal with their students on the issue, and, on a more personal note, Jordie not showing for a meeting. Walking with Gretchen, Amanda felt useful.

She felt it all the more with each step that they took. By the time they reached the house, she sensed a new strength in Gretchen. Woman-to-woman, it was a gratifying thing.

Amanda immediately recognized Oliver Deeds. She had seen him coming and going in the wake of Ben’s death. He was talking with the two who must have been with the insurance company.

Gretchen cleared her throat. The three looked up.

Feeling like she was part of a team, Amanda said, “I think that Mrs. Tannenwald asked you to leave.”

“Are you a friend?” the woman asked.

The lawyer answered for Amanda. “A neighbor. It’s Amanda O’Leary isn’t it?”

“That’s right.” She was surprised that he remembered. They had met at the funeral, where she had been but one of many mourners.

“These two are just leaving,” he told Gretchen, and the insurance adjusters started for the door.

“Do you have business cards?” Amanda asked them and held out an expectant hand. When it held two cards, she passed them to Gretchen.

Gretchen took them, but her attention was on the lawyer. “They said that David called you. How did he find out?”

“He got a call from one of your neighbors.”

Amanda knew just which one. “Lee Cotter,” she said on a note of disgust. Only when the name was out did it occur to her that Gretchen might not feel disgust, but something positive, for the man. She studied her face, seeing nothing either way.

“Why would Lee call David?” Gretchen asked Oliver.

“To tell him about this. Lee wanted to know if either David or his brother was involved. David was pretty upset.”

So was Gretchen, if the set of her jaw meant anything. “Were they involved?”

“No,” Oliver said. “They wouldn’t hurt you.”

“David told the insurance company that I might have done it myself.”

“Did he really?” Amanda asked, astounded. “He obviously hasn’t talked with you. He wasn’t here to see the look on your face when this first happened.” Dismayed, she went to stand in front of
La Voisine.
It was a sick sight. But something held her there, something Rorschach-like. Looked at a certain way, there seemed to be a pattern to the knife marks at the top, though, for the life of her, she couldn’t interpret it.

Behind her, Gretchen told the lawyer, “That’s the angle those two people were looking into. That’s why they were taking pictures of other things. They were trying to get evidence against me.”

“They won’t anymore,” Oliver said. “I’ll make sure of it. Lee also told David that you were pregnant. You should have told me.”

“Why? This doesn’t have anything to do with the estate.”

“I’m the executor. I’m supposed to be watching over you. I was surprised when David told me. I might have known more what to say.”

“About what?” Gretchen asked. “This isn’t David’s business either.”

Amanda glanced back at them just as Oliver lowered his eyes. Head down, he pushed the swatch of hair back from his brow. Then he sighed, looked up, aimed sad eyes first at Amanda, then at Gretchen. Quietly, he asked, “Should we talk alone?”

Gretchen said, “I trust Amanda.”

After a silent beat, seeming emboldened in turn by her force, Oliver replied, “Fine. The pregnancy isn’t sitting well with David and Alan. They think—”

“They think,” Gretchen cut in to complete the thought, “I was having an affair with someone before Ben died. That doesn’t surprise me. Tell them I wasn’t. Tell them that if they don’t drop it right now I’ll sue them.”

“Sue them for what?”

“I don’t know. You’re the lawyer. Libel. Slander. Whatever I can. I have the money to do it. If they smear me, I have nothing to lose.”

Amanda wanted to look back at the painting. Something about the way it had been slashed was registering—like seeing animals in clouds. But she was fascinated by this side of Gretchen, who seemed vulnerable but determined, and wholly genuine. And the subject matter held her riveted.

“Are you dating the baby’s father?” Oliver asked.

“That isn’t your business, either.”

“It would help if I could give them a name.”

Gretchen gave a slow headshake.

Oliver ceded the issue. More gently, he said, “Forget David and Alan, then. You’re right. It isn’t anyone’s business but your own—
and mine, since I was Ben’s attorney and he placed his trust in me. Do you need anything?”

“No,” Gretchen said. Her voice was as firm as ever, but Amanda sensed a dent. “I’m fine.”

The lawyer studied her for another minute, then ceded this issue, too. “Well, let me know if something comes up. I can take as much money from the trust fund as you need.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated.

He pressed his lips together and nodded. As he started for the door, he seemed to remember the paintings. He stopped and looked back into the living room at the two that had been slashed there. “Would you like me to hire a private investigator to look into whoever did this?”

“No.”

“Would you like me to talk with the police?”

“There’s no need.
They
don’t suspect me.”

“I don’t either,” he said. “I just thought a man’s voice would help.”

“She has one,” Amanda said, coming forward at last. “My husband knows the officers who came here. He’ll make sure they stay on top of the case.”

Oliver looked oddly deflated. “Oh. Well then, okay. But if Gretchen needs anything, the estate is there for her.”

He had barely let himself out the door when Gretchen rounded on Amanda. “The estate is there for me? It is not. It’s there for Ben’s sons.
That
man would take me to
court
if they asked.” She made a sound of disgust, threw a hand in the air, turned away. In the next instant she turned back. “Ben said I could rely on Oliver. Fat chance. He’s shown his true colors. I wouldn’t be caught
dead
calling him.”

She was already pale. Suddenly, though, she became even more
so. She put a hand on her belly, drew herself straighter, took a deep breath.

Amanda, who had lived and breathed thoughts of pregnancy for the better part of the last four years, felt her discomfort. “What’s wrong?”

Gretchen eased herself down on the sofa and gently rubbed the band of muscle that supported the baby. She breathed in and out, in and out.

“What is it?”

Gretchen released a slow breath. “Braxton-Hicks contractions. The doctor says they’re normal. There. That’s better.”

“Are you sure? Can I get you anything—water or something?”

“No. Thank you. You’ve already done enough.” Easing herself to her feet, she went off toward the kitchen.

Amanda wondered if she was being dismissed, and felt the same hostility that she had often felt from Gretchen. Then she caught herself and wondered if it was hostility, or a less negative aloofness, or even a simple wariness. Lord knew, given her lack of a relationship with the neighborhood women, Gretchen had cause for wariness now.

Wanting to make sure that she was all right, Amanda followed her into the kitchen. She walked in just as Gretchen was filling a glass of water from the dispenser on the refrigerator door, but Amanda’s attention was drawn to the kitchen table. It was covered with papers and books.

“What’s this?” she asked.

Setting her glass on the counter, Gretchen quickly gathered the papers together. “Nothing,” she said, seeming more embarrassed than secretive.

But Amanda had seen something that surprised her. “That looked like French.”

“I was thinking of learning it,” Gretchen said quickly as she shifted the books and papers to the counter. “I loved hearing the language spoken when I was in France with Ben. It isn’t so easy, though.” She retrieved her water, took a sip, then seemed to remember that Amanda was there. “Would you like something— water—or pineapple juice—I have that.”

“No. I have to get home. I have reports to write.”

Gretchen walked her back to the front door. “I did get caller ID. I bought a box this morning. There haven’t been any calls yet, though. But it was a good idea.”

“It can’t hurt.”

“Thank you for coming over.”

“I’m glad I could help. Three against one is unfair. Are you feeling all right now?”

Gretchen nodded and held open the screen. “Thanks again.”

***

Amanda was feeling quite proud of herself as she walked across the street to her own house. Reaching out to Gretchen felt good on several counts. She was eager to tell Graham.

That was before he called to say he would be late for reasons that proved to be bogus.

Karen was standing on a corner of the porch, hiding a cigarette by her thigh, when Amanda came from Gretchen’s house and crossed the street. She watched her warily, wondering what was going on. The more she wondered, the more uneasy she felt. Taking a final drag on the cigarette, she stubbed it out on the underside of the porch rail, then tossed it into the shrub bed as she headed down the steps.

“Mommy?” Julie called out from her bedroom window.

Karen called, “I’m running to Amanda’s for a minute, sweetie. I’ll be right back.”

“But what about our pie?”

“I’ll be
right back,”
Karen repeated, wondering what had possessed her to suggest that they bake. But she knew. The supermarket had been running a special on the plumpest blueberries she’d seen in a while, and—sucker that she was—she had thought her family might appreciate a home-baked pie. Julie would. So would the twins. Jordie probably wouldn’t care one way or the other. He had been a walking zombie since Quinn’s death. And Lee? Lee didn’t like a blueberry pie any more than he liked blueberry pancakes.

But Lee was working late. Or so he said. She would never know if it was true or not. She could study the bill from his cell phone all she wanted, but it wouldn’t tell her where he was when he made a call. She hadn’t seen Gretchen’s phone number on the bill, and their
home phone line didn’t give a breakdown of local calls. So maybe he was calling her from the office. That shed a new light on the idea of his working late. Phone sex was big. She read about it all the time. As far as she was concerned, it wasn’t any less of a betrayal than the real thing.

Just as well that he wasn’t here tonight, though. She had a list of parents to call about helping with the graduation lunch for seniors. She wouldn’t have had time for Lee. She barely had time to bake a pie. She certainly didn’t have time to be running to Amanda’s. But she couldn’t let it go.

***

Amanda was dropping a grocery bag and the day’s mail on the kitchen table when Karen trotted up the back steps and opened the screen. “Hi, Karen,” she said with a smile.

“Was that you I just saw at Gretchen’s again?” Karen asked, sounding nonchalant about it, though Amanda suspected she was anything but. The lines running from her nose to the corners of her mouth were marked.

“It was.”

“She had quite a crowd over there. Anyone I should know about?”

Amanda took a head of lettuce and a bell pepper from the bag. “No. Two of the cars belonged to insurance adjusters. The other was Oliver Deeds’. They were here about the paintings.”

“But why did she come to get you?”

Amanda put the produce in the refrigerator. “She isn’t used to dealing with people like that. She needed moral support.”

“Are the insurance people involved in the investigation?”

“Only for the sake of processing a claim.”

“She’s asking for money, then,” Karen remarked. “That puts a different slant on her talk about how much that painting means to her. It makes you wonder who committed the crime.”

Amanda had taken a bunch of asparagus from the bag. She paused with it in hand. “What do you mean?”

“Well, she wouldn’t be the first person to destroy something she owned for the sake of the insurance.”

The insurance company had suggested a similar thing, but Amanda’s gut said it wasn’t so. She might fault Gretchen for being closer to the neighborhood men than to the neighborhood women, but she didn’t take her for a scam artist. “Oh, Karen, I don’t think she did that. She wasn’t even the one who called the insurance company. David Tannenwald called them, and only after Lee called him.”

“Lee?” Karen asked in alarm. “Why on earth would Lee call David?”

Amanda shook her head, shrugged, pulled a bunch of broccoli from the bag.

“So,” Karen went on, “do they know anything? Are there any suspects?”

“Not yet. Graham left me a message earlier. He talked with the police. There haven’t been any other break-ins in town. The people on the other side of the woods haven’t seen anyone strange.”

“What does that mean?” Karen shot back. “That whoever it was came from our side? From right
here?”