The Good Neighbor - Bettes Kimberley A. (книги читать бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

Sure enough, he was sitting on his porch. Nothing unusual about that. It was unusual, however, for him to be staring at Bernie’s house. I watched him for a moment, realizing he had no idea I was outside. I turned and looked at Bernie’s house, but saw nothing out of the ordinary, if you can call Bernie’s house ordinary. I looked back at Owen, but his look hadn’t changed. He was glaring. I’d thought for a second that maybe he was looking at Carla’s house, but when I saw the glare, I knew that wasn’t the case.

I had to know.

I walked over as usual and took the chair beside Owen.

“Hey, Andy.” He sounded no different.

“What’s up?”

“Not much.”

I sensed he didn’t want to talk much, but I did.

“So, have you been learning anything about Jenson? Ready to follow him yet?” I laughed a little to try to lighten the mood, but I knew it had sounded as fake as it felt.

“I have a few j’s on my calendar. Haven’t seen him much the past couple days. I’ve been busy.” Whatever it was about Bernie’s house that held his attention let go, and he returned to normal Owen.

I decided to prod a bit. “What’s going on with you and Bernie?”

“He was over at Carla’s at five this morning beating on her door. She tried to close it on him, but he wasn’t going to leave.”

“You were out here that early?” It wasn’t like Owen to be up so early. He’d always preferred to stay up late and sleep late.

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Good thing, I guess. If you weren’t out here, who knows, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah, who knows.”

I was just about to change the subject when Jenson’s porch light came on and his front door opened.

Owen and I looked at each other, then quickly back at Jenson’s house.

“Surely not...” I said.

We watched as Jenson brought out a trash bag. This time, it was white, and he was carrying it as if it weighed nothing. He carried it to the end of his sidewalk, put it in his trashcan, and went back inside.

We sat in silence long after he’d closed the door and extinguished the porch light.

Finally, I said, “What do you suppose is in that bag?”

Owen, not skipping a beat, said, “Trash.”

Growing excited, I said, “Let’s go look.”

Owen looked at me, puzzled. “You want to go dig through an old man’s trash? I don’t think Jill gives you enough chores to keep you busy.”

“You know you want to just as much as I do. I’m more curious now than ever. Aren’t you?”

After a brief hesitation, Owen agreed.

“Alright. We’ll wait a while, and then we’ll go. We don’t want to be seen digging through the trash.” I sat back, clasping my hands across my torso, elbows on the arms of the chair. I crossed my feet, settling in for the wait.

“We?” he asked. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Nah, I’m skipping.”

“Does Jill know that you’re so financially irresponsible? I knew she could do better.”

“Yeah, she knows it too.”

The creepy Owen that stood staring at Bernie’s house minutes earlier was gone now, replaced entirely by my best friend in the world.

11 Andy

“What time is it now?” I asked, tapping my hands on my knees.

Owen, barely glancing at his watch, said, “Two minutes later than the last time you asked. “You know, if you went to work more often, you could afford your very own watch. Then, you could function in the world like the rest of us grown-ups.”

It was just like Owen to bust my chops. I counted on it. It’s part of what I loved about our relationship.

“Yeah, and while I’m buying a watch, maybe I’ll pick you up some tampons.”

He laughed. “You saying I’m bitchy?”

“Well, I’m not saying you’re not.” I playfully – though there was some truth to it – added, “You’re hurting my feelings, you know. We haven’t spent much time together lately and now that we are...well, I kind of feel like you don’t want to.” It was true. Owen hadn’t said much in the two hours we’d been sitting on his porch. I wasn’t sure if he was quiet because he was thinking about Carla, or maybe he didn’t have anything to say that didn’t involve Carla and he didn’t want to talk about her. Or maybe he was thinking about whatever had caused him to stare at Bernie’s house. I wasn’t sure.

“And let me guess; I don’t take you anywhere anymore.” Owen looked at me with a slight smile and said, “Alright. Let’s do this.” He stood. “I’m afraid if I sit here with you any longer, we’ll start holding hands and knitting.”

We laughed. There was my best friend, Owen. Humorous, the way I liked him.

As we crossed the street, we looked around, making sure no one was out. We knew that what we were about to do wasn’t illegal in any way. Everyone knew that once you put your trash on the curb, it was no longer yours. Anyone could go through it, even taking it, and there was nothing that could be done. But it still felt like we had to sneak. It felt like we were committing a crime.

It was exhilarating.

We stood at Jenson’s trash can, staring at it. We argued a bit about who would lift the lid. We decided the lid-lifter wouldn’t have to tear open the bag, but the job of digging through the trash would be a joint effort.

And we began.

Owen lifted the lid with a lot of flare and a ‘tah-dah’. Wasn’t he cute? I, on the other hand, was nervous. I’d spent a long time wondering about what this old guy was doing over here to cause him to hide his trash. Now here I was, seconds away from finding out. My hands trembled as I tried to undo the knot that held the bag closed.

Owen chuckled. “Want me to get that for you, Nancy?”

I laughed. “I got it.”

“Just rip it already. I didn’t bring my tent because I wasn’t expecting to be over here all night.”

I ripped the bag open and gasped.

“What is it?” Owen asked quickly, looking into the can.

“It’s trash.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Well, yeah. A little. I mean, it’s not like I wanted to find chopped up body parts or anything, but I expected more than trash.” I reached in and rummaged around, making sure there was nothing I was missing.

“Yeah,” Owen retorted. “Who’d have thought someone would have put trash in a trash can? What is the world coming to? Next thing you know, people will be putting files in filing cabinets and taking baths in bath tubs.” He shook his head in feigned disbelief. “It’s a shame, really.”

“You know what I mean. How could this just be trash?” I pointed at a bloody tissue. “Look at that, Owen. Looks like you’re not the only one who needs tampons.”

“That’s disgusting.”

We replaced the lid and walked back to Owen’s porch, where we sat contemplating what we’d seen – or more accurately, what we hadn’t seen.

We talked about how we’d expected to find something – anything – to explain Jenson’s actions, but instead had walked away more confused than ever. If he had regular trash, and he disposed of it in a regular manner, what was in the black bags? And why did he dispose of them in such an odd manner? Where did he take them? It was killing me to know what was in them.

We figured the best way to figure out Jenson was to piece together what we knew of him, which was next to nothing. But we pooled our information anyway. It was pretty much a waste of time, though. We figured out nothing we didn’t already know.

“Carla pointed out something to me that I’d missed,” Owen said.

He told me about the two-year theory. All the deaths – which hadn’t seemed odd as they happened, but looking back now seemed very peculiar – had taken place since Jenson’s arrival to Hewitt Street, just over two years ago.

I thought about what he said. It was true. I don’t know how we’d missed it, but we had. We’d never realized how many odd things had happened on this street because as they happened, they just appeared to be horrible twists of fate. Terrible things happen all the time, everywhere. To think our little street was an exception was crazy thinking. But it also seemed crazy to think that so many terrible things could happen to a small group of people and still be considered happenstance.