Murder Thy Neighbor Page 5

  “Roy,” Rebecca says, her breathing shallow. “I’ve gotta go.”

  “Okay,” he says, without looking away.

  It’s as if he’s caught in a trance.

  Rebecca hurries from the house, almost in a run. The screeching of the mice in the hallway seems to follow her out into the street. She forgot her umbrella but doesn’t go back to get it. The cold rain actually feels good against her hot, clammy skin.

  Partway down the block, she stops and puts her hand on a street sign to steady her trembling legs. She gulps in air, quelling the panic attack threatening to overtake her.

  When she’s finally calmed her nerves, she looks up and realizes she’s right in front of Roy’s other house, the one that’s been such a source of trouble.

  All it takes is a glance at the row house—the siding coming off, the boarded windows, the pile of garbage bags in the yard—and she finds herself agreeing with the woman who lives next door. Any reasonable person would want Roy to do something about the place.

  What the hell is happening to my fiancé? she thinks.

  Chapter 17

  Ann peeks out her front window.

  Roy stands in his yard in the bright sunlight, talking to a man wearing a tie and holding a clipboard. The man had pulled up in a van with CITY OF PITTSBURGH stenciled on the door. Ann can’t hear what they’re saying.

  The man points to the garbage and construction debris in the yard, the black bags beaded with water from last night’s rain. Roy scratches his head, looking sheepish. Next, Roy escorts the man into the house. They’re in there for what feels like an excruciatingly long time. Finally, Ann hears the men talking in the backyard, and she peeks through another curtain at them chatting outside.

  Roy is all smiles—the same charismatic guy who’d charmed the neighborhood board when she first introduced him.

  Ann doesn’t like the idea of eavesdropping, but she leans in close to the window to try to hear.

  “I know who ratted me out,” Roy says jokingly.

  “We got a call about the property,” the inspector says. “I can tell you that, but I can’t say who it was from.”

  “Oh, I know that,” Roy says, jovial. “But I know it’s my neighbor over here. You can assure her that I’ll be getting all of this taken care of right away. She doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

  The inspector makes a few more notes on his clipboard, then he pulls off a sheet of paper and hands it to Roy.

  “Thanks for helping me out today,” Roy says, still grinning. “I learned a lot about building code.”

  The two shake hands, and they walk around the side of the house toward the front. Ann hurries down the hall and looks out the front window.

  Roy walks the inspector to his vehicle and waves as he drives away. As soon as the van is gone, the mask on Roy’s face—the friendly, likable young-man mask—disappears and is replaced by someone angry as hell.

  He heads right for her door.

  “Oh, no,” Ann whispers and retreats into her house.

  Roy begins pounding on her door, much as she’d done to his before.

  “I know you’re in there!” Roy practically shouts. “I know you ratted me out!”

  Ann feels the compulsion to hide, but she doesn’t want to back down to Roy—she’s in the right here, damn it!

  She opens the door but doesn’t step outside.

  Roy takes the piece of paper in his hand and shakes it in front of her face.

  “I hope you’re happy,” he says. “I have to appear in housing court now. And he’s going to send the city health inspector out here, too.”

  “It’s not my fault,” Ann snaps, pointing to the garbage in front of the house. “You’ve got rats, Roy. I’ve seen more and more of them.”

  “They’re going to fine me, you know,” he says, his tone going from angry to exasperated. “I don’t have this kind of money to just throw away.”

  He steps away from the door and heads to the edge of the porch. Ann interprets this as an invitation to step outside. She doesn’t want to, but she decides to anyway.

  “I’m doing the best I can here,” Roy says, his tone now one of desperation. “This is just going to set me back. Can you just get off my back and let me finish the work?”

  “All I want is for you to finish,” Ann says, her exasperation matching his. “I want that more than anyone. Probably more than you.”

  “This is my dream project,” Roy says. “I’m going to finish if it kills me.”

  “Roy,” Ann says, trying to take as calm a tone as possible. “It’s time for you to get some help. You can still do a lot of the work, but you need to get some professionals here to help you.”

  “I can’t afford that,” he says. “All my money is tied up in these houses.”

  “Then sell one of them,” she says. “Sell all of them.”

  “The idea of flipping houses is to make a profit,” he says. “I can’t get what I paid for this. I need to fix it up before I can sell it.”

  Ann feels a pang of sympathy. It’s obvious Roy’s taken on more than he can actually handle, and he can’t see a way out. But clearly the answer isn’t to continue what he’s been doing.

  “I just wish you’d get off my back,” Roy says.

  “I’m not being unreasonable,” Ann says. “No one would want to live next to this.”

  Roy glares at her again. It’s eerie how quickly his expressions can change—how he can look like a helpless, hapless boy one second, then an angry, intimidating man the next.

  “Leave me alone, Ann,” Roy says, flinging his front door open. “Or you’ll be sorry.”

  He doesn’t slam his door. He shuts it calmly, as if they’d just had an ordinary conversation. The calmness is almost worse; it feels more calculated, which is especially unsettling considering he just threatened her.

  Ann stares at his door, trembling, before finally walking back into her house. She paces down her hallway, sits down at her piano, tries to play. Then she realizes she doesn’t want to be in her house—doesn’t feel safe in it—and grabs her keys and leaves.

  Down the street, out of sight of her home, she leans against a brick building and puts her head in her hands.

  She sobs.

  She doesn’t know what to do, what her next step is. She hates that her home, the place where she once felt more at peace than any other place in the world, is no longer her sanctuary.

  She wipes her tears away, tries to collect herself. This isn’t who she is. She feels a growing sense of resolve. She’s no pushover.

  If Roy Kirk wants a war, she’ll give him one.

  Chapter 18

  Thank you all for coming on such short notice.”

  Ann stands before the neighborhood association board. It’s mid-January, and one of her New Year’s resolutions was to address the problem with her neighbor head-on. No more messing around. She’s not going to spend another eight months waiting for him to finally do something.

  “I want you all to know,” she says, “that Roy Kirk is scheduled to appear in housing court. He is facing hefty fines from both the city housing department and the health department. I am here today,” she adds, “to ask if you’ll join me in testifying against him.”

  The board members look around at each other, murmuring their surprise. Luckily, this time Roy isn’t in the room, glaring at her. But she’s just as nervous as she was when she pushed for the vote of no confidence.

  “Ann,” Henry says, “I’m not sure this is the appropriate venue.”

  “There’s a blight in our neighborhood,” Ann says, “and the man responsible refuses to do anything about it. This affects all of us.”

  Most people look skeptical, but Marjorie Wilson speaks up, saying she knows someone in the area trying to sell their home.

  “They were shocked when the assessor came and valued their house at less than expected,” Marjorie tells the group. “When they asked what was wrong, the assessor told them plain and simple, ‘It’s that house down the street—the one with all the garbage in the yard.’”

  Several people in the room look stunned, wondering what this means for their own home values.

  “It’s called external obsolescence,” Ann explains. “That’s when factors outside of your property can affect its value. I talked to a lawyer and he says our property values—all of our property values—could be as much as 10 percent lower as a result of Roy Kirk’s dereliction. His other properties could be having the same effect.”

  “But what good is going to court going to do?” Henry asks. “I don’t want to make life harder for the guy.”

  “That’s the other thing,” Ann says. “I plan to file an injunction that will compel him to fix the problem.”

  “A lawsuit?” Henry asks.

  “Yes,” Ann says. “And I’d like you all to join me as co-plaintiffs.”

  Henry shakes his head, suggesting Ann is going too far. But others don’t look so uncertain—they want something done about Roy’s property almost as much as Ann does.

  “My lawyer explained that there are three steps you should take when in a dispute like this,” Ann says.

  The first, she says, is to try to work it out with your neighbor.

  “I’ve tried that, and it hasn’t done any good.”

  The second step is to notify the city to enforce its codes. She’s tried that, too, but so far Roy hasn’t addressed any of the building and health inspectors’ concerns.

  “Filing a lawsuit should be the last resort,” Ann says. “But I’m sorry to say I—we—have arrived at the last resort. It’s clear that Roy Kirk is not going to fix up his house on Lawn Street unless he’s forced to do so.”

  Ann explains the logistics of the suit—who her lawyer is, how to join the suit, the timeline for filing, potential outcomes. And even if people don’t want to join, she encourages them to still attend the court hearing and testify about what they’ve witnessed regarding Roy’s property.

  Marjorie says she’ll join. Ted Fontana also agrees. So do a few more, though others are on the fence. Some are adamant that they want no part in it.

  “I like Roy,” says Frannie, a restaurateur who lives on the opposite side of the community, most likely out of harm’s way from Roy’s property value–draining eyesore. “I can’t do this to him.”

  “I think you’re making a big mistake,” Henry says of the lawsuit. “Just give him time and let him do the work.”

  “There are rats in my yard, crawling under my porch,” Ann retorts. “How long should I wait? Until the rats come in my front door and sit down at my dinner table?”

  Henry shakes his head.

  “I sympathize with you,” he says. “I understand you’re frustrated. But this is only going to make matters worse. I don’t think anything good will come of this.”

  Chapter 19

  Ann paces around her apartment. All of the paperwork is in order to file the lawsuit, but she’s asked her lawyer to wait a few days.

  She has one last idea before going that far.

  She tells herself that she needs to stop worrying and get it over with. She pulls on her winter coat, steps out onto the porch, and knocks gently on Roy’s door. The air is cold, and a light frost covers the trash heap in Roy’s yard.

  “Roy,” she says, trying to sound unconfrontational. “Are you there? I’d like to talk to you.”

  Roy’s truck is parked out front, but she hasn’t heard him working. No extension cord runs to the door, even though there is still no electricity inside.

  “I don’t want to fight. I just want to—”

  The door opens so fast that Ann steps back.

  “What do you want?” Roy says, squinting like a person who’s just stepped out of a dark movie theater into bright sunlight.

  “I want to talk to you,” she says, “about…our situation.”

  “Our situation?”

  It looks like it’s been months since Roy last cut his hair, and his stubble has grown into a bushy beard.

  “Please, Roy. Just come out onto the porch and listen to what I have to say.”

  Roy takes a deep breath and steps outside. He’s not wearing a shirt or shoes—a shocking sight in the middle of February. His chest is pale and thin, his ribs clearly visible, his stomach practically pinned to the back of his spine. His pants look two sizes too big and are held up by a leather belt pulled tight around his emaciated frame. His face looks gaunt, his eyes red.

  Ann backs away, genuinely afraid of him. Where is the charming young man she met last spring? This zombie in front of her cannot be that same person.

  Ann has the sick feeling that Roy’s just been sitting in the darkness inside his home.

  Not working.

  Not eating.

  Just staring into the dark.

  She tells herself she has to give it a try. She won’t feel right about suing if she doesn’t at least make the offer.

  “Roy,” she says. “I have a proposition for you. I’d like to buy your house.”

  Roy tilts his head and looks at her sideways, as if trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke.

  “Clearly you’ve taken on more than you can handle in buying this place,” she says. “You can just walk away from it. Let me worry about fixing it up.”

  Roy says nothing, so Ann goes on, explaining that she’s talked to a real estate agent and her bank. She can get a loan that would allow her to purchase the house for what Roy paid and also allow her to make the renovations it needs.

  “You won’t lose any money,” she says. “I’ll give you what you paid.”

  She thought this might please him. Roy must feel trapped. Unable to finish the renovations. Unable to sell the house in the state it’s in. There’s no way he could get what he paid for the place from anyone else—not with the disrepair it’s in now.

  She’s giving him a way out.

  The only way out, as far as she can tell.

  But Roy doesn’t seem to think of it that way. His eyes narrow, and he glares at her.

  “What about all the work I put into it?” he asks. “The time and money—how do I get that back?”

  Ann feels helpless. If he can’t see that she’s offering him a key to the prison he’s locked himself in, she doesn’t know what to do.

  “I can’t pay more than what you paid,” Ann says. “The bank loan wouldn’t just be for purchasing your house—I’ll need some money to fix it up.”

  Roy smirks as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

  “This is a good deal for you, Roy. Let me take this place off your hands.”

  “Is this what you’ve wanted all along?” he sneers. “You’ve been hassling me from the start to try to get my place for a steal?”

  Ann shakes her head, frustrated.

  “I don’t want your house, Roy. I want you to take care of it. But you’re not doing it, so I feel like I have to.”

  “Whatever,” Roy says.

  “Please consider it,” Ann says. “You’ll be able to wash your hands of this place. This is your last chance.”

  As soon as she says it, Ann regrets her choice of words.

  “Last chance?” Roy says, scrutinizing her face. “Or what?”

  Ann doesn’t want to tell him, but she feels it will be worse if he’s blindsided when he receives the legal paperwork.

  “I’m going to file an injunction against you,” Ann says.

  “An injunction? What’s that mean?”

  “I’m about to sue you, Roy,” Ann snaps, her patience at its limit. “I can’t figure out any other way to get you to fix this damn place up!”

  Roy looks truly frightening. With his greasy hair, unkempt beard, and shirtless bony body, he looks more like someone who’s just stepped off Charles Manson’s commune than the pleasant young man who first bought the house next door nine months ago.

  “Let me tell you something,” Roy snarls, his yellow teeth clenched like a growling animal’s. “Fixing up this house is my dream. My dream. You will not stop me.”

  Ann looks at him sympathetically.

  “I’m sorry, Roy. It’s time to find a new dream.”

  With that, she walks into her residence. She hears him slam his door so hard it rattles the windows on her side of the property. A loud cacophony comes through the walls—boards falling, tools flying.

  She pictures him inside, working himself into a rage.

  In the dark.

  Chapter 20

  Ann sits with Marjorie and Ted in the second row of the courtroom. In front of them, the assistant solicitor sits in preparation for making the city’s case against Roy. Ann has talked to the city’s lawyer in anticipation of testifying today. He’s going to give her time to present all the information she has about Roy’s negligent homeownership.

  At the other table sits a lawyer whom Ann assumes Roy hired.

  So far, there’s no sign of Roy.

  Ann is ready. She has a file folder in her lap with photos of Roy’s house and documentation of her interactions with the city’s building inspectors.

  “Where is he?” Marjorie asks, checking her watch and turning to look at the door at the back of the courtroom.

  Several people from the neighborhood are in attendance—some to testify, some to support Ann, and some just curious about what will happen. But as the clock ticks down the minutes to the nine o’clock hearing, Roy still doesn’t appear.

  It would be just like him not to show up, Ann thinks. After all, it’s not as if he’s shown much interest in obeying the law when it comes to maintaining and renovating his home. She can picture him having the same disregard for an order to appear in court.

  “What happens if he doesn’t show?” Marjorie asks, keeping her voice low in the hushed courtroom. “Will they issue a warrant for his arrest?”

  Ann opens her mouth to say she doesn’t know what the consequences will be, but there’s no need to answer—the door to the courtroom opens and in comes Roy Kirk.