The Woman Next Door Read Online Free PDF Page A

enjoying his pleasure.
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    T im Bennet often grinned when he was nervous. He didn't know why, exactly; he supposed it was self-defensive, an attempt to deny that he was nervous.
    "Why today?" he asked. "I was hoping you could help me with some of the decorating today."
    Christine said, "I don't know if I'm up to that, Tim. Tomorrow, maybe."
    Tim continued grinning. He nodded at 24 Longview Terrace again, though Christine, in the wheelchair, her back to him, couldn't see the nod. "How do you know if anyone's even home?" He paused only briefly; it had been a stupid question, he knew. "Maybe they're busy with something; maybe they're having lunch."
    Christine turned her head a little and looked at the house. "They're not busy," she said.
    How can you know that? Tim wanted to say, but it was obvious from her tone that, whether she knew it or not, she believed she knew it. He sighed. "It's our first day here, darling. There's a lot we've still got to do. We have all the time in the world to go around introducing ourselves to the neighbors."
    Christine turned her head as much to the left as she could. Tim saw her look at him out of the corner of her eye.
    "Just this one," she said. And she smiled. Humor me the smile said.
    Tim, sighing again, turned the wheelchair to the right and began pushing it slowly, carefully, up the snow-slick driveway. "Okay," he said. "But I hope they're not making love or something." He chuckled, embarrassed by the inanity.
    Christine said nothing.
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    M arilyn Courtney stepped away from the window. For God's sake, they were coming here, to the house. To introduce themselves, no doubt. To be welcomed to the neighborhood. And they had moved in only yesterday.
    Maybe all they wanted was to borrow something: a saw, a hammer, a little coffee, perhaps, some kitchen utensils—one of those things people always find themselves short of when they've just moved into a place.
    She looked frantically around the room. She thought, It's too dark. They'll wonder why there are no lights on, what I'm doing in here with no lights on . . . and with the drapes open on such a cold day.
    She crossed the room, flicked the overhead lights on, hurried back to the window, drew the drapes closed. The sudden shutting of the drapes caused a quick flow of perspiration under her arms and on her forehead.
    She studied the room again. And smiled. They would be impressed by it. She parted the drapes a little and watched as they disappeared around the corner of the house. They were going to the side door.
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    T im Bennet hoped no one was home. Forty-five minutes or an hour of idle chitchat and instant coffee served in demitasse cups with these very private people was not the stuff that ideal mornings were made of. Very private people, he knew, because in all the months he'd worked on the house, they hadn't once come over to lend a hand or to say hello. He'd seen the husband only a couple times, either coming or going in his big dark-green Mercury Marquis. And occasionally he'd caught glimpses of what appeared to be a woman's form at some of the side windows. Only the little boy—dark-haired and gray-eyed; he seemed incapable of smiling—had never bothered to say anything to him, and that just a hurried "Hi" or "You gonna live here?" or "My mommy says I gotta get right home," without waiting for a reply.
    He looked around the edges of the side door. No doorbell. He knocked gently.
    "Louder," Christine said.
    "We don't want to disturb them, honey."
    "We aren't disturbing them." She leaned forward in the wheelchair and rapped hard on the massive oak door.
    And the house itself—Tim's thoughts continued—said, announced, that they were private people. Gray brick and black trim and spiked wrought-iron fence around the sides and front, only the long driveway open. Good fences make good neighbors , Tim thought when he first saw it. And everything about the house always so neat and tidy. These were not only private