Ellen James - The Man Next Door

“How’s the house?” he asked Michael.

“Fine.”

Apparently even this brief answer gave Thad Bennett something to ruminate on. He had the air of a man weighed down by the significance of his own thoughts. While he was busy thinking up his next approach, his wife, Norie, jumped in.

“How nice you could come tonight, Mr. Turner. These family gatherings can be so tedious. Sophie hardly ever allows any outsiders, and—” She stopped herself once more, looking dismayed. “I mean—”

“Don’t worry. I don’t mind being an outsider,” Michael said.

She gave him an embarrassed smile. “Believe it or not, Mr. Turner, I’m usually not such a blatherer. It’s just my mother-in-law’s proximity that. throws me off.”

“Norie,” said her husband on a warning note.

This, however, only seemed to inspire her. “Well, why try to hide it? None of us enjoys coming here, but we all put up a front. We ought to admit it for once.” She glanced at Kim for confirmation.

Kim shrugged. “You wouldn’t be offending Sophie. She loves to keep everyone off balance.”

“That’s it exactly,” said Norie. “She orchestrates these command performances and she won’t tell anyone what they’re about. It’s very disconcerting.”

“Norie,” her husband said with exaggerated patience.

She glanced defiantly at him. “I don’t see you standing up to her, do I?”

Kim looked beleaguered, as if she had been through scenes of this kind often before. Michael surmised that Norie and Thad Bennett were the type who had been married so long and quibbled so frequently they forgot to be restrained in the presence of other people.

“Well,” Norie said, “who knows why Sophie’s dragged us all out here tonight? I’ve been guessing, but I don’t have a clue.” When no one responded, she glanced at Kim. “Any ideas?” she asked brightly. She behaved as if it was her duty to keep the conversational ball rolling. Something about the woman seemed just a little off to Michael. One minute she gave the impression of being overly timid, the next she was on the verge of arguing with her husband—and the next she was forcing the conversation. She appeared to be trying on different roles, different attitudes, to see which one fit.

“Sophie will let us know soon enough what she wants,” Kim said after another awkward pause.

“That’s just it,” Norie said, speaking too quickly. “Sophie always wants something from us. Something that usually leaves bad feelings afterward. You’d think at least now and then she could invite us over to enjoy some family togetherness, nothing else.”

“Norie,” said her husband in a long—suffering tone, “I don’t think Mr. Turner wants to know about our family squabbles.”

“I’m sure he can speak for himself.” Norie turned her attention fully on Michael. “Mr. Turner, we could use an objective opinion. Do you find us Bennetts dull. or interesting?”

The woman had taken on yet another pose. All of a sudden she appeared subtly provocative, but with a hint of anxiety underneath. She seemed to be asking for reassurance of some type—as if she wanted Michael to tell her she wasn’t ordinary. In a way he supposed she was flirting with him. Her husband seemed to have the same impression, and he was beginning to look vaguely disturbed. As for Kim, she had arranged her features in a carefully neutral expression, and she seemed to find it necessary to check her watch again. Michael would have given a great deal to know what she was thinking at this moment.

“I’m just along for the ride tonight,” he said finally.

Norie Bennett seemed disappointed. “That’s a nonanswer, Mr. Turner. Very diplomatic, I’m sure, but I expected something more from you.”

The woman had just met him—what could she have expected? But already she was glancing about discontentedly as if seeking another audience. She no longer seemed to care whether or not the conversation kept going. And meanwhile, Thad Bennett seemed to retreat once more into the protection of his own ponderous thoughts.

Michael caught Kim’s eye and smiled a little. She didn’t smile back, although he saw that hint of turbulence in her gaze. Was she more disgusted with him or with the Bennetts? It was difficult to tell.

Just then Sophie appeared beside them—somewhat eerily, because she hadn’t made any noise, seeming to materialize out of nowhere. She proceeded to commandeer the group.

“Thad, please go call Roger and find out what’s holding him up. Kim, Norie, I’d appreciate your popping ping into the kitchen to reassure Yolanda about her soufflé. You know how she is when I have her try a new recipe. Go alóng—I’ll take care of Mr. Turner.” Sophie had deployed her troops. Thad Bennett went off toward the phone, and Norie hurried in the opposite direction. Only Kim refused to budge.

“Michael is my guest,” she said firmly. “I’ll keep him entertained.”

“No doubt,” Sophie said with the slightest hint of irony. “But he also lives in one of my houses. I have a few matters I wish to discuss with him.”

Kim waited another second or two, studying Michael doubtfully. Perhaps she decided he could handle Sophie on his own, for she gave a shrug, turned and walked away. Michael watched her. As always she moved proudly, taking her time crossing the large room, refusing to rush for anyone—even her motherin—law.

“Mr. Turner,” said Sophie, “I hadn’t expected you here tonight. Nonetheless, I commend you for working so quickly with. her.”

Michael didn’t care for Sophie Bennett’s so—called approval. She made it sound as if he’d done something slick to be here with Kim.

“Don’t rush to any conclusions,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows just a fraction. “Mr. Turner, however you choose to…get close to her is no concern of mine. Just so long as you learn what is necessary.”

Michael disliked this case more and more. He also disliked Sophie Bennett and her unsavorý implications. If he was getting close to Kim Bennett, it was against all his better judgment.

“There’s a lot I need to find out,” he said grimly.

“No, Mr. Turner,” Sophie returned. “You need to find out only one thing. How she did it. How she…killed my son.” The words were stark, more so because they were spoken so dispassionately. Michael noted that she couldn’t even seem to say Kim’s name.

But Sophie couldn’t disguise the pain that flashed in her eyes for just a moment. That she had genuinely loved her dead son there could be no doubt. Michael had sensed as much from the first time he’d met her. But Sophie was tough. She’d already made it clear that no amount of pain or sorrow would get in the way of anything she intended to do.

“What if Kim didn’t kill your son?” he asked quietly. “What if it was someone else—or no one? What if it was just one too many and a winding road?”

This time she betrayed no emotion at all. She might have been a statue of mourning, her grief so deep that it had turned her face to stone.

“My son was murdered, Mr. Turner, and no one else had a motive to kill him,” she said with absolute control. “No one else profited by Stan’s death. Now, I hired you because you came highly recommended. I assume you will live up to my expectations.”

It seemed he was hearing a lot tonight about expectations. “I’ll do my job with an open mind,” he said. “That’s the way I work. Take it or leave it, Mrs. Bennett.”

Still she maintained that implacable control. “As I said, you came highly recommended. I see no reason to question your capabilities—yet.” With apparently nothing further to say to him, she left again. There always seemed a convenient doorway near at hand where Sophie Bennett could vanish.

Michael remained by himself, thinking that he could use a drink about now. Too bad there didn’t seem to be any in the offing. He scanned the place. Diane and Jack still huddled together, although Diane periodically craned her neck to get a look at Michael. Thad was off in a corner, using the phone. Kim and Norie were still in the kitchen, it seemed, reassuring Yolanda about her soufflé. At least that boded well for food.

The doorbell rang, the sound resonating through the lofty room, and everyone seemed to crane their necks in unison. The maid came through on her way to answer the door. A few seconds later she could be heard murmuring to someone in the foyer, and then came the sound of a man’s easy laughter. Finally a man came striding into the living room. He was unmistakably another Bennett—solid head of hair, those seemingly invincible features. Yet this Bennett possessed what all the others in his family lacked: charisma. It showed as soon as he spoke.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said carelessly to no one in particular. “You know how things go.”

Thad stepped forward, looking displeased. “Roger, I was just calling your place. If you’re going to keep us all waiting, the least you could do is—”

“You should have started without me,” Roger Bennett said, his inflection making it clear no one ever started anything without him. He scanned the room, his attention focusing on Michael. He came over to shake hands.

“Say, you’re new, aren’t you?” He gave an engaging grin, the kind that was second nature to people who assumed they were welcome anywhere, by anyone.

“Michael Turner.” “Of course—our new tenant. Glad to meet you,” said Roger. “How’s the place? Any problems?”

“Not so far.” Throughout the evening, Michael had been referred to as “Sophie’s tenant,” but Roger spoke of him as “our tenant.” A subtle distinction, perhaps, but it stirred Michael’s curiosity.

“Property management isn’t a family specialty, I’m afraid,” Roger went on. “We’ve held on to the house for sentimental reasons. Were you aware of that?”

It wasn’t the type of question worth answering. And Roger was already going on, obviously more interested in what he had to say than in any response of Michael’s.

“It was the first place my parents ever lived together.” Roger looked appropriately reflective. “They were so happy with it they bought the house next door, too, hoping to create a sort of family enclave. It didn’t work out that way unfortunately. My father died, and my mother couldn’t bear to live there with the memories. But she hung on to it, and Stan, at least, ended up living in the house next door. Poor unlucky Stan.” Roger sounded just a little smug, as if congratulating. himself for not ending up like poor unlucky Stan. Then he glanced at Michael again.

“You’ll have to forgive us for being gloomy tonight. Stan’s accident only happened a few months ago. You know about that of course?”

Another question not worth answering.

“It hit all of us pretty hard,” Roger said. “Mother especially, although she doesn’t let on.” He looked wistful. “Stan was the youngest.”

Michael never lost the impression that Roger Bennett had taken center stage in the room and was perfectly comfortable there. He didn’t seem to be speaking so much about his dead brother as about himself—the grieving but irrepressible survivor. And all the while, he conveyed that relaxed charm.

Michael never had been easily swayed by charm, and for now, he was reserving judgment on all the Bennetts. But this time it didn’t surprise him when Sophie materialized suddenly.

“Roger,” she said in a chiding tone, “we’ve been waiting for you.”

“Good to see you, too, Mother.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. Michael reflected that this was the first time he had seen any gesture of affection toward the Bennett matriarch. Sophie appeared merely to tolerate it. Maybe she wasn’t easily swayed by charm, either.