The Neighbor

arrested.”

Max didn’t move. His expression fell, however. He twisted his hat in his hands, seeming to debate his options. “Where’s your wife, son?” the judge asked at last, his tone appropriately somber.

“I will count to five,” Jason said. “One-”

“Heard she’s been missing for over a day. Saw it on the news and skedaddled straight for the airport.”

“Two.”

“That my granddaughter? She’s got her grandmother’s eyes, she does. Beautiful little girl. Shame no one thought to call me about her birth. I know Sandra and I have had our differences, but I can’t think of anything I did that deserves not knowing about such a sweet child.”

“Three.”

“I’m here to help, son. Truly. I may be an old man, but I have some fight in me left.”

“Four.”

Max’s gaze grew narrower, more appraising. “You kill my only daughter, Jason Jones? Because if it turns out you harmed my Sandra, hurt one little hair on her head-”

“Five.”

Jason stepped off the porch. Max didn’t follow him right away. Jason was not surprised. According to Sandra, her father lived as the proverbial big fish in a little pond. He was a highly respected judge, an affable Southern gentleman. People instinctively trusted him, which is why no one had ever intervened to help his only daughter even as her mother poured bleach down her throat.

The reporters saw his approach, and optimistically stuck their microphones into the air, screaming louder.

“Where is Ree?”

“Who’s the man on your porch?”

“Do you have any words for the person who may have abducted Sandy?”

Jason stopped next to the uniformed officer farthest from the press and gestured him over with his finger. The officer’s nameplate read “Hawkes.” Excellent, Jason could use a hawk.

The officer dutifully huddled close, having no more desire to share their conversation with the greater free world than Jason did.

“Old guy on the porch,” Jason murmured. “He’s not welcome on my property. I have asked him to leave. He has refused.”

Officer arched a brow. Looked from Jason to the reporters to Jason again as a wordless question.

“If he wants to make a scene, that’s his choice,” Jason answered in a low undertone. “I consider him a threat to my daughter, and I want him gone.”

The officer nodded, pulled out a spiral notebook. “What’s his name?”

“Maxwell Black from Atlanta, Georgia.”

“Relation?”

“Technically speaking, he’s my wife’s father.”

The uniformed officer startled. Jason shrugged. “My wife did not wish for her father to be part of our daughter’s life. Just because Sandy’s… gone is no reason to disregard her instructions.”

“He make a statement? Threaten you or your daughter in any way?”

“I consider his presence to be a threat.”

“You mean you have a restraining order?” the officer asked in confusion.

“First thing tomorrow, I promise.” Which was a lie, because Jason would need proof of threatening behavior, and the courts would probably require something stronger than Sandy’s belief that Max had loved his psycho wife more than his battered daughter.

“I can’t arrest him,” the officer began.

Jason cut him off. “I consider him to be trespassing. Please remove him from my property lines. That’s all I ask.”

The uniformed officer didn’t argue, just shrugged, as if to say, It’s your front-page funeral, and prepared to stroll over to the front porch. Max, however, could see the writing on the wall. He descended the steps on his own, his jovial smile still firmly in place though his motions were jerky, a man doing what he had to do, not what he wanted to do.

“Guess I’ll check into my hotel now,” Max consented grandly, nodding once in Jason’s direction.

The reporters had quieted. They appeared to be connecting the presence of the uniformed officer to the actions of the white-haired man and were now keenly watching the show.

“’Course,” Max said to Jason, “I look forward to visiting with my granddaughter first thing in the morning.”

“Not gonna happen,” Jason replied evenly, heading back toward the house, where Ree waited for him.

“Now, son, I wouldn’t say that if I were you,” Max called after him.

Despite his better intention, Jason found himself pausing, turning, regarding his father-in-law.

“I know something,” the old man said quietly, soft enough that only Jason and the uniformed officer could hear. “For example: I know the date you first met my daughter, and I know the date my granddaughter was born.”

“No you don’t. Sandy never called you when she had Ree.”

“Public record, Jason Jones. Public record. Now, don’t you think it’s time to let bygones be bygones?”

“Not gonna happen,” Jason repeated firmly, though his heart was pounding hard. For the third time in one day, he was discovering danger where there hadn’t been danger before.

He gave Maxwell his back, climbing the front steps, working the lock on the door. He got it open, to find Ree standing in the middle of the entryway her lower lip trembling, her eyes glazed over with tears.

He shut the door and she threw herself into his arms.

“Daddy, I’m scared. Daddy, I’m scared!”

“Shhh, shhh, shhh.” He held her close. He stroked his daughter’s hair, inhaled the comforting scent of Johnson’s No More Tears shampoo.

“I love you,” he whispered against the top of Ree’s head, even as he wondered if Max would take her from him.

Jason made waffles for dinner. Breakfast for supper was a time-honored treat, and the familiar ritual of beating water and waffle mix calmed him. Jason poured the batter over the steaming griddle. Ree sat on the edge of the counter, steadfastly watching the red griddle light. When it went off, it would be time to eat. She took her timer duties seriously.

Jason got out the syrup. Poured them glasses of orange juice, then scrambled the last two eggs in the fridge so his child would have something besides bread dipped in sugar as a meal. He could almost hear Sandy saying now, “Waffles with maple syrup are little better than doughnuts. Honestly Jason, at least throw in a hard-boiled egg, something.”

She had never complained too much, though. Her favorite meal was angel hair pasta with pink vodka sauce, which she ate anytime they went to the North End. Pinkalicious pasta, Ree called it, and the two of them would slurp away, sharing the same bowl with gastronomic glee.

Jason’s hand shook slightly. He overshot stirring the egg, sending a yellow chunk onto the floor. He tapped by it with his toe, and Mr. Smith came over to investigate.

“The light’s off,” Ree singsonged.

“All righty, then. Let’s eat!” He used his best Jim Carrey voice, and Ree giggled. The sound of her laugh soothed him. He did not have all the answers. He was deeply troubled about what had happened today, let alone what might happen next. But he had this moment. Ree had this moment.

Moments mattered. Other people didn’t always get that. But Jason did.

They sat side by side at the counter. They ate their waffles. They drank their juice. Ree chased scrambled-egg bits around her plate, putting each bite through a maple-syrup obstacle course before finally popping it in her mouth.

Jason helped himself to another waffle. He wondered when the police would arrive to seize the family laptop. He cut his waffle into bite-sized pieces. He wondered how much Ethan Hastings had taught Sandy about computers, and why she’d never confronted Jason with her suspicions. He added half a dozen waffle bits onto Ree’s daisy plate. He wondered which would be the hardest way to lose his daughter-to the police, sticking her in foster care when