A Mother Would Know (60)
Hudson studies my face a minute and then nods slowly, reluctantly. “Just be careful.”
“I will,” I promise him.
* * *
Hudson’s words ring out in my mind as I knock on the O’Leerys’ front door.
Be careful.
The door swings open. Beth stands in front of me wearing jeans, a flannel shirt, fuzzy socks on her feet. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. I feel overdressed in my skinny jeans, gray sweater and white Frye leather booties, accessorized with large dangly earrings and chunky bracelets lining my wrist. Then again, I’ve never known how to dress casually in social situations. I live in my joggers around the house, but whenever I leave it I like to dress nice.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” Darren used to ask when I’d come down the stairs ready to go grocery shopping or run errands.
I’d glance down at my silky top and high-heeled boots or sandals, confused. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing, you look amazing, but look what I’m wearing.” He’d point to himself, indicating his gym shorts and T-shirt, tennis shoes on his feet.
“Want me to change?” I’d ask, praying he’d say no. Other women rock sweatpants and Tshirts, some managing to appear glamorous in them, even. I don’t. I feel most comfortable when I’m put together.
And tonight, I need to feel comfortable.
Upon seeing me, the smile on Beth’s face slips, her mouth freezing around the word, “Oh.” She’s always been a little frumpy. Her brown hair is a drab color, and it’s always in a ponytail. Recovering, she brushes back a strand of hair that escaped from her hair tie. “Hi, Valerie.” She makes no attempt to move away from the door and continues to stare at me in confusion. “What are you doing here?”
“John told me about the neighborhood watch meeting. That’s tonight, right?” I peer over her shoulder, hearing chattering from the other room. I purposely showed up a little late, not wanting to be one of the first to arrive.
“Oh, he did, did he?” She doesn’t sound pleased.
“Yeah, when we caught him snooping on my property. It was actually very scary, since no one had made us aware of the neighborhood watch in the first place.”
Her cheeks flush the tiniest bit, a wash of pink against her pale skin. “Well, John jumped the gun.” It isn’t an apology. It’s also not an explanation. “We haven’t even started the neighborhood watch program yet. I’m still in the process of registering and getting signs and information.”
“But you’re still having the meeting, right?” Again, I look past her down the narrow entryway and into the family room. From this vantage point, I can tell the O’Leerys’ house is laid out similar to Leslie’s, the front hall leading to the den, the kitchen immediately off to the right. It’s decorated much differently, though. Beth seems to be into the farmhouse thing. Her walls are covered in whitewashed wooden signs that say things like, “Family,” “Home Sweet Home” and “Gather.”
A small group is huddled in the family room. I can’t see everyone, but it seems to be ten to fifteen people. I recognize most of them from my walks or from seeing them gabbing on Leslie’s front porch.
“Um...yes, but it’s just an initial meeting, explaining our options, gauging interest.” She crosses her arms over her chest, making no attempt to move out of the way.
It’s irritating. It’s not like I want to be here. I’d give anything to turn around and race back home. Run across the street. Bolt my door shut. Curl up with a blanket. But I came for answers, and I plan to get them. It’s my only hope of finding out who really killed Molly and Leslie.
“Well, I’m interested.” I clasp my hands nervously in front of me. Pressing my lips together, I glance at Beth’s frowning face. “Are you gonna let me in?”
“I’m sorry, but I really just wasn’t expecting you,” she says in an apologetic tone, peering warily over her shoulder. I notice a few of her guests peeking at us, Shelly being one of them. Alex, Beth’s husband, stands from an armchair like he’s wondering if he should intervene.
“The meeting was open to the entire neighborhood, wasn’t it?”
She nods. “But given your history with Leslie...and, well...you know...”
“No, I don’t,” I say, unable to give her the satisfaction of getting away with a statement like that. She should have to verbalize what she thinks, not force me to fill in the horrible blanks.
“Okay, I didn’t want to say this.” She stares down at her hands, but a small smile plays on her lips that betrays she’s having more fun with this than she cares to admit. “But I think maybe the meeting will be a little uncomfortable for you.”
“What do you mean?” My hands have become fists, my fingernails piercing the insides of my palms.
“I just...um...” She holds up her index finger the way a teacher does to an interrupting child. “Hang on just a minute, okay?” She peers down the entryway and hollers out, “We’ll start in just a minute. Why don’t you all get a drink and a snack?” Catching her husband’s eye, she nods. “Alex, can you help with that, please?”
He nods, eyeing me suspiciously.