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The House Next Door
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Excerpt
For the Karpsâ
your house isnât exactly next door, but itâs plenty close enough. We couldnât imagine better neighbors or friends.
Prologue
âHurry,â I heard someone say. âHeâs losing a lot of blood.â
Blood?
Stunned, I sat there for I donât know how long, listening to the whir of police sirens. Vaguely aware of flashing lights and a flurry of voices around me.
âMaâam, can you hear me?â one of the voices asks. I squint and look up. Itâs a policeman, his face close to mine. He looks concerned. âAre you okay?â
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I nod my head yes.
âDo you remember what happened?â the cop asks.
Do I? Iâm not sure.
I remember being afraid. Very afraid. A scream. A crash. The screech of metal. And thenâ
Something is trickling down the front of my face. I taste blood. I lift my hand to brush it away, and a sharp pain rips across my elbow. I look down. A bump the size and color of a plum is throbbing there.
The cop calls out to an EMT guy. âSheâs conscious. But her arm looks kinda banged up.â
Suddenly there is a commotion next to me. They have cracked open the door on the driverâs side to get to the driver. More flashing lights. Another ambulance. More voices.
âCome look at this,â someone says, and the cop crosses to the driverâs side. They have lifted the driver out and put him on a gurney. Blood has seeped across his neck, down his shirt.
âHe hit his head on the wheel?â
âThatâs what I thought, at first,â says the EMT guy. âBut look.â
âJesus,â says the cop. âIs thatâŠ?â
âRight,â says the other man. âA bullet hole.â
Suddenly, everything changes.
âMaâam,â the cop says, âI need you to step away from the car.â
Cradling my arm, he helps me onto a gurney. As they wheel me over to an ambulance, I hear the crunch of broken glass. Then I see the second car, on its side, just to the left of mine. Half on, half off the road. The whole front side of it is smashed in. And slumped over the steering wheelâŠ
I know that car. I know that driver! Slowly, bits and pieces of memories start to come back. A pop. A flash of light. And then it hits me: the horror of what Iâve done.
The two men I loveâbruised, bleeding, dyingâmaybe dead?
And, dear God, itâs all my faultâŠ
Chapter 1
Six months earlier
You want to know the whole story? Let me start from the day when everything began to fall apart.
 Â
Just an ordinary school morning.
Joey is scrambling to finish his homework. Caroline is still asleep. Ben canât find his oboe. And my husband and I are arguing.
âThis whole oboe thing is ridiculous,â Ned says, gesturing with a piece of seven-grain toast. âThe kid hates the oboe. He doesnât practice from one week to the next. And why he needs an oboe tutorâŠâ
âSo he can keep up with the other fourth-graders,â I call out from the bottom of the hall closet, on my knees, searching.
âYouâre kidding, right?â Ned yells. But I know what he means. Iâve heard the school orchestra play. Even on a good day, it makes your teeth hurt.
Ben stands there, Pop-Tart in hand, watching as I push aside various snow boots.
âWould it kill you to help me look?â I say.
âMe? Why do I have to help?â
From the kitchen Ned shouts, âBecause itâs your damn oboe. Youâre the one who lost it.â
âI left it right here on the hall table,â Ben says. âDonna mustâve put it somewhere.â
Donna is the cleaning lady who shows up on Mondays, cleans her little heart out, and for the next six days is systematically blamed for everything thatâs lost or broken. Poor Donna has had more things pinned on her than our local supermarket bulletin board.
I get up off my knees. Ned is standing next to me, still fuming. I know I have a choice: Let It Go, as Maggie, our couples therapist, has suggested, or Push Back Gently.
âLook. Heâs finally learning to play the scales properly,â I say. Gently.
âAnd for that I pay seventy-five dollars a week?â
âSeventy-five dollars,â I add, still in my gentlest voice, âis about half what you paid for the tie youâre wearing. Which, incidentally, seems to have a small butter stain on it.â
âWhat? Oh, for Godâs sake.â Ned checks his reflection in our hall mirror. âI just got this tie. Itâs an Armani. Here,â he says, carefully unknotting it from around his neck and draping it on the hall-closet doorknob. âDrop this at the dry cleaners, will you?â
He bolts up the stairs, two at a time, in search of another tieâthen reappears and kisses me good-bye. His lips miss my cheek entirely. I wait to see if he notices that I have chopped three inches off my hair since yesterday, and Iâve gone from Deep Chestnut to Honey Brown. He doesnât.
âBe home late again,â he says, checking his reflection one last time in the hall mirror. âAsshole client meeting that doesnât start till six.â Then he grabs his car keys and leaves.
We soon find the oboe, of course.
In the one place Iâm never allowed to look.
Chapter 2
Welcome to Benâs bedroom.
I am a Navy SEAL, cautiously making my way through enemy territory. I step carefully to avoid minefields.
No. Wait.
I am actually your basic forty-four-year-old suburban mom, cautiously making my way through piles of clothing scattered on the floor. It all needs washing, but I am under strict orders never to pick up anything I find lying there. This, as a result of accidentally laundering various dollar bills, student IDs, and cell phones left in pockets that I forgot to check.
A foot from Benâs trundle bed, I spot the corner of something leathery and brown peeking out from under an Imagine Dragons T-shirt. Sure enough, itâs the oboe case. I lift it up, shake off some Cheez Doodle dust, and carry it downstairs.
Ben frowns and says, âDad said I didnât have to go.â
âHe said no such thing. Now go get your backpack. And where are your brother and sister? Joey! Caroline! Itâs eight twenty-five.â
Caroline comes down the stairs, a vision of long blond hair and denim, holding her sixth-grade science project: a mock-up of the Mount St. Helens volcano, molded out of Play-Doh. Sheâs only eleven. But with her blond curls and deep blue eyes, someday soon sheâs going to break some hearts.
Joey, age sixteen, appears on the top landingâhigh tops untied, hair gelled and standing straight up so that he resembles a hedgehog. He gallops down the stairs.
âCareful!â I say, as he zips past Caroline. âAnd would it kill you to carry that for your sister?â
âNo! Heâll tip it!â she says, hoisting the volcano high above her head.
âFine. Whatever. Can we just get going?â
Then the usual mad scrambleâlunch bags grabbed, jackets pulled from hooks, protein bars shoved into pockets, the three of them pushing through the front door and arguing over who gets the front seat. Another morning gotten through. I take out my keys and am about to lock up.
And thatâs when the phone rings.
Chapter 3
âMaybe theyâre calling to say itâs a snow day,â Ben says.
âIn September?â I ask. But he has a point. When the phone rings that early in the morning, itâs generally someone from the school phone chain with news of a weather day, an early closing, orâthese daysâa bomb threat.
I go back and answer it.
âHello,â says a male voice. âIs this Laura Sherman?â The voice is warm and friendlyâtwo things I have no time for.
âSorry. Weâre on the do-not-call list,â I say.
I am about to hang up, when the voice gets more insistent.
âLaura, wait! Please. My name is Vince Kelso.â
âLook, if youâre running for officeâŠâ
âIâm your new neighbor. At thirty-seven Maple.â
Thirty-seven Maple. The house next door. A total eyesore. The house had been vacant for quite a while. We were hoping someone would buy it and tear it down. But my friend Darcy, whose house is on the other side, said people moved in last week. She went over with brownies and rang the bell. No one answered. She left the brownies and a note asking them to call if they needed anything.
She never heard from them.
âMy gosh. I owe you an apology,â I say. âIâve been meaning to stop by and bring over a plant or something andâŠâ
âNo problem,â he says. âBut I was wondering if I could ask a favor.â
âSure. I mean, I guess. Look, Mr. KelsoâŠâ
âVince,â he says. âPlease. Call me Vince.â
âVince. I donât mean to be rude, but my kids are waiting in the car.â
I look out the window to see if this is true. It is. Joey is in the front seat of our dusty Volvo wagon, practicing his best Justin Bieber pout in the rearview mirror. Ben and Caroline are in the back, arguing. As I watch, Ben hits Caroline over the head with his lunch bag. The bag breaks.
âI donât know a soul here. I was wondering if you could pick my son Vinny up after school today and take him to soccer practice.â
âToday? Gee,â I say, letting my eyes wander to our lawn. The grass needs cutting, and the garbagemen have left our big plastic garbage bins sprawled in the gutter. âTodayâs a little tough. See, Thursdayâs my busiest day. First thereâs my daughterâs dance class. Then I have to get my son across town for his oboe lesson andâŠâ
âI would never be asking,â he continues âbut my wife is suddenly quite ill. They had to take her awayâŠâ
âOh. GoshâŠâ
âAnd youâre my last hope.â
âMe?â
I hear him take a deep breath. Then he says, quietly, âHoney, Iâm all alone hereâŠand I could really use a friend.â
âOf course,â I say.
âSwell,â he says. Swell? Where is this guy from? The 1950s?
âI heard you were an angel,â he says, sweetly. âI guess they were right.â
Whoâs âtheyâ? I want to ask. Certainly no one in my immediate family.
But he has already hung up.
Chapter 4
I lock the front door behind me and walk to my Volvo wagon. As I get closer to the car, I see Benâs peanut butter and jelly sandwich glued to the rear seat.
âBen hit me with his lunch,â Caroline says.
âIt was her fault,â Ben says. âShe started it. She wouldnât move her stupid feet.â
âShut up,â Caroline says.
âHey! We donât use words like that,â I say, pulling out of the driveway.
âYes, we do,â Joey says. âAll the time.â
âWellâwe shouldnât,â I say. So much for todayâs lesson in parenting. We drive past the post office, the Stop & Shop, the dry cleaners (damnâI left Nedâs tie hanging on the doorknob). We drop Joey off at the high school. They are still arguing about whose foot belongs where.
But Iâm lost in thought, wondering about the weird phone call.
âWhat do you guys know about Vinny Kelso?â I ask as we make a left onto the street that leads to the school.
âHeâs new,â says Ben.
âKeep going. Whatâs he like?â
âNobody likes him.â
âAnd why is that?â I ask. The crossing guard in a shiny yellow vest holds up a hand to let a bunch of students cross.
âHeâs a nerd. He reads all the time.â
âWell, shame on him,â I say. âHow does he expect to make friends, with an attitude like that? No wonder everybody hates him. But I bet youâve been kind to him. Right, Ben? Taken him under your wing. Shown him the ropes.â I keep my eyes on the road, but Iâm sure Ben is squirming in the back.
âWellâŠI heard his mother got sick,â Ben says, desperate to change the subject.
âReally?â
âYeah. Casey in my class said she heard two teachers talking.â
âThat must be pretty scary for Vinny. For all of them.â Suddenly, my heart goes out to the Kelsos. New in town. Family emergency. No one to turn to.
âWhy are you asking about him?â Ben asks.
âWeâre going to do his dad a favor today. Weâre driving Vinny to soccer.â
âOh, Ma. Please, no!â Ben says. A look of horror crosses his face. I get it: an unpopular, possibly uncool kid will be sitting next to him in our car. If anybody seesâŠBenâs a goner.
We are almost at the school parking lot. I swing the car around and let them off in one mad rush of coats and science projects and lunch bags. The car gets very quiet all of a sudden. Then Ben, standing on the curb, taps on the window.
âDonât expect me to pay for your lunch,â I say. âThatâs what you get for hitting your sister with a sandwich.â
âNo. I was just thinking: why did they ask us?â
âThey didnât ask us. They asked me.â
âWhy didnât they ask Darcy? She lives next door to them, too.â
âI dunno. Maybe they didnât like her brownies.â
He shrugs and runs up the steps just as the bell rings. The heavy metal door slams behind him.
As I drive off, though, I realize the kidâs got a point. Darcy left them a note, with her phone number on it.
So: why me?
Chapter 5
When I go back home to pick up Nedâs tie, the dust balls meet me at the door. I know theyâve missed me, because they follow me from room to room. To kill time, I vacuum the whole house. Then I write a few checks. Then I empty the dishwasher.
I can put it off no longer. Iâve got to deal with Harry.
Harry, the H of H & M Cleaners, is standing behind the counter as I walk through the door. As always, heâs frowning. He is a short, stubby man with deep lines in his face from intense scowling. Harry wears granny glasses that are always speckled with dirt.
âHello,â I say, pulling the butter-stained tie out of my bag.
âYouâll have it Tuesday,â he answers, curling the tie around his hand and dropping it on the counter. Thatâs Harryâs way of saying Hello. Nice to see you again. Howâs the family? Harry and my son Joey must be enrolled in the same charm school.
Harry punches a few numbers into his computer, prints a receipt, and peels it in half. I get the pink half.
âCan I have it tomorrow?â
âYou want it tomorrow, you should have brought it in yesterday.â
âBut it only got stained today.â
Harry shrugs. âSo what do you want me to do?â
âI want you to have it tomorrow. Look,â I say. Then I point to a huge faded sign that has been hanging there since 1967. âIt says IN BY TEN, OUT BY THREE.â
âLook yourself,â he says. âItâs ten fifteen.â
âBut todayâs only Thursday. What if I brought it in tomorrow before ten? Would I have it tomorrow by three?â
Harry shrugs. âI canât promise anything. Tomorrow is the weekend.â
I get back in the car and slam the door. Iâm annoyed at Harry, but just as annoyed at Ned, who insists I go to H & M Cleaners. I donât understand a lot of things Ned insists on. Mouthwashes that burn. Sitting in the first row of a movie theater. Then again, when we were dating and I accidentally got pregnant with Joey, another guy mightâve walked. But Ned insisted on marrying me. Youâve got to love a guy like that.
And I do. Most of the time.
Once Joey was born, Ned insisted we move to the suburbs. Overnight, I kissed my half-assed acting career good-bye. Okay. So my life isnât quite Shangri-la. But I canât complain (although I do, all the time, in couples therapy). I have a lot of laughs with the kids. Ned is a pretty good father. Life could be a lot worse.
And when I read all these stories about husbands who cheat and lie and put their family in harmâs wayâI know Ned would never do anything like that.
Chapter 6
âWelcome to Best Buy, sir,â the young salesman in the red T-shirt says, smiling as he greets the customer at the door. âCan I help you find something?â
âNo thanks,â Vince Kelso tells him, waving him off with his hand. He heads deeper into the store, toward the cell phone aisle.
Soon another salesman approachesâthis one bald, with a bad case of acne.
âJust looking,â Vince tells him. Vince wanders around until he sees exactly what heâs looking for: a young salesgirl. She has long red hair and is standing by a cash register.
âI wonder if you could help me,â he asks her.
âSure, sir,â she says. As he expected, she is sweet and perkyâperhaps a trainee, determined to make a good impression.
âSo many cell phones. Whatâs an old guy like me to do?â he says. He shrugs helplessly and looks at the plastic name tag on the young girlâs shirt. âAmber,â he adds.
Amber looks him over. He doesnât seem that oldâway younger than her father. She thinks he was probably cute as a teenager.
She gestures to the aisle behind them and begins the sales pitch they taught her in orientation. âOkay. So, a lot depends on how youâre going to use it. So, like, if you surf the internet, or do a lot of textingâŠâ
âNow, honey,â he says, looking right into her eyes, leaning in so heâs a lot closer to her. âDo I look like a guy who texts a lot?â
She blushes a little. Itâs sweet.
âNo, sirâall I meant wasâŠâ
âActually, Iâm looking for one of those prepaid ones.â
Her face lights up. âOh. Like a disposable? Sure. Those are at the end, over there. Theyâre pretty popular. The contract fees are much less, and you canâŠâ
But heâs already shaking his head.
âIâm a pretty simple guy, Amber. Donât even need a contract. I just want something I can use and then toss.â
âOh!â Amber says. âSo, like, a burner. Hereâs the one most people go with.â She reaches for a black phone in a blister pack, hanging on a hook.
âIâll tell you how good a saleswoman you are,â he says. âIâm gonna take six of âem.â He pulls five more off the rack.
âAwesome,â she says, all smiles. Itâs her biggest sale of the day. Maybe even her biggest sale ever. Vince turns one over, to see the price. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wallet. He peels off four fifty-dollar bills.
âI knew I could count on you, Amber,â he says. âWhy, I bet, if I come back here in ten years, youâre gonna be running the place. Am I right?â
âOh, I donât know about that,â she says. She looks away shyly.
âOne last thing,â he says as he pockets the change. âI donât know this brand. Where do I find the phone number?â
âItâs right inside,â Amber says, cracking open one of the blister cases with the cash register key. âLet me show you.â She pulls out an instruction manual. âOh, lookâyou got a good one. 914-809-1414.â
â914-809-1414. I like that,â Vince says. âEasy to remember. Well, you take care now,â he adds. âAnd remember what I said. Donât let me down.â
âNo, sir,â she replies, smiling. âHave a nice day.â
He winks, puts the phones and the instruction manual in his briefcase, and leaves without taking the receipt.
Chapter 7
The time: 2:30 p.m., outside Copain Woods School. And itâs starting. A snake pit of road rage as the SUVs line up, each driven by an impatient mom or dad, jockeying for position. I like to think of myself as an A-team player at this.
The minutes pass. Suddenly itâs three oâclock. A bell rings. Doors open. Out spills a gaggle of students, grades one through eight. They scatter in all directions in search of a familiar car. Horns honk. Drivers shout names. Caroline spots me quickly and waves. Ben appears behind her. I pull closer to the curb and they both jump in.
âWhereâs Vinny?â I ask. My eyes search the crowd. Down at the end is a face Iâve never seen before. A boy leaning against the building. The kid wears a reddish-brown shirt the same color as the bricks.
âThatâs him,â Ben says, pointing. Then he scoots down in his seat so none of the other middle school kids can see him. I pull closer to Vincent Kelso Junior and roll down the window.
âYou must be Vinny,â I say. âIâm Mrs. Sherman. Hop in.â
Vinny walks slowly. Behind me, the honking grows louder.
âA little faster,â I say sweetly. He has some trouble opening the door. A nice kid, I think. But not too swift.
Genre:
- "Patterson has mastered the art of writing page-turning bestsellers."âChicago Sun-Times
- "The page-turningest author in the game right now."âSan Francisco Chronicle
- "Patterson is a master."âToronto Globe and Mail
- On Sale
- Jan 8, 2019
- Page Count
- 448 pages
- Publisher
- Grand Central Publishing
- ISBN-13
- 9781538713891
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