The Neighbour

The Neighbour



After pulling on her cardigan, Mrs Spaulding walked to the window and parted the curtains. It was a grey, discouraging morning. As usual there wasn’t a great deal activity to be seen. John from next door was taking out the rubbish, while the paper boy whizzed past on his bicycle. It seemed odd to her that the boy was allowed to run papers alone, in light of recent events. He, like Eve, may soon meet trouble in the streets. She reached down for the packet of cigarettes on the coffee table. There wasn’t much point in calling Janet and the girls, lunch would be cancelled again. Stupid weather, there hadn’t been a decent dose of sun in weeks. She put the cigarette to her lips and then struck a match against its box. It was nice to remember how everything has a crisp sound to it in the morning. There was a thud as a paper hit her lawn. She turned and crossed the living room, careful to weave in-between the furniture. It helped to take care; she bruised like a peach these days and was still sore from her fall the other night. Without slippers, the lawn felt damp with dew. Mrs Spaulding bent slowly and lifted the paper. Taking the rubber band off, she unrolled it and turned back indoors. Even without her glasses she recognized what was on the front page. 



There was a large photo of the park where police were using yellow tape to confine a crime scene. In the middle of the scene lay the body, wrapped in black garbage bags.



Now back inside, Mrs Spaulding dropped the paper on the couch. These front page shockers always made her feel a bit jumpy, like she was being watched. She looked around the room. All was as it should be; the velvet pillows arranged neatly in the corners of the couch and armchair, the framed wedding photos of her and Geoffrey posed next to the glass china cabinet, the bowl of rose petals on the mantle piece and there was a quiet tick from the grandfather clock at the back of the room. It was important that Mrs Spaulding kept things ship shape now that Geoffrey was gone; it’s what he would have wanted. She turned to one of his photos on the wall and studied it admiringly. ‘A very proper man,’ she thought, ‘very proper.’

The silence was cut by a shrill ring from her telephone. She approached the phone and waited for it to ring two or three times before lifting the receiver to her ear. She always answered like this, though didn’t know why. Maybe it was based on the same premise as being fashionably late.

“Eve, have you heard?”

It was Janet and she was high as a kite.

“They’ve found the fourth girl.”

“Yes Janet. I had only just seen it in the paper.”

“She has your first name, Eve. Eve Johnson.”

Eve rolled her eyes. Janet had been doing this sort of thing a fair bit lately.

“Yes, I know Janet. I shan’t lose sleep over it.”

“And, have you read the whole article? It says that he takes their jewellery. The police criminologist thinks he’s hoarding it all like trophies.”

“What?”

“Yes, it’s rather chilling isn’t it? There are sketches in the paper of some of the distinctive jewellery, in case anyone recognises it from somewhere. You should have a look, y’a never know.”

“Yes. Well.... thanks Janet. Listen I must go.”

“Already? But I called about lunch?”

“Really Janet. Do you think they would want to come out after all this business?”

“Ah well... yes, I suppose your right. They’re not quite as adventuress as us. Actually, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m rather excited by the whole affair.”

“Oh? What makes you so sure you’re safe?”

“Hah. Don’t be so silly Eve. Anyway, I’ll let you go. Have to dash myself you know; Things to do.”

This caused Eve to wince, she hated being cut off. Suppose Janet was next? It wouldn’t be so bad.

“Goodbye Janet.”

“Ta-tar.”

Eve put the phone down, snatched up the paper and turned to the second page. Pacing back and fourth across the room, she scanned the article. There were three sketches; a coiled opal necklace, a diamond ring and a pendant with a small flower. All of these drawings seemed to be accurately detailed. It was hard to picture the girls wearing them everyday.

Eve suddenly felt very uncomfortable and she had to re-check the room around her. Every thing was in its place. She approached a mirror on the wall. Without makeup her face looked tired and worn. She never felt the same way as she looked these days. Who was that old woman dithering around in her living room? Her creased lips, the wrinkles around her mouth, her watery eyes drooping at the corners and the puffy roundness of her cheeks, made her appearance seem soft, warm and dim-witted. But Eve Spaulding thought of herself as sharp, calculating and experienced.

A loud thrumming of a motor started outside and Eve silently cursed John who had obviously decided that it was a nice time to mow his lawn. She reconsidered her earlier notion, deciding that it would be far better if John was next in line to be knocked off. Now that she thought about it, there were many people in her neighbourhood whom she did not like, but john was by far the most irritating. He was such a strange man; extremely rich, big house, was never married, obsessively neat, pretentiously friendly... no one could ever work it out.

“Perhaps he is gay,” Eve whispered to herself, whilst she tried to flatten her dry curls in front of the mirror. In any case, something about him gave her the willies.   

There was a sharp knock from behind. Startled, she swung around. The door was open from when she had collected her paper and standing in the frame was the very person from her thoughts. John was quite a tall man with broad shoulders; he was always conservatively dressed and had a comb over. There was a stretched grin on his face.

“Morning Neighbour.”

“John.”

“What have you been up to lately?”

“Not much really.” She was keen to skip small talk. He seemed to sense this.

“Listen, I was just getting ready to do a spot of gardening when I realised I had run out of garbage bags to put trimmings in. I don’t suppose I could borrow a couple of yours could I?” Eve sighed heavily. He was a nuisance. She hated the way that he unblinkingly stared at her whilst talking, as if he was a cardboard cut-out with moving lips.

“All right then, come in. the garbage bags are in the cupboard under the sink.”

“Thanks Mrs Spaulding. You shall have them back.”

“Don’t be silly. I don’t want used garbage bags back.” He said nothing, but smiled at her, still staring, whilst he wiped his feet in a mechanical motion on the door mat. The phone rang again and Mrs Spaulding turned to answer whilst John made his way into the kitchen.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, is this Mrs Spaulding of number 32 Avert drive?”

“Yes.”

“Mrs Spaulding, its detective inspector Madsen, I’m investigating into the case of the recent murders in your area. Now, I don’t want you to worry, but I need you to answer a couple of very important questions, ok?” Mrs Spaulding’s heart skipped a beat, but she remained composed.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

She noticed that the detective was speaking rather rapidly, and there was a distant whoosh in the background as if he was driving.

“Firstly, Mrs Spaulding, have you been outside at all today?” There was a loud crash from the kitchen. She tilted her head around the corner to see John, standing over a broken vase on the floor. He was grinning at her. She furrowed her brow at him. Now would be a good time for him to leave.

“Terribly sorry, I’ll tidy up;” he said, emotionlessly. 

“Mrs Spaulding?” Detective Madsen was sounding quite urgent now.

“No detective, I have not been out of the house yet today.”

“Good. And do you know if your neighbour John Turner is in his house?”

“Yes he is home today.”

“But is he in his house at this very moment?” this time the detective could not hide the tension that quivered his voice. Mrs Spaulding looked up at her reflection in the mirror. Her face had gone dead pale. The detective was on his way.

“He is... standing in my kitchen.”

“..........”           



*Would love suggestions on how where to go from here.