Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

“Oh, yes, I talk to him,” Mrs. Nguyen said. “You mistaken. He come by a few times to check on the house with friend, Natalie. But no one staying there. House is empty, he said. You mistaken.”

“Mrs. Nguyen, that’s just not true. How well do you know this Todd person? He isn’t being honest with you. He—”

“Todd is friend of my son for fifteen years!” she interrupted impatiently. “I trust him. He looking after house while we are away for two years now. You mistaken.”

Molly said nothing. All she could think was that Natalie — or Jenna —must have somehow gotten to this Todd person. He’d put her up in the Nguyens’ house and now he was covering for her. Maybe she was paying him or having sex with him. Or maybe she was blackmailing the guy. It didn’t really matter how she’d gotten him to work for her.

What mattered most was that Todd knew someone had caught on to the deception. And even if Mrs. Nguyen hadn’t said anything, Todd could be sure it was the Willow Tree Court neighbor who had left him a voice mail: Molly Dennehy at 206-555-2755.

So Natalie — or Jenna — or whatever she called herself when she was screwing Jeff — certainly had to know by now that she’d been found out.

“Mrs. Nguyen,” Molly said finally. “Todd’s lying to you. But I guess you’ll have to find that out for yourself. Thanks for your time.”

She hung up, clicked on the phone again, and dialed Rachel’s number. It rang four times and then the message clicked on. It was one of those impersonal automated greetings. Molly waited for the beep. “Hi, Rachel,” she said. “I don’t know if you can hear this, but call me as soon as you can. I need to apologize. And I have to tell you something about our neighbor down the block. Please call me back, okay?”

Molly clicked off the phone, then went to the window and looked at Rachel’s house. Rain pelted the car, still in the driveway, and there were some lights on inside the house.

She thought back to the last time she’d seen a light on in that house and no one had picked up the phone.

She knew Rachel was upset with her, and that was probably why she didn’t answer the phone. Still, Rachel had been getting those threatening calls — just as Kay and Angela had been getting. And now that Natalie — or Jenna whatever her name was — knew she’d been found out, all bets were off. All hell could break loose.

Molly reached for the phone again, but a knock on the front door stopped her. She hurried into the foyer and checked the peephole. Someone was holding a driver’s license up to the other side of the viewer. Molly couldn’t make out whose license it was. The photo and the writing were slightly blurred.

“Molly, is someone at the door?” Trish called from upstairs.

She hesitated, but then opened the door.

Rachel was on the front stoop, with a hooded Windbreaker on to protect her from the rain. She was holding up her driver’s license. “This is my Florida license,” she said. Then she showed her a piece of paper with her picture on it. “And this is my temporary license for Washington state, and here’s my Macy’s card. . ”

“Molly, who is it?” Trish called.

“It’s Rachel for me!” she called back. She smiled at her. “Get in here.”

Stepping inside, Rachel put the cards in her pocket and pulled back the hood to her Windbreaker. “I heard you apologize to my machine,” she announced. “And I decided to forgive you since you’re recently widowed and knocked up and all. I’m glad to see you’re out of bed.”

Molly nodded and quickly pulled her into the study. She closed the door.

Rachel unzipped her Windbreaker. She glanced down at the sketch pad on Jeff’s desk. “That’s Natalie, isn’t it?”

Molly nodded. “It’s her name around here, at least. Tomorrow, I’m taking that sketch up to La Conner, and I’m hitting the spots where Jeff wined, dined, and had sex with that bitch. Someone’s bound to recognize her.”

“So — you think she’s really this Jenna person?” Rachel asked, a tiny bit skeptical.

“The owners of that house down the block, the Nguyens, they have no idea she’s living there,” Molly whispered. “I just talked to Mrs. Nguyen. Their house sitter, some guy named Todd, has them convinced the place is empty. And I have a feeling from today on, it will be. She’s not going to stick around now that she’s been found out. . ”

Rachel stared at her and didn’t say anything. Her light brown hair was a bit wet, and some raindrops slid down the sides of her face. For a moment, Molly wondered if she really believed her — or if maybe she’d just been trying to placate her earlier.

Molly remembered the pitying look Chet Blazevich had given her when she’d tried to convince him that Jeff had been murdered. She thought about the way just three hours ago, Trish and Holly gazed at her as if she were a mental patient. Was Rachel like them? Did she think all of this was in her mind — some paranoid conspiracy scenario from an unbalanced woman who was “recently widowed and knocked up and all?”

“I’m not making this up, you know,” Molly insisted. “I was just on the phone with Mrs. Nguyen fifteen minutes ago. I’m not sure why, but this Todd person lied and told them the place is empty. He’s been covering for this woman. And now she knows she’s been found out. But I don’t think she’ll quietly disappear, either. I think she’ll wreak as much havoc and take as many lives as she can before she vanishes.”

Rachel didn’t say anything. She just kept looking at her with a bewildered expression.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Molly asked, tears in her eyes.

“I do believe you, honey,” Rachel whispered, nodding. She grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I believe you, and I’m scared. I’m scared for all of us.”

The rumbling of the clothes dryer seemed to drown out her crying.

After five days, Chris and Erin were headed back to school tomorrow — and they didn’t have any clean clothes. Neither did Molly, for that matter. Still in her black funeral dress, she’d gone down to the basement after dinner to do some wash. She’d gathered a load of whites and found several of Jeff’s V-neck Tshirts. The shirts still smelled like him. He would never wear them again. She pressed one of the Tshirts to her face and started sobbing.

She didn’t hear anybody coming down the basement steps. But Molly glimpsed a shadow sweeping across the utility room wall. She swiveled around to see Chris standing in the doorway of the recreation room. “Oh, Jesus,” she gasped, a hand over her heart.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said sheepishly. He was wearing sweatpants and a Futurama T-shirt.

“That’s okay,” she said in a scratchy voice. “I just didn’t hear you — for a change.” Usually it sounded like a stampede when he was going up or down stairs. Molly set the T-shirt on top of the dryer. She tore off a sheet of paper towel from a roll above the laundry sink and blew her nose.

“You wanted Elvis to call and let us know once he got home all right,” Chris said. “He just called my cell. You can relax. He’s home, and he’s fine.”

“Thanks,” Molly said.

Chris and Elvis had stared at her as if she was crazy when she insisted Elvis phone them when he got home. She’d gotten a similarly perplexed look from Trish and Holly when she’d asked them to do the same thing as they’d left this afternoon. They’d called before dinner, saying they’d made it back to Tacoma okay.

“I know you think I’m being way overcautious,” she said. “But I have a good reason to be.”

“Why is that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You still think some lady killed my dad and mom — along with Larry and Taylor and Mrs. Garvey?”