The Man Next Door

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 unsavor? 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 soufflе. 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.

“I want to get started,” she said. “Come along.” She headed out of the room, and everyone else fell in behind her. Michael wasn’t sure the invitation included him, but he brought up the rear, anyway. He was on the lookout for Kim.

The procession led by Sophie ended up in a dining room with its own lofty ceiling. The vast polished table in the center was obviously a valuable antique. It had been laid with place settings and everyone gravitated toward a particular chair; Michael had the feeling that once you were assigned a seat by Sophie, you stuck to it. After a moment Kim and her sister-in-law, Norie, came into the room and took up their own posts. That left only a slight problem: no place setting had been laid for Michael.