Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

Molly froze and listened to that voice — and the set of footsteps. All she could think about was that crazy woman on the phone, and how she seemed to know everything. Did she somehow know that Molly would be picking up this package today— her package? Had she somehow orchestrated it?

Molly heard the snickering again.

“Who’s there?” she called. Her heart was racing. The footsteps came closer.

“Oh, you have a dirty mind,” she heard the woman whisper. Then Molly saw her come around the corner and down the ramp. It was another woman on a cell phone. She snickered again. “I mean it, stop,” she said into the phone. “Now you’re just being gross. . ”

Watching the woman climb inside her VW, Molly slouched against her car for a few moments. Her heartbeat finally started to slow down. She felt so stupid — and vulnerable, and angry. Taking a deep breath, she turned and tore open the top of the UPS box. It was full of Styrofoam peanuts. They stuck to the lower sleeve of her pea jacket as she clawed her way to another box within the box. Some Styrofoam peanuts fell out as she pulled out the smaller parcel. It was about half the size of the outside box. She used her key to cut away at the tape sealing it up.

Molly found an item wrapped in tissue paper. It felt heavy in her hands. As she tore away at the thin paper, she could discern the jade green color.

Then she saw the tusk.

She knew the jade piece wasn’t for his mistress. It was an elephant for her collection, and it was beautiful. Molly broke down. Hugging the figurine, she leaned against her car and sobbed.

For a few minutes, she didn’t feel sick or stupid or angry or scared. For those few minutes, she just missed her husband.

In only her bra and panties, the woman who called herself Rachel Cross mopped up the trail of blood on the basement floor. The crimson streak went from the corner of her secret workroom through the laundry room and into the bathroom. Natalie’s body was behind the fogged glass door of the shower stall, curled up on the floor. The drain now caught all the blood.

Jenna had gotten blood on her sweater and her jeans. She’d thrown them in the washing machine. The clothes were churning through the spin cycle now. She’d already rinsed the spattering of blood off her hands, face, and hair.

She’d changed her mind about making a doll for Natalie. There just wasn’t any time. For the last twenty minutes, she’d contemplated chopping up the body. She’d even gone through the box of tools on the workbench and took out two different saws, wondering if they could cut through bone. She imagined taking sections of the body outside in lawn bags, and then burying them in the forest in back.

But she decided it was best to leave the body in the house. From what Molly had told her, Natalie wasn’t supposed to be staying at the Nguyens’. According to the driver’s license Jenna had found in the wallet inside her fatigue jacket pocket, Natalie’s most recent address was on Mercer Street on Capitol Hill in Seattle. In that same pocket, Jenna had also found her own engagement ring, the pearl necklace Ray gave her on their tenth anniversary, some cash, and several of her blank checks. So — in addition to trespassing, Natalie was a thief. Jenna had met enough of her daughter’s street friends at Tracy’s shoddy little memorial service to recognize a crystal meth addict when she saw one.

Natalie’s mysterious presence on the block had actually bought Jenna some time yesterday and today. When after the funeral, her old friend, Laurie Bauer, rode by the church on her bike and called to her, Jenna had thought it was all over. But then Molly assumed Natalie was Jenna Corson. She thought Natalie was responsible for all the recent deaths, accidents, and tragedies on Willow Tree Court. Natalie was the perfect suspect.

But Jenna knew it was only a matter of time before Molly figured her out. She’d already suspected her. How long before Molly realized the peppermints she’d given her — along with those ginger capsules she’d picked up for her — only made her sicker, more sleepy, and a bit delirious? Molly had already stopped taking them.

And yesterday, when Molly uttered her name as she was leaving the bedroom, it was all Jenna could do to keep from reacting. She’d stifled the same natural instinct to react an hour before when Laurie had called to her in front of the church. She’d gone to a lot of lengths to become Rachel Cross — with forged driver’s licenses from Florida and Washington, a birth certificate, and other documents. Once she met up with Aldo, the killer-for-hire connected her to all sorts of criminals, who in turn provided her with so many illegal services. She’d had a computer hacker create an exceptional credit history for Rachel Cross. She’d already started getting junk mail for Rachel Cross before even moving into Kay’s old house.

She’d also sent herself that anonymous note and slipped it in Molly’s mailbox just minutes after the mailman had delivered the mail one day last month. Several pieces of her junk mail had made their way into the Dennehys’ mailbox with no help from her. Mail mixups just happened when people lived next door to each other. It somehow forced neighbors to look out for one another and get closer.

That had been why Kay was the first to die. Jenna wanted the house.

But she couldn’t stay. Laurie almost outing her wasn’t the only reason why Jenna had to wrap things up. Someone had murdered Aldo. They’d slit his throat the same day she’d killed Jeff. Of course, getting murdered was probably a professional risk in Aldo’s business. But if the police dug deep enough, they might find evidence linking Aldo to her and her late husband. After all, Ray and she had both employed his services.

Jenna had to finish everything tonight. After she killed Molly and Chris, she would set fire to all the houses on Willow Tree Court, including this one. She’d already reported a possible arson to the police a little over a week ago. Of course, no one knew she’d set her own toolshed on fire. She’d worked out the delay. She’d left a lit cigarette inside a pack of matches on a stack of old newspapers, half-soaked with gasoline. She’d been talking with Chris Dennehy for over ten minutes before he smelled the smoke.

So it was in police records that Willow Tree Court had a potential firebug.

Standing in the doorway to her workroom, she hated the idea of having to torch all her dollhouses. But she couldn’t afford to be sentimental. And it would be appropriate to start the fire in this room with the model of the cul-de-sac.

They’d expect Jill’s, the Hahns’, and the Nguyens’ houses to be empty.

Jenna fiddled with her bra strap as she sauntered back to the bathroom. She stared at the corpse behind the fogged glass door of the shower stall.

They would be expecting to find a body in this house. And they would find one. It might take a day or two before they realized it wasn’t Rachel Cross, and that Rachel Cross didn’t exist. By that time, Jenna, her son, and her new stepdaughter, Erin, would be far, far away.

Natalie was buying her some more time — again.

Jenna glanced at her wristwatch. She had to go pick up Erin from school and then buy gasoline.

* * *

Chris looked at the lighted numbers above the door.

He stood alone in the elevator with the bouquet of dried flowers in his hand. This was his third time in the building, and he still didn’t know his way around. But he was pretty sure he was headed to the right place.

He couldn’t think of anywhere else to go — or anyone else he could talk to.

Roseann had confirmed for him that Molly was right. His dad had been set up by some woman, and she’d most likely left him dead in that hotel room. Was Molly right about the rest of it, too? Had the same woman, this Natalie person, arranged his mother’s murder — along with Larry’s and Taylor’s? Had she murdered Mrs. Garvey, too — and made it look like an accident? Then that meant the same woman had rigged Courtney’s cell phone to explode. She’d broken into his locker and left him that note about Molly’s brother. She’d set fire to their next-door neighbor’s toolshed. And she’d seen to it that the police and reporters knew where and when to find Mr. Hahn with a teenage prostitute and a stash of drugs and porn.