I stop at the mailbox, watching the pale corellas feed in noisy flocks on the manicured ground. The nicest house on the block. Currently owned by Jeff Johnson, who inherited it from his late mother last year. I hesitate, chewing my lip and wondering if this will end with another heavy door slammed in my face.
I walk to his front door and marvel at the stained glass spraying red-gold light over my shirt. God, even his front door is glorious. I knock softly, two self-conscious raps that not even the birds hear. But Jeff Johnson does because he barks, “Just a minute!” so viciously, that I already want to apologize. I wait, rocking back and forth on my heels, desperately nervous with a heavy foreboding that this is not going to go well.Jeff Johnson’s the current chairman of the board of the town meetings. He’s actively campaigned to get Black Wood bulldozed.
He flings the door open. My mouth slackens in surprise.
“What do you want?”
Jeff Johnson is mid-thirties, rugged in that “I spend all my time at the gym” way. But there’s something vicious about him. I open my mouth to answer, but it’s not quick enough, apparently.
“Well?” He raises an eyebrow. I hate that I wipe my sweaty palms on my tracksuit pants before answering.
“Hi, I’m—”
“Sarah,” he says impatiently, looking over my shoulder as if he’s bored of me already. “Yeah, I know who you are. What do you want?”
“I bought Black Wood House in April.” He makes me so uneasy that I start to babble. “Was just wondering if you knew the lady who bought it before me—”
“I don’t know anything about that,” he says sternly, starting to close the door. “You can get off my property now.”
I poke my toe forward so he can’t shut the door. “How could you not know anything? Nobody’s lived at Black Wood since the eighties, and you’re telling me you didn’t notice her moving in?”
He eyes me with disappointment like I’m a slovenly teen. My toe is still firmly wedged in his door. He opens it wider, and I wonder if it’s to show off the spectacular scene behind him: marble tile floors and an impressive vaulted foyer lit by two stunning chandeliers. The walls are rose pink, and the L-shaped couch is butter yellow. The house has a decidedly mumsy feel, and I don’t see much of the man standing before me in it.
I think of Black Wood with its Formica floor and blank, soulless bedrooms with flaking paint. It really is a monstrosity compared to the rest of the street, and with its gruesome history, God, no wonder they all want it bulldozed. I realize I’ve been staring wide-eyed at the gleaming marble floors, and when I straighten up and compose myself, I can tellhe hasn’t missed my reaction. He gives me a smug asshole smile, one that says,Yes, this is my house. Nicer than yours, isn’t it?
But it’s not his house. He didn’t work for this. Probably never worked hard a day in his life. He has that cozy assurance of someone who grew up rich. Someone who never dreaded an aching tooth because there’s no way in hell they could afford a dentist. Whose mum never served the same damn cheese and tomato toasted sandwiches every night for a month, until she couldn’t even be bothered to do that anymore.
I force myself to lean in. “But if youdidknow something…”
He doesn’t even blink, just runs a casual hand through his thick blond hair. He’s dressed nicely—indigo jeans, black bomber jacket that brings out the blue in his eyes. I wonder why he isn’t at work, and then I wonder if he evenhasa job.
“Amanda disappeared from Black Wood,” I tell him, though of course he already knows this. “No one’s seen her since.”
He just stands there looking like he doesn’t give a shit. I’m shocked when he raises his chin and demands, “Who says she disappeared?”
I open my mouth.
“There’s no evidence she disappeared,” he says, beating me to it. “She probably left Black Wood because she was afraid.”
I freeze. “Afraid of what?”
He shrugs, leans against the doorframe, like he’s got all day to talk. “It’s a dangerous place, Black Wood,” he says meaningfully. “You never know what could happen there.”
I step back, sweat gathering on my forehead.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask him shakily.
Silence. The hairs on my forearms stand up, and the primal part of my brain is telling me to run. Just how dangerousisthis man?
A cruel grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, and it turns my blood cold. “It’s no place for a woman alone at night,” he says coolly, eyes lingering on me. “But then, you’re not alone at night, are you? Got your cat with you. And your husband. Though”—he gives me a mockingsmile—“I notice his car’s never in the driveway. I guess he doesn’t sleep there much.”
I don’t even care about the slight about my marriage. Reaper. How does he know about Reaper? I swallow. “How’d you know I have a cat?”
He waves my question away like a fly. “Someone musta told me.”
Bullshit. No one could have told him about Reaper. Only Emily knows about him. I bite my lip, wondering how I can call him out on this obvious lie when I notice his eyes darkening. “I hate cats.”
I want to go now. I really want to go. I turn around, nervous that my back is to him. What if he were to drag me inside? Nobody knows I’m here. Is that what happened to Amanda? Did he pull her into his house, murder her? Dump her body somewhere? My eyes drift to Black Wood Forest, just down the road. God. What a perfect place to dump a body…
