Murder Thy Neighbor Page 2

  “The neighborhood association is meeting next week,” she tells him. “Would you like to come with me? I think it would be great if you could meet everyone else.”

  Roy smiles broadly.

  “I’d like that a lot,” he says.

  Chapter 4

  Everyone,” Ann says to the dozen homeowners crammed into the small conference room, “I’d like you to meet my new neighbor, Roy Kirk.”

  Roy, seated next to her, rises and gives everyone a friendly wave. The attendees, a sampling of people living in North Hills Estates, all welcome Roy enthusiastically.

  The neighborhood group is a mix of people, ranging from young homeowners to retirees, day laborers to lawyers. They have one thing in common—they love their neighborhood and want to see it thrive. Everyone present is on the board of trustees, but the meetings are rather informal conversations. The group currently has no president, no secretary, no treasurer. All the board members want to help improve the community, but no one can put in the time commitment needed to take the group to the next level.

  “Roy,” says Marjorie Wilson, whose property is just a few houses down from Ann and Roy’s, “tell us a little about what you’ve got in mind for your house.”

  “Total renovation,” he says. “There’s a lot of rotten wood inside. Some mold. I’m stripping everything down. The place is going to look like new.”

  As Roy talks, Ann can tell that the other members of the association are thrilled with what he has to say. They’ve all shared Ann’s displeasure with the building standing vacant for so long.

  “I actually have two houses in the neighborhood,” Roy says. “Both on Lawn Street. I’m living in the other one right now, trying to fix them both up.”

  The conversation moves to a discussion about the neighborhood cleanup planned in a few weeks. As the hour-long meeting wraps up, everyone seems satisfied that they’ve accomplished a lot in their discussion.

  “I only wish we could do more,” Marjorie comments as an aside.

  “Why don’t we?” Roy asks.

  Every head turns to Roy, who’d been silent during the earlier conversation.

  “What do you have in mind?” asks Ted Fontana, a high school teacher who lives a few blocks away.

  Roy leans forward, like someone who’s been waiting for the right time to speak.

  “Ann and I were talking,” he says, “and it seems like there’s so much more this association could do. I’m talking about community events that will bring everyone together. Easter egg hunt. Fourth of July barbecue. A trick-or-treat night on Halloween. At Christmastime, we could do an event with Santa. Families can come down, get some hot chocolate, get a picture taken with Santa and his elves.”

  “Come down where?” Ted asks. “That’s the problem. We don’t have anywhere to host these kinds of events.”

  “What we really need is a park,” Ann says.

  “Yes,” Roy says, smacking his hand down on the table. “Why don’t we work on getting a park?”

  In the past, when the association discussed the idea, it had always been with a sense of defeat. It’s too bad we don’t have a park. But Roy’s enthusiasm makes the others excited. Even Ann, who has always felt a park is a long shot, finds herself caught up in the zeal.

  Ann offers to help find a property owner who might donate a plot of land for a community park. Soon the conversation has taken a new direction, how they need to recruit more members to the association so they can use the dues to build up a savings account.

  “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Ted says. “We don’t even have a president. I think that’s the first step.”

  Ted’s words have the effect of throwing cold water on a fire. Everyone is brought back down to earth, realizing that talking about all their lofty ambitions isn’t the same as trying to put them into effect.

  “I’ll be the president,” Roy says, smiling at the group.

  “That would be fantastic,” Marjorie says.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?” Ann asks Roy.

  “Absolutely,” he says. “I’ve got the time. I can do it.”

  Ann says she’d be happy to work with him to discuss fund-raising.

  “I move that we make Roy Kirk president of the neighborhood association,” Marjorie says.

  “I second the motion,” Ted says.

  “All in favor?”

  Everyone in the room raises their hand and says, “Aye!”

  It’s unanimous.

  Chapter 5

  A few weeks later, Ann comes home from a morning walk to find Roy hard at work. His front door is hanging open, and the young man wrestles out a broken, water-stained sheet of drywall. He drags it down the porch steps and lays it on a growing stack, flattening the weeds. Before he turns to walk back into the house, Roy spots Ann approaching and offers her a bright smile.

  “Making progress,” he says.

  His short hair is damp and beads of sweat stand out on his forehead.

  Ann smiles at him and tells him to let her know if he needs anything.

  “Maybe a glass of water,” he says. “I forgot my water is shut off.”

  Ann is happy to do it. She walks into her house and takes a Tupperware cup out of her cupboard. As she’s reaching into her ice tray, she can hear loud noises from next door—the sound of Roy ripping out more drywall. The sound stops for a moment and then, as she’s turning from the freezer to the sink, a thunderous banging vibrates the room. The noise is so clear through the shared wall that it startles Ann, and she almost drops the water cup. As the banging continues, she collects herself and runs the tap until the water turns cold.

  What on earth is Roy doing next door?

  After filling the cup, she lets herself into Roy’s house. The front hall is filled with tools and equipment: hammers, saws, boxes of nails. The only light comes from the windows. As she steps deeper into the hallway, it becomes harder to see. What light is available is so bright, it makes the shadows even darker. She stubs her toe on a broken piece of two-by-four lying on the floor.

  The noise, she realizes, is coming from upstairs. She climbs the dark corridor, her feet crunching dirt and debris. When she makes it to what she assumes is the bedroom—the house’s layout mirrors her own—she finds Roy bathed in sunlight. He swings a sledgehammer against the studs in a wall already stripped of its Sheetrock. The board breaks free of its nails and dangles from the ceiling. He repositions the hammer and takes a wild swing, knocking the two-by-four free. It clatters against the floor, joining a handful of others. Nails jut out of each end of the board, like some kind of medieval weapon.

  “Oh, thanks,” Roy says, noticing Ann standing a safe distance from the doorway.

  “Are you sure that’s not a load-bearing wall?” Ann says, pointing to the wall he is currently disassembling.

  “I’m sure,” he says, taking a drink.

  The room is in disarray, with hunks of drywall piled in the corner on top of a mound of pink insulation, which looks wet and spotted with black stains. The state of the house is worse than she realized—much worse than her house when she first moved in. The walls are water‑damaged, the boards rotting, the plaster falling off in clumps. The room feels dank, and even though the window is open, there’s a strong smell, like socks that have been left in a gym bag for too long.

  “I know,” Roy says, without Ann needing to say anything. “I’ve got my work cut out for me, don’t I?”

  Ann offers him a sympathetic smile.

  “I know good contractors,” she says. “Want me to give you some numbers?”

  “Nah,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m going to do everything myself. It will take longer, but I’ll save money.”

  “You know how to do all this?” she says, gesturing to the mess around him.

  “What I don’t, I’ll figure out,” he says. “Can’t be that hard, right?”

  Ann doesn’t answer. When it came to renovating her home, there was so much she didn’t know.

  Does Roy realize what he’s gotten himself into?

  Chapter 6

  Roy thanks Ann for the glass of water. Before she leaves, she hesitates. She’s been wanting to talk to him about something, but she isn’t sure if now is the right time. She takes a deep breath.

  If not now, when?

  “Let me ask you something,” she says. “Can you come out onto the porch with me?”

  He follows, taking a drink as he walks. Out on the porch, Ann points to the wooden railing that runs around the perimeter—half on her property, half on his. The paint has long since flaked off and the handrail and the balusters are rotting. A few have come loose from the railing and lean at uneven angles.

  “I’ve gotten a quote to replace all of these porch railings,” Ann explains, hoping Roy will be okay with what she has to say. “To do it right, we really need to replace all the wood at once.”

  This is one of the last pieces of work she wants to do on her property. She’s waited until now because she needs the consent of the next-door owner to do it.

  “It will look like crap if it’s only on one side,” she says. “All the wood should match.”

  “Let me take care of it,” he says. “I’ll save us both some money.”

  Ann was afraid he would say this. On the list of repairs Roy needs to make on his side of the property, fixing the porch railing can’t be a high priority. Judging by how slowly he seems to be making progress on his own side—he’s only there one or two days a week—she doubts he would get to it anytime soon.

  “I’d really love to have this taken care of,” she says. “And I’ve seen the work this guy does. It’s fabulous. If you’re okay with it, I’m willing to pay for your half.”

  “I could
n’t let you do that,” Roy says, looking around, as if thinking about what the work would entail.

  Ann feels nervous; she likes Roy, but she doesn’t want to give in and let him do the work. She hasn’t seen any of his craftsmanship yet—only his demolition—but he doesn’t strike her as capable of professional-level work. And she thinks the quote she’s been given is very reasonable.

  She doesn’t want to get into a fight with her new neighbor, though.

  “Let’s just put the idea on hold,” Ann says. “You’ve got bigger jobs on your to-do list. And this porch has looked like crap for a while now. It can wait a little longer.”

  Roy looks around again.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he says. “You go ahead and get your contractor to do the work. I’ll pay half. It’s a good idea. It will make the place look better while I concentrate on more important things.”

  “You sure?” Ann says, relieved.

  “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Who knows when I’ll get to it anyway.”

  “Thanks,” she says. “I really appreciate this.”

  “We’re neighbors,” he says. “We’re in this together.”

  Chapter 7

  One morning in midsummer Ann is sitting on the porch, drinking a cup of coffee and admiring the craftsmanship of the new railing and balusters, when Roy pulls up in his pickup truck. It’s the first time he’s been back since she had the work on their porch done.

  Seeing him pull up, she has a moment of panic. She has a crazy thought that he’ll forget he consented to the work. Or that he’ll object to not having given input on what it would look like. Or that he’ll find some problem with the craftsmanship.

  “Wow,” he says as he comes up the walk. “This looks great!”

  Ann smiles, relieved, and invites him to sit down. She’s been anxious to talk to him about his plans for the homeowners’ association. The next meeting is coming up, and she’d like to at least show up being able to say that she and Roy have discussed a plan of how to proceed.

  But Roy declines her invitation to sit. He says he has work to do.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been MIA,” he says. “I’ve been tied up with other things. I’m trying to buy another house.”

  “Another one?” Ann says, unable to hide her surprise.

  “Yeah. It’s not far from here.”

  “You sure you can handle three houses?” Ann asks, wishing he would focus on repairing the houses he already has before buying another.

  “Actually,” he tells her, smiling sheepishly, “this will be eight.”

  “Eight!” Ann exclaims, her eyes going wide.

  He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “They’re so rundown that the prices are a steal,” he says. “I got one for less than two thousand bucks. This one,” he adds, gesturing to the property adjoining Ann’s home, “was only sixty-eight hundred.”

  Right, Ann thinks, but the reason they’re all so cheap is because they need a lot of work. Having seen the inside of Roy’s property, she can only guess how much it’s going to cost him to fix it up. The house might have been inexpensive, but the renovations won’t be.

  Roy doesn’t appear concerned. He seems his usual enthusiastic, unflappable self.

  He walks down to his truck and hauls a bundle of long extension cords from the passenger seat. He drops the end of one coil in the front yard and then begins to walk down the sidewalk, unspooling it as he goes. “Just going to run this down to my other house so I can use the electricity,” he explains to Ann.

  He doesn’t ask Ann if he can plug the extension cord into one of her outlets, which would certainly be easier than linking several cords and running them down the block. She considers making the offer, but refrains. She wants to be neighborly, but she’s afraid if she gives an inch, he’ll end up taking a mile. Would he expect to use her electricity whenever he was making repairs? Would he want to use it even when she wasn’t home?

  She likes Roy. She does. He seems like a nice guy who means well. But so far she’s been unimpressed with his ability to actually get anything done.

  A few minutes later, Roy comes walking up the sidewalk again, smiling. He doesn’t seem to be bothered in the least that she didn’t offer to let him use her outlet. He takes a few tools out of his truck—a hammer, a level, a chalk line—and carries them into the house. He comes back out a moment later and starts unloading sheets of plywood from the bed of his truck. He wrestles the sheets one by one through the front door.

  Again, Ann thinks about offering to help, but this isn’t the kind of work she’s used to doing. She can paint and patch drywall, but carrying a four-by-eight board that probably weighs forty pounds is exactly the type of thing that she hired professionals to do.

  A few minutes after Roy gets the last sheet inside the house, the circular saw fires up, carrying its squealing sound outside.

  So much for her peaceful morning on the porch.

  But Ann isn’t irritated. In fact, she couldn’t be happier that Roy has started working again.

  As she heads into her house, it occurs to her that Roy never mentioned paying her back for the work on his side of the porch. She wonders if she’ll ever see that money. As long as Roy fixes his side of the row house into something halfway decent, she decides, she won’t press him about the payment.

  It seems like a small price to pay to finally have the house next door looking livable.

  Chapter 8

  What a storm,” Ann remarks. She’s on the phone with her neighbor, Marjorie Wilson, and cradles the receiver in the crook of her neck as she pulls back the curtain to look outside.

  Rain pours down in thick streaks, shimmering in the light from the streetlamps. The roadway is a stream of water, and as a car drives by, it sends waves into the air on both sides.

  “Forecasters are predicting rain all week,” Marjorie tells her.

  Ann’s downspout gushes water, creating a small pond in her front yard. On Roy’s side of the porch, where there are no rain gutters, the water falls from the roof in sheets. His yard is full of junk—garbage bags, piles of broken two-by-fours, the Sheetrock he ripped out months ago—and all of it is getting soaked.

  Ann says, “We’ll be lucky if we don’t lose elect—”

  Before she can finish the sentence, lightning flashes and thunder cracks so loudly that she flinches, almost dropping the receiver.

  “Wow!” Marjorie says. “That one made me jump.”

  Ann walks into her kitchen. She switches the cordless telephone to her other ear and begins tidying up. She wipes the counter down and puts the dishes in the drying rack away.

  Marjorie changes the subject from the weather to the reason she called.

  “Do you know if the association is meeting this week?” Marjorie asks.

  Ann takes a deep, exasperated breath. “I have no idea,” she says.

  Roy canceled the last meeting, and there’s been no word yet if the next scheduled meeting is going to happen. Because Ann is Roy’s neighbor—and she’s the one who brought him to that first meeting—everyone keeps asking her for updates, as if she’s become his personal secretary. Her enthusiasm over him becoming president four months ago has long since abated.

  “I say we meet with or without Roy,” Ann says. “We didn’t have a president before. So what if our president isn’t around now?”

  “Do you think he’ll be mad if we meet without him?”

  “How can he be mad?” Ann says. “He hasn’t done anything as president. Does he expect us to sit around and wait for him?”

  Ann doesn’t say what she’s really thinking, that having Roy as president has actually been worse than having no one at all. Before, someone would step up and do the work. Things got done. Now that everyone assumes Roy will take care of things, nothing ever gets done.

  “I’m sure Roy’s busy,” Marjorie says. “He’s got eight houses, after all.”