“I hate Bobby!” Leo sobs. “I don’t want to play with him anymore. He’s always mean to me and taking my stuff.”
I know about the latter. At first, I thought Leo was just misplacing his things. But then I found one of his toy trucks that we had been looking for days in a drawer at April’s house. Bobby clearly took it from him and hid it. As I said, that kid is not a good influence.
“You don’t have to play with him anymore,” I tell Leo. “I promise.”
Leo wipes his eyes and winces at the pain in his cheek. Keith’s burner phone buzzes in my pocket—an apology from his mistress? I don’t want to know. “If you tell him that,” Leo says, “he’s going to make everybody gang up on me at school.”
My heart is breaking for my son. I wish I had never moved into this neighborhood. I wish I had never met April Masterson.
Maybe she’s going to get away with killing Courtney Burns. But she’s not going to get away with terrorizing my son. I’m going to have a talk with her about Bobby. And she’s going to listen.
Chapter 43
I know I have to go talk to April the next morning, but it’s hard to work up the nerve.
Instead, I take far too long rearranging the huge display of flowers Keith brought me last night when he came home from work. Clearly, he found out that I discovered his phone and decided to be proactive. The flowers are very beautiful. He got my favorite—lilacs in several different colors. He handed them to me last night, smiling nervously as he waited to see if I would confront him about the phone.
I decided not to say anything. After all, if he’s messing around with another woman meant I didn’t have to touch him, that was fine with me. But I kept the phone.
Finally, I grab my purse and head over to April’s house. She’s surely back from school by now, so she’ll probably be looking for something to do. We’ll have a cup of coffee, and I’ll talk to her about Bobby. I’ll try to be nice. I’m not going to outright say her kid is a monster. Even though that’s what I think.
I cut around the back to get to April’s house. She and I have a back door sort of relationship right now. April always says friends come in through the back. Of course, maybe I should come in through the front then. Maybe that will be a message.
Except when I get outside the kitchen, I see April isn’t alone. She’s got a man in her kitchen.
It’s Mark Tanner. And oh my God, they’re kissing.
No, not just kissing. They’re making out. She’s got his arms wrapped around him and he’s got his hand sliding up the back of her tank top. This is a prelude to sex. April is going to have sex with Mark Tanner.
Well, I guess she got back at Kathy Tanner for telling everybody she got kicked out of culinary school.
I reach into my purse and pull out my cell phone. I point the camera at the window to the kitchen and snap a couple of photos. It seems like it might come in handy.
Before April can see me, I hurry back around the side of her house, in the direction of my own house. I’ll talk to her later. Much later.
“Julie!”
My breath catches in my throat at the sound of my name. I turn around and see Mrs. Kirkland, standing on her lawn by her mailbox, staring at me. Mrs. Kirkland is a tiny old lady who lives in the small house between mine and April’s. She has been there for decades—long before either of us was living here.
I’m not going to lie. Mrs. Kirkland is not the most pleasant woman I’ve ever met in my life. But somehow, I like her. She’s lived a long time, and she just says whatever the hell she wants to say.
April can’t stand her.
It’s fairly mutual. Mrs. Kirkland doesn’t like April. She thinks Bobby is a little brat, and she doesn’t much care for Elliot either. April is equally vocal in her dislike of Mrs. Kirkland. It seems like they’re always at each other’s throats. More than once, I have come out of my house to find the two of them shouting at each other. Although to be fair, that was partially because Mrs. Kirkland is so deaf.
“You saw, didn’t you?” Mrs. Kirkland says. “You saw her and that man.”
“Um,” I say.
She shakes her head in disgust. “It’s been going on for months. Sometimes I can hear them. Horrible stuff.”
April has been sleeping with Mark for months? Oh God. Poor Kathy.
“She’s a disgrace,” Mrs. Kirkland rants. “The worst person I’ve ever met in my whole life. You should stay away from her, Julie.”
“Mmm,” I say.
“The way she carries on.” Mrs. Kirkland shudders. “I should tell her husband about it. I really should.”
My thoughts start to race. If Elliot discovers April is cheating on him, maybe they’ll break up. And move far away. “Have you spoken to April about it?”
“Not yet,” Mrs. Kirkland says. “But I plan to. Honestly, it’s horrible what she thinks she can get away with.”
“Yes,” I say. “It is.”
_____
I’m still thinking about my conversation with Mrs. Kirkland a few days later during my morning jog.
I’m up to five miles a day. I never, ever skip a day. When the weather turns too cold, I’ve got a treadmill in our finished basement. I tell everyone that I’m trying to keep fit, but the truth is, the adrenaline I get from running is the only thing close to what I used to feel when I was in the courtroom. If I ever stopped running, I would probably have to start taking speed. I love pushing myself as hard as I can.
I also do my best thinking when I’m running. Not that I have a lot to think about these days, but I plan out events for the PTA or dinner menus for the week. I think of fun things to do with the kids on the weekend.
And today I’m thinking about Mrs. Kirkland.
She’s going to tell April she knows about her and Mark. I may be scared of April, but Mrs. Kirkland isn’t. The question is, how will April react to it? Will she stop the affair? Will she deny everything?
Of course, I have proof on my phone. In case I need it.
As I turn the corner to get back to my house, I see a police car and fire engine parked on our block. I feel a surge of panic. But no—there’s no reason to freak out. The boys are at school. Keith is at work. This can’t be for us.
I jog over to the police car, which is parked in front of Mrs. Kirkland’s small house. A policeman is standing by his vehicle, a somber look on his face. Even though I’m in shorts and a sweaty T-shirt, I want him to take me seriously, so I throw back my shoulders, putting on my prosecutor’s face.
“Excuse me,” I say. “My name is Julianne Bressler and I live next-door. Can you tell me what’s going on here?”
The officer looks me up and down, then he shrugs. “The old lady who lives in this house—your neighbor—she took a bad tumble down the stairs.”
I have to struggle to compose myself. “Is… is she all right?”
He hesitates for a moment. “No. I’m sorry, ma’am. She didn’t make it. Looks like she’s been lying there at least a day.”
I clasp a hand over my mouth and back away from him. Doris Kirkland is dead. Only a few days ago, she and I were standing on her lawn, chatting. And now she’s dead.