The Neighbor

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Jason swiftly unlocked the front door and thrust Mr. Smith inside. He put his hand on Ree’s shoulder. “Inside.”

“But Daddy-”

“Inside. Now. The cat needs dinner.”

Ree’s eyes widened, but she recognized his tone, and did as she was told. As she stepped into the house, Jason shut the door behind her, locked it again, and turned to the white-haired man.

“Get off my property.”

The newcomer tilted his head to the side, appearing puzzled. Jason had met Sandy’s father only once before, and he was struck now, as he was struck then, by the man’s crinkling blue eyes and bright, flashing smile. “Now, Jason, is that any way to greet your father-in-law?”

Max extended a friendly hand. Jason ignored it, stating firmly “Get off my property, or I will have you arrested.”

Max didn’t move. His expression fell, however. He twisted his hat in his hands, seeming to debate his options. “Where’s your wife, son?” the judge asked at last, his tone appropriately somber.

“I will count to five,” Jason said. “One-”

“Heard she’s been missing for over a day. Saw it on the news and skedaddled straight for the airport.”

“Two.”

“That my granddaughter? She’s got her grandmother’s eyes, she does. Beautiful little girl. Shame no one thought to call me about her birth. I know Sandra and I have had our differences, but I can’t think of anything I did that deserves not knowing about such a sweet child.”

“Three.”

“I’m here to help, son. Truly. I may be an old man, but I have some fight in me left.”

“Four.”

Max’s gaze grew narrower, more appraising. “You kill my only daughter, Jason Jones? Because if it turns out you harmed my Sandra, hurt one little hair on her head-”

“Five.”

Jason stepped off the porch. Max didn’t follow him right away. Jason was not surprised. According to Sandra, her father lived as the proverbial big fish in a little pond. He was a highly respected judge, an affable Southern gentleman. People instinctively trusted him, which is why no one had ever intervened to help his only daughter even as her mother poured bleach down her throat.

The reporters saw his approach, and optimistically stuck their microphones into the air, screaming louder.

“Where is Ree?”

“Who’s the man on your porch?”

“Do you have any words for the person who may have abducted Sandy?”

Jason stopped next to the uniformed officer farthest from the press and gestured him over with his finger. The officer’s nameplate read “Hawkes.” Excellent, Jason could use a hawk.

The officer dutifully huddled close, having no more desire to share their conversation with the greater free world than Jason did.

“Old guy on the porch,” Jason murmured. “He’s not welcome on my property. I have asked him to leave. He has refused.”

Officer arched a brow. Looked from Jason to the reporters to Jason again as a wordless question.

“If he wants to make a scene, that’s his choice,” Jason answered in a low undertone. “I consider him a threat to my daughter, and I want him gone.”

The officer nodded, pulled out a spiral notebook. “What’s his name?”

“Maxwell Black from Atlanta, Georgia.”

“Relation?”

“Technically speaking, he’s my wife’s father.”

The uniformed officer startled. Jason shrugged. “My wife did not wish for her father to be part of our daughter’s life. Just because Sandy’s… gone is no reason to disregard her instructions.”

“He make a statement? Threaten you or your daughter in any way?”

“I consider his presence to be a threat.”

“You mean you have a restraining order?” the officer asked in confusion.

“First thing tomorrow, I promise.” Which was a lie, because Jason would need proof of threatening behavior, and the courts would probably require something stronger than Sandy’s belief that Max had loved his psycho wife more than his battered daughter.

“I can’t arrest him,” the officer began.

Jason cut him off. “I consider him to be trespassing. Please remove him from my property lines. That’s all I ask.”

The uniformed officer didn’t argue, just shrugged, as if to say, It’s your front-page funeral, and prepared to stroll over to the front porch. Max, however, could see the writing on the wall. He descended the steps on his own, his jovial smile still firmly in place though his motions were jerky, a man doing what he had to do, not what he wanted to do.

“Guess I’ll check into my hotel now,” Max consented grandly, nodding once in Jason’s direction.

The reporters had quieted. They appeared to be connecting the presence of the uniformed officer to the actions of the white-haired man and were now keenly watching the show.

“’Course,” Max said to Jason, “I look forward to visiting with my granddaughter first thing in the morning.”

“Not gonna happen,” Jason replied evenly, heading back toward the house, where Ree waited for him.

“Now, son, I wouldn’t say that if I were you,” Max called after him.

Despite his better intention, Jason found himself pausing, turning, regarding his father-in-law.

“I know something,” the old man said quietly, soft enough that only Jason and the uniformed officer could hear. “For example: I know the date you first met my daughter, and I know the date my granddaughter was born.”

“No you don’t. Sandy never called you when she had Ree.”

“Public record, Jason Jones. Public record. Now, don’t you think it’s time to let bygones be bygones?”

“Not gonna happen,” Jason repeated firmly, though his heart was pounding hard. For the third time in one day, he was discovering danger where there hadn’t been danger before.

He gave Maxwell his back, climbing the front steps, working the lock on the door. He got it open, to find Ree standing in the middle of the entryway her lower lip trembling, her eyes glazed over with tears.

He shut the door and she threw herself into his arms.

“Daddy, I’m scared. Daddy, I’m scared!”

“Shhh, shhh, shhh.” He held her close. He stroked his daughter’s hair, inhaled the comforting scent of Johnson’s No More Tears shampoo.

“I love you,” he whispered against the top of Ree’s head, even as he wondered if Max would take her from him.

Jason made waffles for dinner. Breakfast for supper was a time-honored treat, and the familiar ritual of beating water and waffle mix calmed him. Jason poured the batter over the steaming griddle. Ree sat on the edge of the counter, steadfastly watching the red griddle light. When it went off, it would be time to eat. She took her timer duties seriously.

Jason got out the syrup. Poured them glasses of orange juice, then scrambled the last two eggs in the fridge so his child would have something besides bread dipped in sugar as a meal. He could almost hear Sandy saying now, “Waffles with maple syrup are little better than doughnuts. Honestly Jason, at least throw in a hard-boiled egg, something.”

She had never complained too much, though. Her favorite meal was angel hair pasta with pink vodka sauce, which she ate anytime they went to the North End. Pinkalicious pasta, Ree called it, and the two of them would slurp away, sharing the same bowl with gastronomic glee.

Jason’s hand shook slightly. He overshot stirring the egg, sending a yellow chunk onto the floor. He tapped by it with his toe, and Mr. Smith came over to investigate.

“The light’s off,” Ree singsonged.

“All righty, then. Let’s eat!” He used his best Jim Carrey voice, and Ree giggled. The sound of her laugh soothed him. He did not have all the answers. He was deeply troubled about what had happened today, let alone what might happen next. But he had this moment. Ree had this moment.

Moments mattered. Other people didn’t always get that. But Jason did.

They sat side by side at the counter. They ate their waffles. They drank their juice. Ree chased scrambled-egg bits around her plate, putting each bite through a maple-syrup obstacle course before finally popping it in her mouth.

Jason helped himself to another waffle. He wondered when the police would arrive to seize the family laptop. He cut his waffle into bite-sized pieces. He wondered how much Ethan Hastings had taught Sandy about computers, and why she’d never confronted Jason with her suspicions. He added half a dozen waffle bits onto Ree’s daisy plate. He wondered which would be the hardest way to lose his daughter-to the police, sticking her in foster care when they came to arrest him for Sandy’s murder, or to Sandy’s father, stating in family court that Jason Jones was not Clarissa Jane Jones’s biological father and thus should no longer be part of her life.

Ree put down her fork. “I’m full, Daddy.”

He glanced at her plate. “Four more bites of waffle, as you’re four years old.”

“No.” She hopped down from the bar stool. He caught her arm, frowning.

“Four bites, then you may be excused from the table.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

Jason blinked, set down his fork. “I’m your father, so yes, I am the boss of you.”

“No, Mommy is.”

“We both are.”

“No, only Mommy.”

“Clarissa Jane Jones, you may eat four bites of waffle, or you may sit on the timeout stair.”

Ree thrust her chin out at him. “I want Mommy.”

“Four bites.”

“Why did you yell at her? Why did you make her mad?”

“Back to your chair, Ree.”

She stomped her foot. “I want Mommy! She told me she’d come home. Mommy told me she wouldn’t leave me.”

“Ree…”

“Mommy goes to work, she comes home. She goes to the grocery store, she comes home. Mommy told me, she promised me, she’d always come home!”

Jason felt his chest tighten. Ree had gone through an attachment phase where she’d cried and carried on every time Sandy left. So Sandy had started a little game she’d read in some parenting book, always notifying Ree when she was leaving, and always hugging Ree first thing when she got home. “See, look at me, Ree. I’m home. I always come home. I’d never leave you. Never.”

“Mommy’s going to put me to bed,” Ree said now, chin still sticking out obstinately. “It’s her job. You go to work, she puts me to bed. Go to work, Daddy. Go on. Leave!”

“Ree…”

“I don’t want you here anymore. You have to leave. If you leave, Mommy will come home. Go to work. You have to.”

“Ree…”

“Get out, get out. I don’t want to see you anymore. You’re a big meanie.”

“Clarissa Jane Jones.”

“Stop it, stop it!” She clapped her hands over her ears. “Stop yelling, I don’t want to hear you yelling.”

“I’m not yelling.” But his voice was rising.

His daughter continued as if she’d never heard him. “Angry feet, angry feet. I hear your mean feet on the stairs. Get out, get out, get out. I want Mommy! It’s not fair, it’s not fair. I want my mommy!”

Then his daughter twisted away from him and ran sobbing up the stairs.

Jason let her go. He listened as Ree stormed down the hall. He caught the distant boom as she slammed her door shut. Then he was left alone at the kitchen counter, with a half-eaten waffle and a heart full of regrets.

Day two of his wife’s disappearance and his daughter was falling to pieces.

He thought, in a spurt of ironic bitterness, that Sandy had better be dead or he’d kill her for this.

The police returned at exactly 8:45 P.M. Jason was standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the family computer, which was no longer the family computer, when they pounded up the front steps.

He opened the door. Sergeant Warren led the charge.

She thrust the search warrant in front of his face, rattling off in rapid legalese where they were allowed to go and what they were allowed to seize. As he’d suspected, they would be taking the computer, as well as miscellaneous electronic devices, including but not limited to gaming devices, iPods, BlackBerries, and Palm Pilots.

“What are gaming devices?” he asked her, as uniformed officers and forensic techs poured into his house. Across the street, klieg lights were firing up as reporters caught the action and geared up for a fresh round of photo ops.

“Xbox, Gameboys, PlayStation 2, Wii system, etc., etc.”

“Ree has a Leapster,” he offered. “If you want my advice, the Cars game is better than the Disney Princess cartridge, but, of course, the evidence techs can judge for themselves.”

D.D. regarded him coolly. “The warrant gives us permission to seize all electronics we deem necessary, sir. So yes, we will judge for ourselves.”

The “sir” rankled him, but he let it go. “Ree’s asleep,” he found himself saying. “She’s had a very long day. If you could ask the officers to please keep things quiet…”

He strove for politeness, though maybe his voice hitched a little at the end. He’d had a long day, too, which was about to become a long night.

“We’re professionals,” the sergeant informed him stiffly. “We’re not gonna ransack your house. We’re going to take it apart piece by piece very politely.”

D.D. motioned a uniformed officer over. Officer Anzaldi, it appeared, had drawn the short straw and would be serving as Jason’s babysitter for the evening. The officer led him to the family room, where Jason took a seat on the love seat, much as he had done the day before. Except no Ree this time. No tiny warm body snuggled against him, needing him, grounding him, keeping him from screaming from the frustration of it all.

So Jason closed his eyes, put his hands behind his head, and went to sleep.

When he opened his eyes, forty-five minutes had passed and Sergeant D.D. Warren was staring down at him in quiet fury.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Resting.”

“Resting? Just like that? Your wife is missing, so you’re taking a nap?”

“It’s not like I’m going to find her while I’m being confined to a love seat, is it?”

D.D. appeared disgusted. “There is something seriously wrong with you.”

He shrugged. “Ask a SWAT guy sometime. What do you do once you’ve been activated but not yet deployed? You sleep. So when the time comes, you’re ready to go.”

“That’s how you view this? You’re some elite warrior who’s been activated, but not deployed?” She sounded dubious.

“My family is in crisis, and all I can do is stay with my daughter. Activated, but not deployed.”

“You could leave her with Grandpa.” The sergeant said the words neutrally, but there was a gleam in her eye. So she’d heard. Of course she’d heard. Apparently, all uniformed officers did these days was blab every detail of his life to Sergeant Warren.

“No thank you,” he said.

“Why not?”

“I don’t like linen suits.”

But D.D. wasn’t going to be put off that easily. She took a seat directly across from him, resting her elbows on her knees, all casual curiosity. While from the kitchen came the sound of cupboard doors being opened, closed, drawers being pulled out and pushed in. He suspected the computer was already gone. The iPod seized from his nightstand drawer. Maybe they’d taken his clock radio, too. Every thing came with data chips these days, and any data chip could be rigged to store any kind of data. There’d been a major case just last year where a business exec had stored tons of incriminating financial docs on his son’s Xbox.

Jason had understood the terms of the search warrant just fine. He’d simply liked making the pretty blonde sergeant work for it.

“You said Sandy and her father were estranged,” D.D. stated now.

“True.”

“Why?”

“That would be Sandy’s story to tell.”

“Well, she doesn’t currently seem to be available, so perhaps you could help me out.”

He had to think about it. “I think if you asked the old man, he’d say his daughter was young, headstrong, and reckless when she met me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“And I think, as a seasoned investigator, you might wonder what had happened to make her so reckless and wild.”

“He beat her?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Call her bad names?” D.D. arched a brow.

“I think it’s more like the mom beat the living shit out of her, and he never raised a hand to stop her. The mom died, so Sandy doesn’t have to hate her anymore. The old man, on the other hand…”

“She’s never forgiven him?”

He shrugged. “Again, you’d have to ask her.”

“Why do you have jams in your windows, Jason?”

He looked at her. “Because the world is filled with monsters, and we don’t want them getting our daughter.”

“Seems extreme.”

“Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.”

She smiled a little. It added crinkles to the corners of her eyes, revealing her age, but also making her seem suddenly softer. More approachable. She was a skilled interrogator, he realized. And he was tired, making it seem like a better and better idea to tell her everything. Lay all his problems at the feet of smart, beautiful Sergeant Warren. Let her sort out the mess.

“When was the last time Sandy talked to her father?” D.D. asked.

“Day she left town with me.”

“She never called him? Not once since moving to Boston?”

“Nope.”

“Not your wedding, not the birth of your daughter.”

“Nope.”

D.D. narrowed her eyes. “So why is he here now?”

“Claims he saw word of Sandy’s disappearance on the news and skedaddled for the airport.”

“I see. His estranged daughter has gone missing, so now he pays a visit?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

D.D. cocked her head to the side. “You’re lying to me, Jason. And you know how I know?”

He refused to answer.

“You look down and to the left. When people are trying to remember something, they look up and to the left. When they’re avoiding the truth, however, they look down and to the left. Interesting bit of trivia they teach us in detective school.”

“And it took you how many weeks to graduate?”

Her lips curved in that little half-smile again. “The way Officer Hawkes understood it,” the sergeant continued, “Maxwell Black has some opinions regarding his granddaughter. Including that you’re not her real father.”

Jason didn’t answer. He wanted to. He wanted to scream that of course Ree was his daughter, would always be his daughter, could never be anything but his daughter, but the good sergeant had not asked a question, and the first rule of interrogation was never answer questions you didn’t have to.

“When was Ree born?” D.D. pressed.

“On the date listed on her birth certificate,” he said crisply. “Which I’m sure you’ve already read.”

She smiled at him again. “June twentieth, two thousand and four, I believe.”

He said nothing.

“And the day you first met Sandy?”

“Spring two thousand and three.” He made sure he looked her in the eye and absolutely, positively didn’t look down.

D.D. arched that skeptical brow again. “Sandy would’ve been only seventeen.”

“Never said the old man didn’t have reason to hate me.”

“So why does Maxwell believe you’re not Ree’s father?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

“Humor me. Obviously you know him better than I do.”

“Can’t say that I know him at all. Sandy and I didn’t exactly have a meet-the-parents courtship.”

“You never met Sandy’s father before today?”

“Only in passing.”

She studied him. “What about your family?”

“Don’t have any.”

“You’re the product of immaculate conception?”

“Miracles happen every day.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “All right, Sandy’s father, then. Grandpa Black. You took his daughter from him,” she stated. “Moved to a godforsaken Yankee state and then never notified him when his granddaughter was born.”

Jason shrugged.

“I think Judge Black has good reason to be angry with both you and Sandy. Maybe that’s why he returned now. His daughter’s gone, and his son-in-law is the prime suspect. One family’s tragedy is another man’s opportunity.”

“I will not grant him access to Ree.”

“Got a restraining order?”

“I will not grant him access to Ree.”

“What if he demands a paternity test?”

“Can’t. You read the birth certificate.”

“You’re listed as the father, ergo he has no probable cause. The Howard K. Stern defense.”

Another shrug.

D.D. smiled at him. “As I recall, the other guy won that argument.”

“Ask me who put the jams in the windows.”

“What?”

“Ask me who put the jams in the windows. You keep circling around to it. You keep digging at it like it tells you something about me.”

“All right. Who put the jams in your windows?”

“Sandy did. Day after we moved in. She was nine months pregnant, we had an entire house to set up, and first thing she did was secure all the windows.”

D.D. thought about it. “All these years later, she’s still locking Daddy out?”

“You said it, not me.”

D.D. finally rose from the chair. “Well, it didn’t work, because Daddy’s back and he has more clout than you think.”

“How so?”

“Turns out he went to law school with one of our district court judges.” She flashed her paper. “Who do you think signed our warrant?”

Jason managed not to say a word, but it probably didn’t matter, as the color draining from his face gave him away.

“Still don’t know where your wife is?” D.D. asked from the doorway.

He shook his head.

“Too bad. Really would be best for everyone if we found her. Particularly considering her condition and all.”

“Her condition?”

D.D. arched a brow yet again. This time, there was no mistaking the flash of triumph in her eyes. “It’s another thing they teach you in detective school. How to seize a person’s trash and how to read a pregnancy test strip.”

“What? You mean…”

“That’s right, Jason. Sandy’s pregnant.”