Burning Down the House (34 page)

“
Saaaa-raaaaa…
” This was followed by another torpid laugh.

It didn’t
sound like anyone I knew, unless he was disguising his voice really well. I was starting to get creeped out. Weird phone calls while babysitting - how very cliché. What would this movie be titled?
When a Stoner Calls?
“Who the fuck is this?”

“Who would you like me to be?”

“I’d like you to be someone with half a brain cell left, but I’m guessing you’re not.”

“Ooh…harsh, baby. Hey, got someone here wantsa talk to
yooou…” His snickering faded as someone else took the phone from him.

“
Sara?”

Shit
. It was Riley.

“Sorry about
Travis. He’s been tokin’ all day and thinks everything he says is funny.”

“Oh, that’s great. Prank phone calls? Really?”
I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or even more concerned than before.

“No, it’s not like that. I just
figured you wouldn’t answer if you knew it was me.”

“Well, you got me to answer. Congratu
-fucking-lations.” Without waiting for a reply, I hit
end call
with my thumb. Audacious bastard - he really knew how to wear out a welcome, didn’t he? A welcome he was never issued, at that. I checked the time. It was only 9:50. Maybe I should call Rob and let him know about this.

I was just about to do that when a loud
whump
at the front door gave me my second near-heart attack of the evening. Rooted to the spot, I could only stand there and stare like a rabbit frozen in fear. I recoiled in alarm when whoever-it-was kicked the door again, twice this time.

From the other side, I heard
a muffled but familiar voice. “Sara? Could you get the door for me, please?”

Every muscle in my body w
ent limp from relief, and I hurried over to unbolt and open the door. Mr. Weston stood on the other side, arms laden with grocery bags. He smiled brightly at me. “Sorry, I couldn’t get to my key.”

“No problem.”
I didn’t tell him he scared the holy hell out of me. That’s what I got for letting my imagination run wild. “Here, let me help you with those.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”
He let me unload some of the plastic bags from his hands and I followed him into the kitchen. “Just drop them anywhere.”

I
placed the bags on the counter next to the fridge, commenting, “You’re back earlier than I expected.” I was kind of glad, but in a way it was a little disappointing since I’d be getting an hour’s less pay.

“
Everyone left the club early…I assume because of the weather. Like we don’t see snow every blessed winter. How was Peyton?”

“She was
good, as always. We played Barbies basically the whole time.”

“
She’s always trying to get me to do that. Now tell me, can you visualize me sitting on the floor playing with a bunch of dolls?”

“Not really, no,” I admitted with a laugh.

“I thought since I had the spare time I’d stop off at the store and pick up a few items. Seems like we’re always out of one necessity or another.” Pulling a bottle of wine out of one of the bags, he reached into a cabinet above his head for some long-stemmed glasses. “I bought this based on a friend’s recommendation - I’ve been looking forward to sampling it. It’s supposed to be a very nice vintage port. Would you care for a little taste?”

It was all I could do
to keep a straight face. A wine tasting event hosted by my straightlaced calculus teacher - now this was definitely a walk on the weird side. “No, that’s okay. Never been a big fan of wine. It tastes too…I don’t know, acidic or something.”

“
I suppose it is an acquired taste. But let me tell you, wine and music - there is nothing in this world more relaxing than a combination of the two.” He winked at me while pouring himself a glass. “Just between us, this is how I like to wind down after a day of trying to impart knowledge into the minds of you wild hellions. A glass of wine and a little Grace Bumbry. Does the trick every time.”

Grace
who?
“Oh, come on…we’re not really that bad, are we?” I mirrored his grin, minus the dimples.

“Some are worse than others.
You, my dear, have proven yourself to be the ideal student so far, but that’s nothing less than I expected. You’ve always behaved in a mature and responsible manner where Peyton is concerned. I just hope you won’t permit this infatuation with that young man to affect your future aspirations.” Over the edge of the wine glass, his twilight blue eyes observed me intently. “I must say, I’m a little surprised at your father. Allowing that boy to move in with the two of you the way he did. And with him being away so much.”

My smile
faded. “Rob’s father was a close friend of my dad’s.” That was all the explanation I was willing to supply. Frankly, it was none of his business. I personally found my dad’s actions regarding Rob to be very generous and admirable. What gave anyone else the license to judge him for doing what he thought was right?

“I meant no disrespect. I would just hate to see a bright young girl such as yourself
wasting her unlimited potential.” He tapped his wedding ring against the thin glass.
Ting, ting, ting.
“I see it happen with these adolescents all the time. Throwing it all away for lack of a little common sense. Babies having babies. It almost never ends well.”

Why was I even having this conversation with him? It
wasn’t as if he was my guidance counselor. He taught advanced mathematics, for heaven’s sake. “I can guarantee you that maternity is not a short-range goal of mine.”

“Glad to hear it. See, I knew you were a conscientious young lady.”
The charming smile returned. “Now let’s see - how much do I owe you for this evening? You were here for…”

“Three and a half hours.” The phone vibrated in my pocket again. I
cringed when I saw the name on the screen. Guess who? At least the moron called from his own phone this time. “Shit,” I muttered.

“Problem?”
Mr. Weston seemed amused by my inelegant choice of words.

“Not really - just this
idiot that keeps bothering me. Would you excuse me for one second?”

“Certainly.”

He wandered off down the hallway while I headed back into the living room to find out what Riley wanted this time. I’m not sure why I didn’t just ignore it. I guess I’ll always wonder what made me take that call.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I hissed into the phone, hoping I couldn’t be overheard.
“Can’t you take a freaking hint?”

“
Damn, Sara…why’d you hang up on me? All I wanted to do was apologize. What are you getting so pissy about?” There was a childish whine to his tone that grated on my nerves like fingernails down a chalkboard.

“
Oh, for the love of…okay, fine. You apologized. I accept.” Sighing, I rubbed my forehead. Rob wasn’t exactly going to be thrilled when I told him about these calls. “Are we done here?” Hearing music drifting in from another room, I covered my free ear so I could hear better. Wine and music…nothing more relaxing, right?

“I know I acted like a
dick the other day,” he continued, ignoring my question. “I didn’t mean any of that stuff I said. It just really bothered me to think that you’d go to the police accusing me of-”

“
Wait a minute - I never accused you of anything!” I objected, though I had a feeling I was merely arguing semantics. Accusations, insinuations…is there even a difference? Is doubting someone’s integrity the same thing as alleging that they have none?

“Then why do you act like you’re afraid of me?
I never woulda hurt Jordan. I love…I
loved
her.” His voice cracked unexpectedly before he cleared his throat, stalling while he regained his composure. “I would never hurt you either. It just bugs the everloving shit out of me that you think of me like that. I’m not this monster everyone’s trying to make me out to be. I know I’m not perfect, but I sure as hell am not heartless enough to kill a girl, a fucking
pregnant
girl, and set fire to her. I just…I wish I knew you believed that. I really need to know that someone believes that.”

There was no denying the sincerity of his words. Whether they were truthful or not, the emotion behind them seemed genuine enough.
I gazed out the window at the falling snow, attempting to process what he’d just said but the high-pitched mezzo-soprano Mr. Weston was listening to was gouging into my brain like an icepick. He had some godawful taste in music. Opera - are you kidding me? Who the hell listens to…

Habanera.

Holy Mary, Mother of God.

It. Was. Fucking.
Habanera.

I sucked in a sharp breath. After that I think I stopped breathing altogether.

Because it suddenly occurred to me…

…that
Mr. Weston’s first name…

…is
Richard.

29

“
Oh,
God...
”

Still facing the window
that framed the snowfall, my arm seemed to lose all muscle control and involuntarily dropped to my side, the phone slowly slipping from my fingers to fall noiselessly on the plush beige carpet. If Riley was still talking, I couldn’t hear anything he was saying. Every other sound was drowned out by the monosyllabic denial beating over and over in my head like a metronome.
No…no…no…

I heard nothing else. Time
ceased to exist for God only knows how long. I had no way of counting the seconds that I stood frozen, a million sick thoughts scrambling desperately to escape my consciousness. It couldn’t be him. It just couldn’t. He was my teacher. My neighbor. A family man. Peyton’s father. I’d known him for years.

He couldn’t…he
could not
…be a murderer.

T
he cautionary advice Rob once gave me came rushing back as a reminder. Maybe it was all just coincidence - or perhaps I would be better off heeding a gentle warning from someone who’d already learned that lesson.
You never really
know
anyone.

From behind
me, a silky smooth voice suddenly broke through the barrier. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a glass of wine? I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Caught off guard,
I whirled nervously around to face his beguiling smile. Tongue-tied, I shook my head mutely. A little too forcefully. The opera music continued to play in the background, a vicious affront to my senses.

Mr.
Weston -
Richard
- set the wine bottle and glasses on the coffee table, giving me a strange look as he strolled closer, hands sliding casually into the pockets of his dress slacks. He’d already removed the leather jacket and loosened his tie. Without thinking, I took two steps back.

The
dark head tilted slightly to one side, eyes narrowing into suspicious indigo slits. His voice remained mild and amiable as he asked, “Is something wrong?”

And then I saw myself as he must have seen me.
Pallid. Skittish. Wide-eyed. And I realized that he was looking at me with that odd expression simply because of the way I was looking at
him.
Like someone who’d seen something far worse than a ghost.

F
ar, far worse.

Coughing to loosen the tightness in
my throat, I forced myself to speak. “No, I’m fine. A little tired. I probably should get going…it’s late.” I cringed inwardly at those last two careless words. It wasn’t late - it was barely ten.

He continued to
assess me curiously. “Are you free tomorrow afternoon, by any chance? Around…say, one o’clock?”

“Sure. One o’clock. No problem.”
Screw that - I had no intention of coming back. Not until I knew for sure that this was nothing more than a fluke. Even now I was trying to inch my way discreetly toward the front door.

Raising
his chin, he lifted one corner of his mouth with an air of triumph, the same smug look he frequently gave the class after managing to confound us with a problem. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the college tomorrow?”

Ballet rehearsal - h
ow did he know about that? Or maybe the question I needed to ask myself was, if he was already aware of my schedule, then why even ask if I was free?

And then it
hit me. He was testing me. The motherfucker was testing me.

The words
final exam
popped into my head, making my stomach churn.

Whatever
game he was trying to play, this wasn’t the time to choke. Right now was the time to put all those drama classes to use. Gathering all my fortitude, I gave him the sweetest, most innocuous smile I could forge. “I’m supposed to, yeah…but to tell you the truth, I’m a little short on Christmas funds and this would really help me out a lot. I don’t think Miss Andrews will freak too much if I miss just one rehearsal. We still have all next week to practice.” I shrugged, feigning indifference. “Besides, I could do that dance in my sleep by now.”

“Are you sure?
I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.” His suspicious eyes seemed to pierce right through me.

“Positive. So…one o’clock, right?”
I nonchalantly stepped backward in the direction of the door.

“
Sara…”

“
Yes?”

Smirking, he raised o
ne hand and waved the folded bills held between his index and middle finger. “I haven’t paid you.”

“Oh.”
I summoned a brief laugh, praying it sounded authentic. “Yeah. I don’t know where my mind’s been lately.”

“You do seem a bit distracted. Maybe you’ve been studying too hard.”
He gave me a warm smile and held out his hand.

I reached for the money but just as my fingers
were almost touching it, he suddenly withdrew his arm. Startled, I looked up at him to see that the warm smile had vanished. His sharp eyes were fixated on my hand.

It was shaking.

A slow dawning crept over his features. And I knew in that instant my fears were justified, that his affinity for Habanera was no mere coincidence, and most chilling of all - my own body had just betrayed me. I knew what he’d done. And he was fast becoming aware of that fact.

“
You know what, you can just pay me tomorrow.” I swiveled on my heel, preparing to bolt and run, but his hand shot out to stop me. The fingers clamped onto my forearm tightly, gripping me with surprising force.

“You
look ill, Sara. Maybe you’d better sit down for a minute.” He steered me in the direction of the sofa.

“I’m fine…”

“No, I think you need to rest for a bit. I can’t send you home in this condition. What would your father think?”

“But I’m not-”

“
Sit.
”

Flinching at the sharpness in his tone, I allowed him to push me into the cushions before he took a seat beside me. He was uncomfortably close, so close his
leg was rubbing up against mine. I bit my lip to stop it from trembling.

“Now…” He patted my thigh, but instead of taking his hand away he left it resting
on my jeans. “I think you and I need to have a little talk. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I
stubbornly continued to play innocent. “About what?”

He wasn’t fooled by my act.
“You know, Sara…I’ve always found that people are very easy to read. It really isn’t difficult at all if you know what to look for. Five minutes ago you and I were perfectly fine. Then suddenly we weren’t. Now suppose you tell me why that is?”

I looked with
desperate longing at the wall that separated me from my house next door. So close and yet so far. Less than fifty yards away my father and Rob were blissfully unaware, assuming I was perfectly safe. Still, Rob would call or come over if I wasn’t home by eleven. My phone - where was my phone? “I think maybe you’re right. I’m not feeling all that well.” I scanned the floor, searching. “I might be coming down with the flu after all.” There it was, on the floor just beside the Christmas tree, partially obscured by the window curtains.

“I see. The flu.” His eyes dropped to my chest. “Then maybe you can explain to me why your breathing is so shallow. And why I can see your heart pounding all the way through your shirt.”

“Because you’re making me nervous!” That was the one thing I certainly wasn’t lying about.

Frowning, h
e brought a finger to his lips. “Shh…keep your voice down. We don’t want to wake Peyton. I will be
very
upset if you wake my daughter. It’s so hard to get her back to sleep once she’s up.”

Dear
God…surely he wouldn’t hurt his own child, would he? I couldn’t imagine him going that far, although after what he’d done to Jordan there was no telling
what
he was capable of. If I’d harbored any intention of screaming, that plan was instantly shelved. I couldn’t risk anything happening to Peyton. It wasn’t likely anyone next door would hear me anyway. Maybe the best idea was to simply stall for time.

He removed his hand from my leg to pour himself another glass of wine.
My gaze strayed to the door.

“
You wouldn’t get far.” He sipped his port leisurely. It was deep red, the color of blood. I felt nauseous - not from the wine’s hue, but from the subtle threat in his impassive warning. “You may be ten years younger but I’m still athletic and quick as a fox. I could outrun you easily. My suggestion would be to try and relax. The sooner you do that, the sooner we can sort through this. I must say, this wine really is very good. You should have some.”

Instead of arguing, I
merely accepted the glass that was handed to me. When he looked at me expectantly I took a drink to placate him. It tasted like cherries soaked in alcohol. The warmth hit my stomach like a lead weight.

“
What did I tell you - it’s nice, isn’t it?”

I nodded
in agreement. “Uh-huh.”

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he shook his head with a sigh. “Now
, see…this is what I’m talking about. I could clearly tell by your expression that you didn’t care for it. If I can’t trust you to be honest with me, we aren’t going to get very far, are we?”

I fabricated a quick excuse.
“I didn’t want to be rude. It’s not that bad though, really. I’m just not used to wine is all.”

He seemed mollified by that.
“Well. No harm done. Careful you don’t spill that. Ruby port stains are hard to get out.”

My hands were still shaking. I couldn’t
make them stop.

Setting his own glass back on the coffee table, he crossed his arms. “
Since, as you pointed out, it is getting late, I would suggest we skip all the nuances and cut straight to the chase. So tell me. How did you find out?”

I floundered
helplessly. “I’m not sure what you mean. How did I find out what?”

He wasn’t
impressed with my hedging. “My patience is wearing thin, young lady. I’m only going to ask you once more and this time I expect a direct answer. Now. How did you find out?”

I threw back another draught of wine
, hoping it would supply the courage I lacked. Anxiously I turned my head to search out the small antique clock in the curio cabinet behind me. My heart sank. Only 10:11? How was that even possible? Was the damn thing running in reverse?

His unsympathetic laugh was even more maddening than the
operatic aria still assaulting my ears. “Don’t worry. It isn’t past your bedtime yet. Maybe if I prompt you it will help. Let’s review, shall we? Everything was fine until I came back into the living room. You were standing there looking out the window at something. I offered you a glass of wine and when you turned around, you looked at me like I was the fucking devil.”

“You are the fucking devil.”
The accusation fell from my lips before I had a chance to remind myself that antagonizing him might not be such a smart move.

He
only huffed derisively. “Please. Let’s not be overdramatic. All I did was solve a problem by eliminating a variable. The end result was best for everyone, believe me. Now tell me - what could you possibly have seen that would have given me away?” Unfolding his arms, he returned one hand to my thigh and leaned in disconcertingly close. “I’m waiting,” he whispered.

It was as good as a confession.
The man had all but just affirmed his guilt, and I could no longer try and pretend otherwise. Eliminating a variable? Jesus, this lunatic had graded one too many math papers.

With no other choice,
I met his gaze with a defiant glare. “Love is a rebellious bird that none can tame, and you…you call him quite in vain…” My voice tapered off uncertainly. Try as I might, I couldn’t recall the rest. Not that it mattered. The awareness in his expression told me he understood.

“
Of course! The aria. Now isn’t that something - I didn’t even think she was paying attention when I translated it for her. She took Latin instead of French - did you have Latin together? Oh…wait, no, that was last year. You weren’t enrolled here then. What was she doing, serenading you with Habanera?”