Her Last Day (Jessie Cole #1)(33)

“Would you mind if I have a quick look around the rest of the house? It will only take a minute.”

His face flushed. He glanced at his watch and shook his head. “Maybe another time. I’ve got to get going. I—I’m late as it is.”

Flummoxed, she said, “Okay. Another time, then.” She looked around. “I don’t see a computer. Did she use one?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a subtle nod. “She used mine. I can’t part with that. Sorry.” His eye twitched, and she wondered if that was a nervous habit of his. She couldn’t remember his eye twitching when they’d first met. Arlo was acting so strange, she didn’t know what to think.

“I have enough to work with here,” she finally said as she piled the journal on top of the shoe box. “You might see me down the street on your way out. I want to knock on a few doors and talk to some of your neighbors, see if anyone spotted Zee coming or going.”

“Good luck with that.”

His statement baffled her. “What do you mean?”

“The neighbors and I have never seen eye to eye.”

The man had a way of saying everything and nothing at the same time. “Why is that?”

“You know how neighbors can be . . . loud music, tall fences, barking dogs. The list is long.” His eye twitched again. “Mrs. Dixon next door. Her husband died years ago. She’s lonely and has nothing better to do than watch my every move. I’m sure you’ll get an earful—that’s all I’m saying.”

“Is that the same neighbor whose house Zee broke into before?”

“Well, yes, but still, I see no reason for Mrs. Dixon to hold any grudges over such a silly thing.”

Jessie nodded, but she couldn’t help but think there was something extremely off about Arlo Gatley.

Why did he seem so nervous?

Had he lied to her about the blood on his hand?

Although she questioned what she might have gotten herself into, she was more determined than ever to find Zee. The girl was mentally unstable, lost, and scared.

Jessie needed to find her.



“Those two are strange,” Mrs. Dixon, the widow and neighbor to the left of Arlo Gatley, said. “If you’ve met Arlo, which it sounds as if you have, you’ve probably already figured out that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I mean, who names their daughter Zebra?”

“She was named Zinnia, after the flower,” Jessie explained. “Arlo calls her Zee.”

The woman rolled her eyes.

“When you say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, what do you mean?” Jessie asked. “Could you elaborate?”

“You’ve met him, talked to him. He’s odd, plain and simple.” She sighed and made a face as if she thought Jessie was a dimwit. “For instance, when Arlo pulls up into his driveway after work, I see him sitting in the car, sometimes for an hour. He’s not texting or talking on the phone, just staring out the window with a blank look.”

Jessie nodded, waited. Arlo might have been right about Mrs. Dixon being lonely.

“Elijah and Lettie Foxletter,” Mrs. Dixon said next, pointing to a two-story colonial house not too far down the block, “are in charge of the neighborhood-watch group. You might want to talk to them.”

“Before I go,” Jessie said, “I was told that Arlo’s daughter broke into your home more than once. Did you and Zee ever have a conversation?”

“No. Once she saw me, she just left the house without an explanation or apology. She’s a strange one.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, she did break into my house. That’s strange enough, but it’s more than that. She mutters to herself, and she’s always wearing black.” Mrs. Dixon sighed. “When the girl was younger, I use to wake up to her screaming for help in the middle of the night. It was a frightful time—let me tell you. I called the police every time it happened. And every time the police told me she had some sort of mental disorder and that her father was doing everything he could to keep her outbursts under control.” She shrugged. “Her screams haven’t woken me in years, but that bloodcurdling cry is still stuck in my mind. I’ve considered moving away. Many of us in the neighborhood have.”

“Because you think Zee could be a danger to you?”

“Not the girl—her father,” she said. “He’s strange, yes. And if you ask me, there’s also something disturbing about Arlo Gatley.” Mrs. Dixon smoothed the front of her crisp, clean blouse and then peeked over Jessie’s shoulder as if she was afraid someone might be listening in. “I’m going to have to say goodbye. Talk to the others. Maybe they can help.”

“I will. Thanks for your time.”

Before Jessie had a chance to turn away, the door clicked shut in her face.

As she walked on the sidewalk toward the house Mrs. Dixon had pointed out, she saw before her a quaint picture of a tree-lined street with white picket fences bordering newly mowed lawns. The click of her shoes was the only sound as she moved down the street. A hint of jasmine filled the air. If not for the disturbing images on Zee’s wall and the thought of that same young woman screaming out for help in the dark of night, Jessie might have found a peaceful sort of solace on her short walk to the Foxletters’ house.