Closing Costs Read online

  “How did you know we have a security system?”

  He pointed at the small triangular sign sticking up from the garden plot next to the front porch.

  “Oh, that.” She’d thought about pulling the sign up and throwing it away, but for no good reason other than inertia, hadn’t gotten around to it. There was no harm in letting people think they had a working system, was there? And that was it. Though her previous encounters at the door had been unremarkable, this one was sending up red flags. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. She wanted this man to walk away thinking she could summon the police at the push of a button. Of course, if he had bad intentions, he’d be well into whatever it was he had in mind long before they could send help. Still, she closed the door a little and said, “I’m sorry. I’m sure your company is great, but we’re happy with the service we have. If we want to make a change, we’ll look you up on Angie’s List, okay?”

  “Can I leave some literature with you, at least?” He pleaded with eyes that reminded her of a shark’s. They were flat. When he smiled, the expression didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Sure,” she said. He pulled a brochure off of his clipboard and held it out to her. For a moment she considered telling him no after all. No point in agitating him. Take it and shut the door. Shut it and lock it. She chastised herself for being irrational again. If this guy wanted in her house, he would already be inside. You’re just wigged out by the book. Stop being a fraidy-cat. She took the pamphlet and said, “Thank you.”

  The man—she’d already forgotten his name—he had no last name, just first ones—touched a finger to his forehead in a little salute and stepped off the porch. He stopped and turned. “Do you mind if I come back by when your husband is here, so I can talk to you both? When would be best?”

  She felt herself shaking her head. “I, uh . . . We’ll give you a call if we want to talk.”

  “Okay. Thanks. I look forward to hearing from you.”

  Don’t fucking count on it. She shut the door. The alarm system chirped like it always did, though it wasn’t monitoring a thing. Nelle twisted the deadbolt lock slowly, so he wouldn’t hear it click into place, and then ran into the dining room to watch him leave through the blinds. He walked halfway down the driveway and looked back over his shoulder. Though she was hiding behind the curtains, she jumped back from his gaze. He couldn’t have seen her. He was just looking at a missed commission.

  The look on his face, though.

  It wasn’t disappointed or, as she’d feared when she corrected him, annoyed. It was hostile. She might have even described it as malevolent, though she’d only glimpsed it for a second before the force of it thrust her back and she lost sight of him in the dark. She crept to the window again and stood to the side. She didn’t want him to see her silhouette through the curtains. She peeked through the gap between the wall and the fabric, hoping that he wasn’t still standing in her driveway staring daggers at the house—at her.

  He knows I’m here alone. I practically admitted it! Stupid stupid!

  She couldn’t see him in the driveway. He’d gone. She let out a breath and tried to relax, but ease was slow in coming. She grabbed the short bat from the closet by the door. It felt good in her hands. She gave it a short little wiggle, not quite a swing. She felt better holding it.

  A throaty engine revved at the end of the driveway. She clutched the bat a little tighter and returned to the window. She spied the front end of a muscle car parked next to the mailbox. And then, with a squeal of tires, it pulled away. If that was the guy, he wasn’t being honest about “just being in the neighborhood.” Not driving that kind of car. If he was working at a neighbor’s house, wouldn’t he be driving something that could carry tools or equipment? She tried not to overthink it. He was gone and everything would be just fine. Wouldn’t it? Her mind kept returning to ideas she didn’t want to think about. People she didn’t want thinking about her, as if holding them in her mind was a beacon to their consciousness. Why didn’t they resubscribe to the alarm service? Because wasn’t that the point of moving to this place? To be somewhere they could sit outside and have a drink and not have to breathe bus exhaust and hear the drone of helicopters looking for the suspect who fled on foot? Somewhere quiet and safe. But was anywhere really safe?

  She chided herself for being irrational. This was just some random grifter—yes, someone looking to con a naïve pair of first-time homeowners into a “consultation.” That would turn into a sizable down payment reserving “today’s prices,” and then they’d never see him or his company again. It was a garden-variety scam—low-rent fraud—not their chickens coming home to roost.

  She returned to the sofa and set the bat on the cushion next to her. She picked up The Secret Life of Souls and tried to read, but couldn’t get past the first sentence on the page. The mood was spoiled. She set it back down and decided to go fix herself a cocktail instead. Evan wouldn’t be happy she’d started drinking without him, but that was what he got for leaving her in the house alone on her day off.

  29

  He tossed the clipboard on the passenger seat. The census addressed to Evan and Eleonora Pereira from the Town of Ripton fluttered in the breeze blowing through his open window. Ringing the bell had been a risk, but he wanted to see inside. He hadn’t gotten a peek any farther than the front room, but still, he’d seen what he wanted. The security pad behind Eleonora had chirped, but the message display on the screen had read SERVICE NOT AVAILABLE. They hadn’t changed carriers or even renewed the system subscription.

  He grabbed his cell phone off the dash and looked at his text message inbox. Nothing new. He started the car and goosed the gas. He didn’t want to bring attention to himself, but it was so hard not to give the Demon a kick. She begged for it. He pulled out and drove back to the apartment, almost ready to get started.

  30

  Nelle slipped between the low rock wall running along the road and the end of the burning bushes that divided her yard from the Darnielles’ property near the end of the driveway. The branches tugged at her hair and shirt, but it was safer than walking all the way down and stepping out onto the highway.

  Around the other side, she turned up the driveway and walked toward the neighbors’ house. With each step closer, she felt a little less sure of her reasons for going over. Running through the encounter with the man at her door a half hour earlier propelled her forward, though. They hadn’t talked much to the Darnielles other than a couple of short conversations in passing and the one time she went over to return the plate on which Juanita had delivered the Welcome Wagon cookies. Whether the visit would confirm or deny her suspicions, she also wanted to be a good neighbor and get to know the people who lived nearby, make friends.

  She rang the doorbell and waited. At the end of the driveway—not quite as long as theirs, she thought—a truck wailed by. Otherwise it was quiet. They’d wanted to live somewhere quiet. The reality of that choice was beginning to settle in.

  As Nelle reached to ring a second time, she saw her neighbor’s silhouette through the glass in the door. The blurry shape through the faceted window resolved into Juanita, and Nelle let her hand fall away from the button.

  Juanita opened the door and called out, “Nellie! So nice to see you.”

  “Nellie was the mean girl on Little House on the Prairie. I’m just Nelle.” She said it with a big smile to try to mitigate her gentle correction. Juanita flushed a little and apologized. A much different reaction than the one from the man who’d stood on her doorstep earlier. She seemed honestly embarrassed by her error.

  “I’m so sorry, Nelle.”

  “That’s okay. It’s been a thing, like, forever. No big.” She dipped her head, ashamed to have begun the conversation this way instead of how she intended.

  “Would you like to come in? I don’t have any coffee made, but there’s a bottle of wine on the counter from last night you could help me finish off.

  Nelle smiled. “That’s so nice of you to offer. I
’d love to have a glass . . . or six. But I don’t want to impose. I’m just dropping by to ask you something.”

  “It’s no imposition.” Juanita smiled and stepped back to make room for her to come inside. Nelle felt the pull of not only alcohol, but friendly companionship. She hesitated at the threshold. She’d only intended to be gone for a few minutes, and then never really out of sight of her house, but now she was going inside and she felt like returning home to check the front door, assure herself she’d remembered to turn the bolt. The tug at her back was almost as strong as the one pulling her forward. I locked it. I know I did.

  Juanita closed the door behind them. She led Nelle into the kitchen and pulled a pair of stemmed glasses out of the cupboard. Where the mudroom just inside the door was dim and confined, the eat-in kitchen was open and bright. Light shone through the skylights above, making the little reflective flecks in the snow quartz countertops sparkle. Everything was perfectly in its place; no clutter or awkward appliances that looked like there was just nowhere else for them to live, so that’s where they ended up. It was model-home clean, like a movie set. In the corner, a small Bluetooth speaker played an ’80s pop mix. Men Without Hats faded into the Fixx. Juanita and Colin were older than Evan and Nelle. Gen Xers. Nelle felt a little of the tension drain out of her at the thought of Juanita with big poufy hair, wearing an orange and lime colored dress at a middle school dance.

  “I hope white’s okay,” Juanita said. “I opened a riesling with dinner last night and didn’t finish. Colin’s a beer drinker and never has any.”

  Nelle nodded. “Anything’s fine, thank you.” Juanita poured her a glass and handed it over. She took a little sip. White wine almost always gave her a hangover, but this was crisp and fruity and felt nice in her mouth. She drank again, a bigger swallow this time.

  “You needed that?”

  “I guess so.” Nelle chuckled. “It’s been a weird morning. Speaking of weird, that’s kind of the reason I came over. Did you have a guy around today to do some work on your alarm system?”

  Juanita smiled broadly. She had perfectly bleached white teeth that seemed to shine even though she had her back to the kitchen window. She led Nelle over to the kitchen table and offered her a seat. “Oh, sweetie. We don’t have an alarm system. Shit, we don’t lock our doors unless we’re headed out of town for more than a night.”

  “Not even with the trails back there?” Nelle asked.

  “We’ve lived here fifteen years, and all we’ve ever seen back there are Boy Scouts and dog walkers. Anyone who’s willing to fight their way through the poison ivy and ticks on the way to our yard isn’t going to be stopped by a lock on that door.” Juanita nodded at the sliding glass door leading out to the back patio. Juanita’s expression soured. “Is everything okay? You seem spooked.”

  Nelle nodded again. She was beginning to feel foolish. “It’s nothing, really. I just spooked myself, I guess. Some guy came to the door trying to sell us a new alarm system. He said he was doing some work in the neighborhood and decided to hit up a few of the neighbors. I just thought . . .” She took a breath and waved a hand dismissively. “It’s stupid.”

  “Oh, we used to get that too. When we first moved in, it was kind of frequent. Mostly those assholes at Comcast, or whatever they call themselves. X-somethingorother stupid. A few summers ago, we had a resurgence of salesmen from a solar company. They were pushy. It’s so frustrating, but it tapers off after a while.”

  Nelle smiled. Juanita’s calm was catching. Nothing seemed to bother her. Of course, Nelle barely knew her at all. She was sure to have ups and downs like everyone else. But something about being around her was soothing. Or maybe it was the wine. “Did the guy from the alarm company come over here too?”

  Juanita shook her head. “You’re the only one who’s rung my bell today, hon. I wouldn’t worry about it. But I wouldn’t buy anything anyone’s selling door-to-door either.” Her face settled into a serious mien, and she added, “And I certainly wouldn’t let anyone in.”

  “Oh, definitely not.” Nelle finished her glass, set it on a coaster on the table, and stood up. “Thanks for the drink. I suppose I should let you get on with your day.”

  Juanita stood. “Any other day, I’d insist you stay, but I need to finish getting things ready for our trip.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Colin and I are going to Hyannis for a few days. We’re taking the whole week off, leaving early and not coming back until after the long weekend. I always tell him that we don’t need to leave days before the traffic rush, but he likes to be ahead of everyone else. He’s practically obsessed with the news stories of people getting caught in Cape traffic. He keeps reminding me, ‘It took ’em six hours to go ninety miles, Johnnie.’ ” She mimicked her husband’s deep voice. She rolled her eyes and leaned in as if she were telling secrets in the halls in between classes. “He gets so . . . fussy about things like that, so we just make it a whole vacation.” Nelle hadn’t met Colin yet, but if he was married to Juanita, she figured he had to be all right. She liked that he called her Johnnie. She wondered if she’d get to know her well enough to be allowed to call her that.

  “Evan isn’t much of a planner. He waits to pack until the night before we’re leaving to go someplace. Like, late the night before. Maybe the two of them can be a moderating influence on each other.”

  Juanita let out a small laugh and stood. “Oh, I’ve been trying for years to get Colin to unclench. I doubt there’s anything Evan can do. But you never know.” She led Nelle to the door and opened it. “When we get back, we’ll have you both over for dinner. Let the boys meet and officially welcome you to the neighborhood, such as it is. We loved the Nilssons when they lived in your house, but the people who bought it from them weren’t very sociable. It’d be nice to have neighbors over more often. I hear they have a chili cookoff a few blocks down. I’d love to try something like that.”

  “Only two couples isn’t much of a cookoff.”

  Juanita laughed. “I guess it isn’t. We’ll have to come up with another idea.”

  “Anything would be lovely. I can’t wait.” Nelle slipped her shoes on in the mudroom and said thank you again. “Have a nice time on the Cape.”

  “We’ll see you when we get back. Don’t go letting any strange salesmen into your house, now.” Juanita winked, but there was a tone of seriousness underscoring her play that made a heavy stone settle in Nelle’s guts. She smiled at the joke and stepped outside.

  The air outside had a tincture of the approaching spring—damp earth from rain and maybe a hint of pollen, like the trees were about to bud. It was early for that. Grass, perhaps. People’s lawns were starting to green up. She smelled smoke on the breeze. It seemed early to light a fireplace. It’d had always felt to her like an after-dark, get-cozy kind of thing. But then she didn’t really like the smell of smoke or even the look of a fire. It reminded her of work.

  She turned and waved at her neighbor as she walked back toward the gap near the road and shimmied through to her own driveway. Juanita smiled and waved from the doorway before disappearing inside.

  Nelle looked as she passed around the end of the burning bushes for the sportscar the security salesman had been driving. It was nowhere she could see.

  Inside, she poured herself a glass of water and looked out the kitchen window at the deep woods bordering her back yard. Maybe a hike would help clear her mind. It couldn’t hurt to get out of the house for a bit—out with other people enjoying the day, like her husband was doing. She didn’t play racquetball or squash or whatever it was he was up to, but she should’ve gone with him into the city. She could’ve visited the MFA or the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum or something. But he was long gone, and it’d be an hour drive to get into the city. Cabot Woods was closer, and she thought it’d be better to enjoy the outdoors while the weather was still warm.

  She couldn’t remember if the real estate agent said they could reach the hiking paths fr
om the back yard, but it looked like it’d be a snarl to get through the tight brush—and there were probably ticks, like Juanita had said. She stared out the window at the line of trees beyond the back yard, the frontier where her stable, controlled world met the wild dark beyond. Though it wasn’t entirely wild. Civilization and all of the dangers she knew well enough encircled the forest on all sides. The afternoon was getting late, and the sun was behind the tall trees. From where she stood, it looked black as moonless night back there. If someone was back there, she’d never see them. Watching.

  Stop it. Stop it! You’re letting that guy get way too far under your skin, Eleonora. Everything’s fine. He didn’t really know her name—not the one she went by, anyway. Just what he’d read off a deed at the probate courthouse. His job was making people feel insecure so they spent money on security systems they didn’t need. We’re fine without it.

  Everything was just fine.

  She stepped away from the window, grabbed a stemmed glass, and went to soothe her nerves at the wine rack while she waited for Evan to come home.

  She’d go hiking another day.

  VII

  ◆

  Die of Fright

  31

  TWELVE WEEKS AFTER CLOSING

  Nelle felt defeat creeping in at the edges of her will, telling her that she should give in, give up, lie down, and accept the inevitable. Her stomach rumbled, and she crossed her arms over her belly to try to hush it. Yet it ached. A combination of hunger and lingering pain from being punched that morning. The man didn’t react. If he heard, he didn’t appear to care.

  The front room was bright; its light purple walls appeared almost a faint gray in the glow shining through the bay window. The light wasn’t direct, but it was still strong. Not shaded. The way the sun tracked, that meant it was still before noon, but it couldn’t be much before. She tried to suss out how much of the day had passed. She’d gotten out of bed a little after nine, kissed her husband, who was getting ready to fix breakfast, and sat down to check her phone. After finishing her coffee, she jumped in the shower and stayed in maybe ten or fifteen minutes. She spent perhaps five minutes looking for Evan after she shut off the water. Ten at the most. That made it around nine forty-five or ten o’clock when . . . But then, she had no idea how long anything that morning had actually lasted. Time worked differently since this person had come into her life. It distorted, alternately slowing and hastening, depending on the moment. When the man had tied her down—when he’d taped Evan to the weight bench too—time elongated. Every tear from the roll stretched out, and the process felt like it’d never end. Another tear. Another eternity. And then, when he’d gone to fetch her the glass of water, it had seemed like she barely had the chance to say her husband’s name before she heard the man returning to the cellar staircase. Nothing in her perception seemed reliable, time least of all. Still, how long did it take to buy groceries early on a Saturday morning? What else had he been doing?