I wasn’t here permanently. Eventually, I’d go back home. I didn’t know if settling down was in the cards for me, especially after what my pops had gone through. I liked to think it was…reality settled. I was a thirty-year-old guy who liked staying in, staring at the sky, thinking ’bout my hot-as-shit neighbor more than going out for an easy lay. Perhaps that was a sign I was ready to settle, or some shit like that.
Yep, thirty had hit hard. Although I didn’t look my age, as I’m sure Sheena would attest.
Like a fool, I googled my neighbor’s name.
Claire Richards, professor.
I found her work department. Psychology. Blah, blah. An old picture. Her list of degrees and qualifications. The sold listing for her house. Her ex sold it to her for one dollar over a decade ago.
Then I typed:Claire Richards’ Daughter, Centre County, Pennsylvania.
This resulted in an onslaught of results.
Abby Richards, victim of a local explosion, motive still unknown.
A weathered school photo of her—dark hair like her mom and blue eyes from her dad?
Claire was quoted as saying, “Sad this type of mass destruction has found its way to our small town. Even worse, we can’t seem to find who was at the helm of it. We want answers. We need answers. The families of the victims deserve this from law enforcement. Now we are being forced to move forward with nothing.”
Another picture of Claire: red-eyed, tired, rumpled.
According to the paper, the police had captured a young duo exiting the small university arena, which only seated slightly over three thousand people, making their apprehension easy. It also allowed for many of the attendees to quickly exit the building.
Thank God.
Sadly, the pair in custody hadn’t been the masterminds, only responsible for setting the explosion in motion. They both refused to sing like canaries, slipping a suicide pill (provided to them) into their mouths when the investigators looked the other way. All they’d given up was they were poor college students who’d been promised a sizable money transfer for doing the Lord’s work. They didn’t care whose work it was. They wanted the money. Which never landed in their accounts. There were no other clues at the scene. Not a single other suspicious person. Nothing. It was as dry as the Sahara…
I slammed the laptop closed, looked around, feeling guilty.
“Shit,” I muttered. I should’ve stayed with Sheena. Maybe she would have dulled the need to fix my neighbor?
For sure, I shouldn’t be googling anything involving Claire’s daughter’s death. I should wait for her to tell me herself. Hold her hand, let her cry on my shoulder, beat on my chest—like I’d wished someone did for me when my mom never came back. I could really be there for her.
I should hear her daughter from her, not the Internet.
I’d seen what loss had done to my dad. The hearsay killed his spirit. My mom’s disappearance ate at his soul. Old newspaper articles didn’t do it justice. That’s why I was here, looking for my mom, trying to squeeze out some answers, allowing my dad to breathe easy again.
After a few more puffs of my stogie, I began to hear barking. Looking across the way, I saw two round eyes and a pair of paws propped up in the window. A faint light flickered from behind Smitty as he cocked his head against the drapery.
Dude looked sad and lonely. Probably just had to take a leak.
A bad idea cropped up in my head as I thought back to the other night.
Had I heard Mary mention a hide-a-key the other night through my screen door? Taking my cigar, I lumbered my way next door, my flip-flops clicking against the concrete the only noise as Smitty eyed me making my way. “I’m coming.”
Picking up a plant, I felt around underneath, finding only a pack of smokes. Setting it down, I noticed one odd-looking stone, larger than the others, in the bottom of the planter. A fake one with a key inside. Bingo—not stopping to consider how nuts this was, or that I wasn’t back home, I grabbed the key.
Just as I was about to put the damn thing in the door, common sense prevailed.
What about an alarm?
Better yet, what the hell was it about this woman?
I’d barely spoken to her, we’d had a few random meet-ups, and now I was at her house, breaking and entering.
It was her. I liked her, physically, but could tell there was more than the surface…and then I heard her.
“I’m walking down my driveway, Laur. Don’t worry, I’m going to be okay,” she said through sniffling. She rounded the back porch before I could make a break for it, and unfortunately, she screamed into the phone.
