Restlessly he began to walk around the downstairs floor. He stopped at the door of the front room. The contrast to the cheery kitchen and den was striking. Here as in the dining room, because of the water damage, the furniture and carpet were covered with plastic and pushed to the center of the room.
The wallpaper — or wall hanging (as Bree had insisted it be called) — a soft ivory with a faint stripe, was stained and bubbled.
Kevin remembered how happy Bree had been when all the decorating was supposedly finished three months ago. They’d even talked around the subject of marriage, in the same sentence mentioning her town house and the marvelous old farmhouse he had bought for Virginia weekends.
Too damn cautious to commit ourselves, Kevin thought bitterly. But not too cautious to have a fight over nothing. It had all been so silly.
He thought about sitting with her in that same room, the warm ivories and reds and blues of the Persian carpet repeated up in the newly reupholstered couch and chairs. Bree had pointed to the vertical metal blinds.
“I hate those damn things,” she had said. “The last one doesn’t even close properly, but I wanted to get everything else in before I choose draperies.”
The blinds. He looked up.
The doorbell rang, interrupting his train of thought. It was Ica. The handsome Jamaican woman’s face mirrored the misery he felt. “I haven’t slept two hours straight this week,” she said. “Looks to me as though you haven’t either.”
Kevin nodded. “Ica, there’s something about this house that’s bothering me, something I ought to be noticing. Help me.”
She nodded. “It’s funny you should say that, ’cause I felt that way too, but blamed it on finding the bed being made and the dishes done. But if Bree didn’t get home Saturday night, then that would explain those things. She never left the place untidy.”
Together they walked up the stairs to the bedroom. Ica looked around uncertainly. “The room felt different when I got here Monday, different from the way it usually feels,” she said hesitantly.
“In what way?” Kevin asked quickly.
“It was… well, it was way too neat.” Ica walked over to the bed. “Those throw pillows, Bree just tossed them around, like the way they are now.”
“What are you telling me?” Kevin asked. He grabbed her arm, aware that Ica was about to tell him what he needed to know.
“This whole place felt just — too neat. I stripped the bed even though it was made because I wanted to change the sheets. I had to dig and pull the sheets and blanket loose, they were tucked in so tight. And the throw pillows on top of the quilt were all lined up against the headboard like little soldiers.”
“Anything else? Please just keep talking, lea. We may be getting somewhere,” Kevin begged.
“Yes,” lea said excitedly. “Last week Bree had let a pot boil over. I scoured it as best I could and left a note for her to pick up some steel wool and scouring powder; I said I’d finish it when I came back. Monday morning that pot was sitting out on the stove, scrubbed clean as could be. I know my Bree. She never would have touched it. She told me those strong soaps made her hands break out. Come on, I’ll show it to you.”
Together they ran down the stairs into the kitchen. From the cupboard she pulled out a gleaming pot. “There isn’t even a mark on the bottom,” she said. “You’d think it was practically brand new.” She looked excitedly at Kevin. “Things just weren’t right here. The bed was made too neatly. This pot is too clean.”
“And… and the blind in the front window has been fixed,” Kevin shouted. “It’s lined up like the ones next door.”
He didn’t know he had been about to say that, but suddenly he realized that was what had been bothering him all along. He had sensed the difference right away, but the effect had been so subtle, it had registered only in his subconscious. But now that he had brought it into focus, he thought of the neighbor, the quiet guy with the ponytail, the one who was always washing his windows or trimming his lawn or sweeping his walk.
What did anyone know about him? If he rang the bell, Bree might have let him in. And he had offered to fix the blind — Bree had mentioned that. Kevin pulled Ferroni’s card from his pocket and handed it to lea. “I’m going next door. Tell Ferroni to get over here fast.”
“Just one more book. That’s all we’ll have time for. Then you’ll leave me again, Mommy. Just like she did. Just like all of them did.” In the two hours she had been reading to him, Bree had watched Mensch regress from adoring to angry child. He’s working up the courage to kill me, she thought.
He was sitting cross-legged beside her on the mat.
“But I want to read all of them to you,” she said, her voice soothing, coaxing. “I know you’ll love them. Then tomorrow I could help you to paint the walls. We could get it done so much faster if we work together. Then we could go away somewhere together, so I can keep reading to you.”
He stood up abruptly. “You’re trying to trick me. You don’t want to go with me. You’re just like all the others.” He stared at her, his eyes shuttered and small with anger. “I saw your boyfriend go into your house a little while ago. He’s too nosy. It’s good that you’re wearing the jeans. I have to get your raincoat and shoulder bag.” He looked as if he was about to cry. “There’s no time for any more books,” he said sadly.
He rushed out. I’m going to die, Bree thought. Frantically she tried to pull her arms and legs free of the restraints. Her right arm swung up and she realized that he’d forgotten to refasten the shackle to the wall. He had said Kevin was next door. She had heard that you can transfer thoughts. She closed her eyes and concentrated: Kevin, help me. Kevin, I need you.
She had to play for time. She would have only one chance at him, one moment of surprise. She would swing at his head with the dangling shackle, try to stun him. But what good would that do? Save her for a few seconds? Then what? she thought despondently. How could she stop him?
Her eyes fell on the stack of books. Maybe there was a way. She grabbed the first one and began tearing the pages, scattering the pieces, forcing them to flutter hither and yon across the bright yellow mattress.
I must have known that today was the day, Mensch thought as he retrieved Bree’s raincoat and shoulder bag from the bedroom closet. I laid out jeans and the red sweater she was wearing that Saturday. When they find her it will be like all the others. And again they will ask that same question: Where was she for the days she had been missing? It would be fun to read about it. Everyone wanting to know, and only he would have the answer.
As he came down the stairs, he stopped suddenly. The doorbell was ringing. The button was being held down. He laid down the pocketbook and the coat and stood frozen momentarily with uncertainty. Should he answer? Would it seem suspicious if he didn’t? No. Better to get rid of her, get her out of here fast, he decided.
Mensch picked up the raincoat and rushed down the basement stairs.
I know he’s in there, Kevin thought, but he’s not answering. I’ve got to get inside.
Ica was running across the lawn. “Mr. Ferroni is on his way. He said to absolutely wait for him. Not to ring the bell anymore. He got all excited when I talked about everything being so neat. He said if it’s what he thinks it is, Bree will still be alive.”
It seemed to Kevin that he could hear Bree crying out to him. He was overwhelmed by a sense of running out of time, by an awareness that he had to get into Mensch’s house immediately. He ran to the front window and strained to look in. Through the slats he could see the rigidly neat living room. Craning his head, he could see the stairway in the foyer. Then his blood froze. A woman’s leather shoulder bag was on the last step. Bree’s shoulder bag! He recognized it; he had given it to her for her birthday.