Neighborhood Watch (33 page)

Kristin turned slightly to her right and her heart skipped a beat. She actually gasped.

Philip Slater’s overcoat hung on the pole hanger and for a moment, she had the

impression he was actually standing there. She caught her breath and walked past the table where there was a model of a house. She hesitated at the desk as if she were about to commit a more serious violation and then went around to the chair to gaze at the papers and notes on the shiny dark oak surface.

There were telephone numbers with names she didn’t recognize scribbled on the notepad to her left. She did recognize Ted’s beeper number, however, and that sent a chill through her. She lifted the cover of the long pad to her right and studied some of the notes. It was obvious they all had to do with construction jobs.

Disappointed, she gathered more courage and opened the bottom right drawer. It had

files neatly aligned. She knelt down and lifted each one gently into the light to read its heading. Building and electrical codes followed architectural proposals and bids on construction projects. Everything looked innocuous. Her quick, clandestine search was proving futile.

She stood up and gazed around the office. The narrow door of the only closet caught her interest so she went to it and opened it quickly. She saw the light switch and flipped it to reveal shelves of old building plans and stacks of files. One shelf caught her interest because she saw the words
Covenants and Conditions.
Closer examination revealed it was a library of CC and R’s from other developments, some as far away as California.

Then her gaze dropped to the floor under this set of shelves and her heart was washed in a wave of chilled blood. There, unmistakably, was the cover of Angela’s file with the words scrawled across it in a black magic marker ink:
Declaration of Independence
.

Slowly, she bent her knees and lowered herself to a squat position. She reached out to pick up the file cover. But before she did so, she heard the closet door being pulled completely open and she looked up to see Philip Slater standing there, gazing down at her.

Even with the shadows draped over his face, she could see the luminous gleam of rage in his eyes.

He said nothing.

She started to stand.

He stepped forward and thrust his arm out, hand clenched in a fist, to strike the lightbulb.

Kristin screamed as the glass shattered around her. Then she saw the door shutting. She moved too late and the door clicked in place, casting her in complete darkness. She heard the key snap the lock and she screamed again and pounded the door.

“Let me out of here! Stop this!” she cried. She paused, expecting complete obedience.

When it didn’t come, she felt the panic seize her. She groped for the handle and ran her palm over the metal, searching for a way to open the door from the inside, but she found nothing.

She folded her small hands into fists and pummeled the door, screaming as loudly as she could. Pain shot down her neck and settled into a knot at the base of her spine. Then it spread with electric speed around her hips and over her abdomen, dropping into her

pelvis. She crumbled to the floor, gasping, desperately trying to calm herself.

She felt just the way she had before her miscarriage.

“Oh, no,” she moaned. “Please. No.”

She took deep breaths and rocked, waiting, hoping for the pain to subside. Gradually, in tiny increments, it did, but instead of standing again, she leaned over and gently lowered herself to the floor of the closet, keeping her body folded in a fetal position because it was more comfortable that way. She waited and listened.

It was deadly silent and so dark.

What is he doing? she wondered.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she muttered.

And then she remembered Jennifer and the panic that had receded exploded with such

force and fury, she thought she would fly apart, her head, her legs and her arms going off in different directions. It burned into her heart. It was so hot, she couldn’t even cry; the tears evaporated before they could emerge.

She lifted herself into a sitting position and brought her lips as close to the doorjamb as she could and then she pleaded.

“Please . . . let me out. Please . . . don’t hurt my daughter.”

Silence. Darkness.

There was only the sound of her own imagination, raining down terror.

15

KRISTIN HEARD PHILIP YELLING. It was muffled at first, but then it became clearer

and louder as his reprimanding of Marilyn grew more intense. He was blaming

everything on her.

“If you hadn’t said anything to that woman, none of this would have happened. Your

insane babbling has finally caused us serious trouble. Are you satisfied, Marilyn?”

Apparently, Marilyn offered no resistance, verbally at least. Kristin heard only Philip.

She was listening hard for Jennifer’s cries. She expected her to be nearly hysterical by now but she heard nothing.

The berating continued. Philip’s voice rose in pitch until he was shrieking, his voice resembling that of a man who had cornered himself and was exploding with frustration.

This was followed by a deep, silent moment, like the eye of a storm passing, and then Kristin heard Marilyn’s shrill scream of pain. It sounded like he was dragging her by the hair down the hallway.

“Get over here! Get the hell in there,” Philip commanded. “Go on!”

That was followed by some scuffling. Kristin couldn’t imagine what Jennifer was doing exposed to all this, but she knew she had to be petrified.

“My baby,” she muttered. “My baby.” She pulled herself into a sitting position, her ear still to the door.

“Let me go, Philip! You’re hurting my arm. Please, leave me be,” Marilyn Slater

pleaded.

Apparently, he was twisting her arm, dragging her back to the office.

“And how am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to leave things be? You let her come in here and sneak into my office when I left explicit instructions that you were not to speak to that woman. I told you she was up to no good, didn’t I? Now look what you let her do.”

“I didn’t know she went into your office, Philip.”

“Sure. You didn’t know. What do you know, Marilyn? You know how to suck on that

vodka pretty well. That’s what you know.”

From the sound of their voices, Kristin knew they were just outside the closet door now.

She rose and began pounding again.

“Let me out of here. Open this door immediately,” she ordered, swallowing back her

fears and pain.

“You have to let her out, Philip.”

“Don’t tell me what I have to do, Marilyn.”

In the short moment of silence, Kristin could almost hear him thinking, scheming.

“This is the story, Marilyn,” he began. “She broke into our home. You came home and then found her in my office planting that file to make it look like I had something to do with what happened to Angela Del Marco, understand?”

“What file?”

“Never mind what file. You just say she was carrying a file in her hands when she

entered the house,” he ordered.

“That’s ridiculous, Philip,” Marilyn said just loud enough for Kristin to hear. “Why would she do that?”

“You just back up my story or . . . or I’ll have you committed.”

Through the locked closet door, Marilyn heard Philip Slater go to his telephone.

“Spier. Call the police and then call for the security car and come up here. I’ve

intercepted a break-in at my house. No. Everything’s under control for the moment.”

“You’re not going to get away with this, Philip,” Marilyn said. “You better just let her go home.”

“Shut up. Just shut up and don’t say anything to anyone, understand?”

Kristin heard the key turn in the lock and the door was finally open. She faced an

intimidating Philip Slater, who loomed before her, his shoulders raised, his hands

clenched in fists. He seemed swollen in size, gigantic and formidable, a statue in granite blocking her way.

“Just sit right down on the floor,” he ordered. “The security and the police will be here soon.”

“You’re insane,” Kristin said softly, her intensity and volume building. “How dare you lock me in this closet? I heard what you plan to do. Marilyn’s right. Who do you think will believe such a stupid story?”

“Most everyone in the development will believe it, that’s who,” he replied confidently.

“They all know about your activities, your attitude, the things you and Angela Del Marco were planning to do to bring down all that I’ve built here. So shut up and sit down.”

“You attacked Angela, didn’t you, you and your private little army,” Kristin accused, maintaining her defiance.

“I told you to sit on the floor,” Philip said calmly, pointing.

“I will not.” Kristin looked to the office doorway. “Where’s my daughter?”

“Daughter?” Philip Slater’s confident, strong demeanor weakened a bit.

“Yes. Do you think everyone’s going to believe I broke into a house with my child

beside me? Even your gullible followers will wonder. What was it supposed to be, a

family outing?”

“Marilyn,” he began, turning, “why didn’t you tell—”

Marilyn wasn’t standing there.

“Marilyn!”

Kristin started to step out of the closet, but he held up his hand to block her path.

“Stay where you are, I said. I could just as easily add you came at me and I had to defend myself,” he threatened. Then he looked to the doorway again. “Marilyn!”

As if she had been standing just outside and waiting, Marilyn appeared, smiling.

“Yes, Philip?”

“You damn idiot. Why didn’t you tell me she brought her little girl along? Where is she?”

“In the room with the dolls, safe,” Marilyn said, still smiling.

“Get her, for crissakes.”

“There’s no reason to frighten her more than you already have, Philip. You might as well sit at your desk and stop yelling at everyone.”

“Did you hear me?” He started toward her. “I said—”

Marilyn Slater brought her right arm around and revealed the pistol in her hand. Philip froze.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing with that?”

“Nothing much,” she replied, still smiling softly. Kristin saw the glint of madness in her eyes and didn’t move, but Philip seemed blind to it. He regained his composure quickly and held out his right hand.

“I told you to get the little girl, didn’t I? Now give me the pistol and do what I say for once.”

“What do you mean, do what you say for once? I always do what you say, Philip. I’ve done everything you’ve wanted me to do since we were married and even after Bradley’s death, haven’t I? Oh, maybe I drank some vodka now and then even though you didn’t

want me to do that, but that’s all. I’ve been a good wife and a good mother.”

“Right,” Philip said smirking. “A good mother.”

“I was. I didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t my fault,” she said shaking her head, her lips quivering. “You shouldn’t blame me. He shouldn’t blame me, should he?” Marilyn asked Kristin.

“Of course he shouldn’t.”

“I don’t want to talk about that now, Marilyn. This isn’t the time. Give me the pistol and get the little girl. Now,” he snapped. Marilyn shook her head.

“We should have talked about it more, Philip. Ignoring his memory was like burying

Bradley twice. He’s been terribly alone. We were all he had and when we stopped

ourselves from thinking of him, he had no one. That’s why he cries so much, even now.”

“Cries so much?” He shook his head and smirked. “You’re crazy. When this is over, I definitely will have you committed.”

“No, Philip. I’ll commit myself.” She looked at Kristin. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Philip, always gets his way.”

“Marilyn,” Kristin said, “you can stop him.”

“No. He always manages to get what he wants, one way or another. Don’t you, Philip?”

she said and raised the pistol, but instead of pointing it at him, she pointed it at her right temple and said, “Ten.”

The explosion was so loud, it seemed to shake the very foundation of the house.

Marilyn’s blood and flesh and bone splattered over the wall to Kristin’s right and then Marilyn’s body appeared to float to the floor, her arms out, her head recoiling from the violent intrusion.

Philip Slater was as shocked as Kristin was and stepped back, raising his arms as if to ward off a blow. Kristin screamed and shot forward, thinking only of Jennifer.

She ran down the hallway, through the living room and into the doll room. At first she didn’t see Jennifer; then she spotted her cowering in a corner, clutching one of the dolls and shivering with terror.

“Mommy!” she moaned.

Kristin reached out and Jennifer ran into her arms.

“It’s all right, honey,” she said embracing her tightly. “It’s all right.”

“I want Daddy.”

“We’ll call him. We’re going home now. Come on, sweetheart.”

She took her hand and led her out of the doll room, but when they turned through the living-room doorway toward the front entrance, she found Philip Slater had regained his composure and was blocking their way.

“My security is coming,” he said. “You’ll need this.” He thrust the pistol toward her.

Kristin shook her head and pulled Jennifer closer as she retreated. “Take it,” he

demanded. “Take it!”

Jennifer started to cry.

“No,” Kristin said. “If I have a gun in my hand, they will shoot me. That’s what you want.”

Impatient, Philip stepped forward, seized Kristin’s hand and shoved the pistol into her palm, literally folding her fingers over the handle. Then just as the Emerald Lakes security patrol car pulled into the driveway, Slater opened the door and smiled at Kristin.

“You broke into my home,” he said. “My wife heard something and got our pistol. There was a struggle and you shot her.” He nodded toward the pistol. “Your fingerprints will confirm that.”

“NO!” Kristin cried and dropped the gun as if it had turned blistering hot in her hand.

She heard the car doors slam.