The Teacher(78)

When we hang up, I brush my teeth in the bathroom, humming the words to “All Shook Up” as I always do. I splash some water over my face, then I pull off my undershirt and get into bed. And just as I’m sliding in between the sheets, I hear it.

Someone ringing the doorbell downstairs.

Could it be Detective Sprague? No, unlikely. We hung up not that long ago. It must be somebody else. I glance down at my watch—it’s almost eleven o’clock. Who would be at my door at this hour?

I throw my undershirt back on over my head and then grab my robe for good measure. I pad down the stairs, each step creaking as my bare feet make contact. Our house is so old that practically every tile and floorboard forms a unique sound. Someone walking across our living room could create a symphony.

I hear a sound again. This time, it’s knocking at the door. No, more like tapping.

’Tis some visitor, tapping on my chamber door.

If there’s nobody at the door again, I am going to lose my damn mind.

I check the peephole first. My stomach drops when I don’t see anyone standing there. But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. It could have been a package delivery.

At eleven o’clock at night on a Saturday.

I crack open the door, my heart thumping painfully in my chest. But it slows slightly when I see the brown Amazon box sitting on my doorstep. It was just a package delivery. Only this and nothing more.

I retrieve the package from my doorstep and carry it over to the coffee table. I have no idea what this is, but I order packages frequently enough. The last item I ordered was a new coffee maker, as the current one has been malfunctioning. It will be nice to be able to drink a decent cup of coffee in my own home again. I rip through the tape on the box and…

It’s not a coffee machine. It’s a pair of women’s shoes.

They are a startling shade of red with long, pointed heels. Eve must have ordered them prior to her death. Of course she did. Eve was always ordering shoes. Unlike the others, though, this pair will be sent right back to Amazon. I start to pull them out of the box, but before I can free them entirely, my blood turns cold. I drop them like they scalded my hand as I realize what I am looking at.

The soles of the shoes are covered in dirt.

Jesus Christ.

I leap off the couch, my whole body shaking. I dart back over to the door and throw it open fast enough that the hinges whine in protest. I stare out at my front yard, narrowing my eyes as I search for any signs of movement. But I see nothing. Not even a squirrel.

Darkness there and nothing more.

“I know you’re out there,” I call out, as loudly as I dare. “I am not intimidated by this.”

Silence.

“Addie?” I say.

I am greeted with a blast of wind that chills me to the bone. I hug my robe around my chest.

“Eve?” I whisper.

Again, no answer.

I slam the door closed and lean against it with all my weight. My dead wife is not haunting me from beyond the grave. That is the only thing I know for sure. I have never believed in life after death. When you are dead, you are dead.

Then who left those dirty shoes at my door?

It occurs to me that there is one other person who could have done this. Someone besides Addie or Eve’s mystery lover or the ghost of my dead wife. There is one other person who knows just enough to bury me, and if that person is the one taunting me, I am in deep, deep trouble.



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Chapter Seventy

NATE

IT SHOULD COME as no surprise that I sleep horrendously.

I toss and turn, and when I do sleep, I have dreams of a zombielike Eve rising from her grave in the pumpkin patch, wearing a pair of red stiletto heels, which she then proceeds to bludgeon me with. Suffice it to say that every childhood memory I have of that pumpkin patch has been effectively destroyed.

I finally drag myself from my bedsheets and brew myself a cup of instant coffee, as the coffee machine is still on the fritz and the new one has clearly not arrived. I’ve managed to choke down most of the cup when the doorbell rings.

If there’s another package of dirty shoes at my door, I simply cannot cope anymore.

I shuffle to the front door, and when I check the peephole, this time Detective Sprague is standing there. I hope she has good news for me.

The detective seems startled by my appearance when I open the door. I suppose I seemed more put together yesterday. Yesterday, I was playing the role of the disheveled, worried husband. Today, it is genuine. I haven’t even managed to shower or put on clothing yet.

“Could I come in, Mr. Bennett?” she asks.

I stifle a yawn. Yesterday, I asked her to call me Nate, but I don’t have the energy to correct her a second time. “Yes, please do.”

I step back to allow her to enter the living room. I wonder if I should suggest sitting on the couch, but I don’t want her to become too comfortable here.

“Any word on Eve?” I ask.

Sprague shakes her head slowly. “I’m afraid not. But I did speak with Debra Higgins this morning.”

Good. I’m sure that conversation has solidified Addie as one of her key suspects. “Oh?”

The detective cocks her head to the side, an unreadable expression on her face. “How come you never told me Adeline Severson was in your English class?”

My fingers freeze in the middle of scratching at the stubble on my jaw. “Excuse me?”