The Man Next Door

“If anything is. unsatisfactory, I trust you will let me know immediately,” Sophie said. Then she turned to Kim. “Will you introduce Mr. Turner around, or shall I?” It sounded like a command, not a question.

“I’ll do the honors,” Kim answered. “He’s my guest, after all.”

Sophie stared hard at Kim, as if looking for signs of insurrection. Kim stared right back at her.

“Very well,” Sophie said. “Make sure he meets everyone. Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Turner.” And with that, Sophie turned and walked purposefully off again.

Kim watched her go. “You really must be on Sophie’s good side,” she said in a low voice to Michael. “She actually put out the welcome mat for you.”

“That was the welcome mat?” he asked dryly. “She kept looking at me like I was last night’s garbage moldering on the stoop.”

Kim almost smiled. Almost, but not quite. “I guess you don’t know Sophie very well. She wouldn’t bother to play hostess if she didn’t like you.”

Sophie Bennett’s idea of playing hostess was a little limited. She was throwing this party, or whatever the hell it was, and yet she seemed to have made no concessions to her guests: no music playing in the background, no drinks being served, no plates of hors d’oeuvres being handed around. Apparently Sophie didn’t even find it necessary to be present in the room. She’d made that brief, regal appearance of hers, then simply gone off somewhere else.

“We might as well begin,” Kim said. “Which of the two sets of Bennetts do you want to tackle first?”

“Is that how they’re arranged—in matched sets? You make them sound like plates of dinnerware.”

She gave him a keen glance. “Actually the Bennetts do travel in sets—when they come to this house, at least. They know there’s safety in numbers. You’ll rarely find one of them alone—not while Sophie’s anywhere near.”

Sophie Bennett appeared to be a formidable woman, but did she really inspire such trepidation in her family? Perhaps Kim was simply exaggerating for reasons of her own. Michael already sensed that the undercurrents between Kim and her mother-in-law were murky and complex. Add the rest of the Bennett clan, and who knew what you’d end up with.

But Michael didn’t want to think about Bennetts right now. He was still distracted by Kim, by the way she looked tonight. The sun—streaked ripples of her hair falling to her shoulders, the warm creaminess of her skin, the shadowed blue of her eyes.

She gazed back at him, consternation flickering across her face. “You’re doing it again,” she whispered fiercely.

“Doing what?” He imagined reaching out to touch her. Kim Bennett was the kind of woman you wanted to touch.

“You know. You’re looking at me. that way.” Her fingers tightened around the small black bag she carried. But he went on looking at her. He couldn’t stop.

Her eyes seemed to darken as she went on gazing back at him. Now they were the color of blue just at sundown. Her lips had parted slightly, as if she meant to catch her breath. He didn’t take a step closer to her, didn’t make a move toward her. He didn’t need to, as long as they were together like this, alone in their own private corner of the room.

He heard Kim utter something under her breath, something he couldn’t quite hear. Then she turned abruptly and walked away. He followed, his gaze lingering on her. The dress she wore was cut daringly low in back, revealing more creamy skin. And more freckles.

Lord. Was he to be undone by freckles? Michael reminded himself that he hadn’t been out with a woman in a while—that was the problem. After fourteen years of marriage, he’d forgotten what it was like to be on a date. Except that Kim had made it very clear this wasn’t a date. And that led him to another question. Why was he acting like a damn fool around her?

He didn’t have any time to ponder the matter, because they’d reached the first Bennetts: a man and a woman who made room for Kim and Michael, but only with an air of reluctance. Kim was very businesslike.

“Diane, your mother wants you to meet her new tenant. Michael Turner.”

She could have simply introduced him as her nextdoor neighbor, but instead, she’d brought Sophie into it. Michael wondered why that bothered him. Meanwhile, he shook hands with Diane Bennett. She was obviously Sophie’s daughter. The family resemblance was striking: heavy reddish hair, intractable features. But Diane at least was animated.

“So you’re Michael Turner,” she said with interest. “Mother told us all about you. She said she was interviewing tenants, and that it was very discouraging. She didn’t think she could find anyone trustworthy to rent the house. Are you trustworthy, Mr. Turner?” Diane asked, apparentiy in all seriousness.

He reflected on the question. If Kim knew the truth about him, she probably wouldn’t find him trustworthy by any definition. He caught her looking at him again, and he saw the doubt clouding her eyes. She was right to doubt him unfortunately.

Diane Bennett was veering off on a different tack. “You haven’t met Jack yet,” she said importantly. “Mr. Turner, this is my friend Jack Hutchinson.” She sounded as if she was announcing royalty, and gazed at Jack with reverence. He seemed a normal enough guy, balding on top, spreading around the middle but clearly doing his best to suck in his gut. He looked like the kind of person who’d be happier in a pair of roomy overalls than in the suit he wore.

“Anyway,” Diane went on, “Mother was saying maybe she just ought to sell that house next to Stan’s—next to Kim’s.” Diane corrected herself deliberately, with an oddly put—upon air. “Mother said it was very discouraging, after all the trouble she’s had with tenants—”

“The Harveys were a perfectly nice couple,” Kim interrupted with that edge to her voice Michael was starting to recognize. “They never gave Sophie any trouble at all.”

“Oh, well, the Harveys,” Diane said dismissively. “I wasn’t thinking about them. You know…it was the people before.”

“The Millers?” Kim asked in a skeptical tone. “They were nice, too.”

Diane Bennett was starting to look peeved. “The whole point is that Mother was getting very discouraged about having to rent the place again, and then Mr. Turner came along and solved Mother’s problems.”

They all studied him now, silently, as if contemplating the peculiar fact that someone had actually met Sophie Bennett’s standards. Diane had a particularly knowing expression on her face. How much had Sophie told her? Did she suspect the real reason Michael was “renting” a house next door to Kim?

Subterfuge, deception—definitely not his style. He tried to remind himself of all the reasons he’d become a private investigator: a chance to get away from bad memories, a chance to spend more time with his son, a chance to pick his own cases. The only problem was, he regretted this case more and more all the time. Especially when he looked into Kim Bennett’s eyes and saw the distrust there.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Kim said a bit forcefully, “I have to introduce Mr. Turner to the others.”

There was an awkward pause. “Nice to have met you, too,” Michael said to their pointed silence. He didn’t bother to keep the irony from his tone.

Kim was already headed toward the remaining set of Bennetts, but Michael took her elbow and steered her outside, instead, onto a veranda. Night had fallen. The air still held the summer heat, but it was no longer oppressive. Michael preferred it to the artificially cool room they’d just left behind.

“We shouldn’t be out here,” Kim said.

“Do you think it will make them wonder about us?”

“They’re wondering about you,” she returned. “They’ve already made up their minds about me—they did that long ago. But you’re someone new. They haven’t figured you out yet.”

He knew what she meant to say—that she hadn’t figured him out yet. Too bad he couldn’t help her with that.

“Let’s just get it over with,” she said impatiently. “You can meet the others, and hopefully Sophie will get on with this ridiculous thing.” She turned back toward the room, but Michael clasped her hand to stop her.

“They can do without us for a few minutes.”

Kim’s fingers moved restlessly in his, and then she slipped her hand away. There was no porch light, and he could see only the outline of her face.

“There’s no good reason for us to be here.” He heard the uncertainty in her voice.

“You can give me your take on Diane and Jack.”

“You’ve just met them. Isn’t that enough?”

“I’m curious,” he said.

“Why?” Now the uncertainty was gone, replaced by outright challenge. He wished he could read her expression. He also wished he could tell her the truth, the reason he needed to know more about the Bennetts.

Smart, he told himself. Confess everything to the woman who may very well have killed her husband.

“Just curious,” he repeated.

Kim hesitated, then gave a shrug. “I’m no authority on the almighty Bennetts. I’m not allowed in the clique.”

“Maybe you don’t allow them in your clique.”

She seemed to consider this. “You think it’s my fault I’m not a cozy part of the family? Once upon a time. all I wanted was to belong.” Her words sounded brittle on the night air. “Anyway, what can I tell you that would possibly be of interest? Diane—she keeps talking about how she admires Jack, but she doesn’t even realize yet that she’s in love with him. She’d better figure it out soon, though, before Sophie ruins things again—and that’s really all I have to say.” She sounded chagrined, as if wishing she’d stopped earlier.

He thought over what she’d said, searching for anything that might be of use. Diane Bennett, for all her attempts at perkiness, was as peculiarly devoid of charisma as her mother. It was a strange lack, as if some essential gene had been left out of the family makeup.

“So you think she’s in love with Jack,” Michael said gravely.

“Anyone can see it—except Diane. And possibly Jack. For a physics professor, he can be remarkably dense. But do you really want to know about Diane Bennett’s love life?”

He couldn’t honestly say that he did, but he knew any detail might be important. One thing was certain—he never would’ve pegged Jack Hutchinson for a physics professor.

“You make it sound like Sophie’s botched things for Diane before.”

“And you make it sound as if you’re very interested in the Bennetts.” Kim spoke coolly, but he sensed an anger in her. Somehow he’d touched a nerve.

“If you despise them so much, why did you come here tonight?” he asked.

She paced a few steps back and forth, as if she couldn’t bear to stand still. “When Sophie convenes the family, you know you’d damn well better be there—to look out for your own interests, if nothing else. That’s one thing I learned from Stan at least.”

Stan. The dead husband. Kim had given Michael the perfect opening, but he took it reluctantly.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” he said.

“That’s right—you know all about it, don’t you? Courtesy of Sophie.”

Again he chose his words carefully. “I know your husband died in a car accident. No real evidence of foul play, but the autopsy showed a high level of blood alcohol, and he wasn’t known to be a heavy drinker.”

Kim had averted her face as he spoke. “My, Sophie was thorough in her briefing,” she said in a caustic tone.

Sophie had indeed been forthcoming on the subject, but the police report had provided all the pertinent details. Michael disliked what he had to ask next. He disliked a lot of things about his job lately. “Do you think it was murder, Kim?”

Standing there before him in the darkness, she was very silent. But then finally she spoke, her voice tight.

“Mr. Turner, you’re a damn sight too curious. About Stan, about the rest of the Bennetts…about everything. And I can’t help wondering why.”

He wanted her to wonder. It was the closest he could come to being straight with her. He felt an unreasonable urge to protect her—from what, he couldn’t have said.

“Yes,” she said at last, her voice so low he barely caught the word. “Yes,” she repeated a few seconds later. “I do think someone killed him. That was one of Stan’s few virtues—he hardly ever drank too much. So why that night?”

She sounded innocent—convincingly so. But a person could perfect the art of sounding innocent.

“Any idea who the culprit might be?” he asked, though still reluctant to pursue the subject.

She stared at him in the darkness. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but no, I don’t have a clue who might have killed my husband. Satisfied?”

The last thing he felt was satisfaction. But he’d already noted the tension in her every time she spoke about her dead husband—and then the way she grew silent. Michael wondered about Stan Bennett. Had the guy appreciated his beautiful wife?

“It was a mistake,” Kim said now. “I never should have asked you to come here with me. What was I thinking?”

“I should be here.” Once more he clasped her hand, drawing her near. He felt her stiffen. They gazed at each other, but even the light spilling from the room beyond didn’t chase the shadows from this secluded alcove. He couldn’t read Kim’s expression, knowing only the warmth of her fingers curled in his.

“You’re doing it again,” she said almost in a whisper. “You’re looking at me. that way.”

“It’s dark. How can you tell?” His own voice was low.

“I just can. And you have to stop.”

Michael forgot that he was supposed to be on the job tonight. He forgot about the Bennetts. He forgot everything but Kim’s loveliness. He brought her even nearer to him. Their bodies didn’t quite touch, yet still they gazed at each other in a darkness that both obscured and enticed. And then, at last, he bent his head to hers.

CHAPTER FIVE

MICHAEL’S CHEEK brushed Kim’s. Her skin was as soft as he’d imagined it would be, her scent alluringly feminine. But she stood motionless, self—contained in her silence. He wanted her response and he courted it, bringing his lips to the corner of her mouth. Did he feel her tremble or was it only his imagination?

She allowed no more, stepping away from him. He experienced an immediate sense of loss. He knew he didn’t have any right to touch her, but that didn’t stop the wanting.

“I can’t,” she said after a moment, the darkness still cloaking her. He didn’t ask her what she meant, just waited for her to say the rest of it.

“I can’t do this,” she went on, a turbulence underneath her words. “It’s all a mistake. Bringing you here and pretending everything is normal. In this house, of all places—” She broke off abruptly. Slipping past him, she went back inside.

He stood on the veranda another second or two. Maybe he thought if he stayed out here, she’d return to him. That was wishful thinking of course, the kind of thing he should have left behind a long time ago.

Finally he walked back into that lofty, oddly bare living room. There was minimal furniture scattered about, and he supposed it was the kind of place where architectural details were supposed to take precedence: exposed ceiling beams, high arched windows, carved moldings. The overall effect was that of a drafty church with too few worshipers. The Bennetts remained in their separate little clusters, but again faces turned toward him in interest; Diane Bennett looked particularly alert. No doubt they were speculating about what he and Kim had been doing on the veranda. He couldn’t say he cared.

Kim had taken up a position alone some distance from the others. She didn’t do anything to minimize her solitary status, didn’t pretend to be looking at the paintings on the walls, didn’t indulge in any other ruse to appear occupied. She just stood there, back straight and chin up, holding her small black bag as if it were a weapon. She couldn’t have made it clearer that she wished to go on being solitary. A reluctant admiration stirred in Michael. She might as well have been wearing a sign that read No Bennetts Allowed. But did the warning extend to him? He walked over to her. The stern expression on her face told him she still regretted inviting him.

“Lively party,” he remarked. “When does the conga line start?”

His stab at humor obviously didn’t impress her. “Sophie has her own way of doing things,” she said. “I wish you had some way to entertain yourself, Michael.”

“I’m entertained.”

She gave him one of her skeptical looks. “I’m sure you’d much rather be home working on your novel.”

“I’m a little stuck,” he said. In a manner of speaking, that was true.

“I’ve heard about writer’s block. Is that your problem?” She glanced at her watch as if hoping he wouldn’t answer.

“I’m having trouble with my storyline.”

“Really.” She didn’t look sympathetic.

“My heroine won’t open up much. She keeps everything bottled up inside. Anger. frustration…who knows what else. She’s hard to get to know.”

He saw the flush that made Kim’s freckles so beguiling. She gazed back at him steadily. “Maybe you should write yourself another heroine.”

“No. Sorry.won’t do. This one’s too intriguing.”

“But you’re not getting anywhere with her,” Kim said.

“Not yet.”

A flicker of some unnamable emotion showed in her eyes. But neither one of them had a chance to say anything more. Coming toward them was the second set of Bennetts: a fortyish couple, the man distinguished in bearing, the woman a pale blonde—too pale, maybe, her prettiness seeming almost bleached away.

“Hello, Kim,” said the woman, smiling a little hesitantly. “I’m glad you came tonight. You know I hate it when I’m the only wife—” She stopped, looking flustered, but then rushed on. “I mean, I’m glad you came. You haven’t been over to visit in so long, and the kids are always asking about you—after all, you’re their favorite aunt….” Her voice trailed off uncomfortably.

“I miss seeing the kids, too,” Kim said, although her tone was guarded. “Norie, Thad, I’d like you to meet Michael Turner—”

“Mother’s new tenant,” finished the man, shaking hands solemnly with Michael. The family resemblance was once again unmistakable; it seemed that Sophie had imprinted herself irrevocably on each of her children. Thad Bennett, however, possessed a preoccupied manner, as if too many important concerns filled his mind.

“How’s the house?” he asked Michael.

“Fine.”

Apparently even this brief answer gave Thad Bennett something to ruminate on. He had the air of a man weighed down by the significance of his own thoughts. While he was busy thinking up his next approach, his wife, Norie, jumped in.

“How nice you could come tonight, Mr. Turner. These family gatherings can be so tedious. Sophie hardly ever allows any outsiders, and—” She stopped herself once more, looking dismayed. “I mean—”

“Don’t worry. I don’t mind being an outsider,” Michael said.

She gave him an embarrassed smile. “Believe it or not, Mr. Turner, I’m usually not such a blatherer. It’s just my mother-in-law’s proximity that. throws me off.”

“Norie,” said her husband on a warning note.

This, however, only seemed to inspire her. “Well, why try to hide it? None of us enjoys coming here, but we all put up a front. We ought to admit it for once.” She glanced at Kim for confirmation.

Kim shrugged. “You wouldn’t be offending Sophie. She loves to keep everyone off balance.”

“That’s it exactly,” said Norie. “She orchestrates these command performances and she won’t tell anyone what they’re about. It’s very disconcerting.”

“Norie,” her husband said with exaggerated patience.

She glanced defiantly at him. “I don’t see you standing up to her, do I?”

Kim looked beleaguered, as if she had been through scenes of this kind often before. Michael surmised that Norie and Thad Bennett were the type who had been married so long and quibbled so frequently they forgot to be restrained in the presence of other people.

“Well,” Norie said, “who knows why Sophie’s dragged us all out here tonight? I’ve been guessing, but I don’t have a clue.” When no one responded, she glanced at Kim. “Any ideas?” she asked brightly. She behaved as if it was her duty to keep the conversational ball rolling. Something about the woman seemed just a little off to Michael. One minute she gave the impression of being overly timid, the next she was on the verge of arguing with her husband—and the next she was forcing the conversation. She appeared to be trying on different roles, different attitudes, to see which one fit.

“Sophie will let us know soon enough what she wants,” Kim said after another awkward pause.

“That’s just it,” Norie said, speaking too quickly. “Sophie always wants something from us. Something that usually leaves bad feelings afterward. You’d think at least now and then she could invite us over to enjoy some family togetherness, nothing else.”

“Norie,” said her husband in a long—suffering tone, “I don’t think Mr. Turner wants to know about our family squabbles.”

“I’m sure he can speak for himself.” Norie turned her attention fully on Michael. “Mr. Turner, we could use an objective opinion. Do you find us Bennetts dull. or interesting?”

The woman had taken on yet another pose. All of a sudden she appeared subtly provocative, but with a hint of anxiety underneath. She seemed to be asking for reassurance of some type—as if she wanted Michael to tell her she wasn’t ordinary. In a way he supposed she was flirting with him. Her husband seemed to have the same impression, and he was beginning to look vaguely disturbed. As for Kim, she had arranged her features in a carefully neutral expression, and she seemed to find it necessary to check her watch again. Michael would have given a great deal to know what she was thinking at this moment.

“I’m just along for the ride tonight,” he said finally.

Norie Bennett seemed disappointed. “That’s a nonanswer, Mr. Turner. Very diplomatic, I’m sure, but I expected something more from you.”

The woman had just met him—what could she have expected? But already she was glancing about discontentedly as if seeking another audience. She no longer seemed to care whether or not the conversation kept going. And meanwhile, Thad Bennett seemed to retreat once more into the protection of his own ponderous thoughts.

Michael caught Kim’s eye and smiled a little. She didn’t smile back, although he saw that hint of turbulence in her gaze. Was she more disgusted with him or with the Bennetts? It was difficult to tell.

Just then Sophie appeared beside them—somewhat eerily, because she hadn’t made any noise, seeming to materialize out of nowhere. She proceeded to commandeer the group.

“Thad, please go call Roger and find out what’s holding him up. Kim, Norie, I’d appreciate your popping ping into the kitchen to reassure Yolanda about her soufflé. You know how she is when I have her try a new recipe. Go alóng—I’ll take care of Mr. Turner.” Sophie had deployed her troops. Thad Bennett went off toward the phone, and Norie hurried in the opposite direction. Only Kim refused to budge.

“Michael is my guest,” she said firmly. “I’ll keep him entertained.”

“No doubt,” Sophie said with the slightest hint of irony. “But he also lives in one of my houses. I have a few matters I wish to discuss with him.”

Kim waited another second or two, studying Michael doubtfully. Perhaps she decided he could handle Sophie on his own, for she gave a shrug, turned and walked away. Michael watched her. As always she moved proudly, taking her time crossing the large room, refusing to rush for anyone—even her motherin—law.

“Mr. Turner,” said Sophie, “I hadn’t expected you here tonight. Nonetheless, I commend you for working so quickly with. her.”

Michael didn’t care for Sophie Bennett’s so—called approval. She made it sound as if he’d done something slick to be here with Kim.