A Stranger at the Door (A Rachel Marin Thriller) Read online

  He was friendly with Penny Wallace, but they weren’t quite friends. Penny was the stepdaughter of Leslie Tally, John Serrano’s partner on the Ashby police force. Since Eric’s mom had begun . . . seeing . . . Detective John Serrano, Penny’s and Eric’s families had become friendly. Tally’s wife, Claire Wallace, had a husband and three kids before she married Tally. Eric’s mom had a husband before she met John Serrano. Both families had been blown up: one by divorce, the other by tragedy. Eric couldn’t stand their loud, boisterous family dinners. He felt like a shard from a broken glass being glued together with other pieces that didn’t fit.

  But Penny . . . Penny was always kind to him. Even when he didn’t return that kindness. There was a reason he couldn’t allow himself to get close to her. He could never tell her the truth.

  “I know what you’ve been through,” she’d said to him once. “I can’t say I know what it’s like to lose a parent like you did, but if you ever want to talk, I’m a pretty good listener.”

  Eric had thanked her. And he’d meant it. But never took her up on it. He had to keep a distance between them. For her own good.

  John Serrano wasn’t a bad guy. Eric’s mom was happy around him, he liked fantasy and science fiction, and he could keep up with Eric when they talked about books and movies. Since Eric’s father had died, his mom had mostly kept to herself. And Eric knew why. She didn’t trust anyone. Couldn’t trust anyone. Sometimes Eric wondered if his mom wanted John Serrano around because she genuinely cared for him or if she just liked having another gun in the house.

  The classroom door opened, and the gossip stopped. Eric could feel his pulse thumping in his temples. Principal Tamara Alvi entered, talking softly on a cell phone. Her eyes were red, and mascara ran in rivulets down her cheeks.

  Principal Alvi put her phone in the pocket of her gray blazer, took a deep breath, and faced the classroom. She was about five two with short legs and deep-set eyes. She was in her early fifties, usually well put together, but looked like she’d aged ten years that morning.

  “Where’s Mr. Linklater?” came a voice from the back of the room.

  Principal Alvi nodded, as though acknowledging the question but unsure how to answer it.

  “At this point,” Ms. Alvi said, “you are all young adults, and many of you have dealt with tremendously difficult situations in your lives. These days, information spreads as fast as a text message. It’s important you hear this from me and not on social media. Mr. Linklater is both friend and family to our school, its faculty, and its students. Today I have the terrible responsibility to inform you that Mr. Linklater has passed away.”

  Several students audibly gasped. A few began to cry. Eric felt a lump rise in his throat. Passed away? he thought. Healthy-looking fortysomethings don’t just pass away. He knew Alvi was either lying or withholding the truth.

  “We have informed your parents and guardians about this terrible tragedy,” Ms. Alvi said, her voice shaking. “We will have grief counselors on hand for any student who would like to speak with them. No doubt you will hear more about Mr. Linklater’s passing. All I ask is that you treat him with the same respect he treated all of you.”

  “How did he die?” Cory Stuber shouted. Cory was an asshole. Everyone knew it, but because he had an enormous summer home right on Lake Springfield and a key to his parents’ liquor cabinet, nobody wanted to piss him off. Eric hated Cory’s asshole voice, his asshole wavy blond hair, and the way that even though he was an asshole, girls still smiled at him.

  Alvi shook her head. “His death was . . . unnatural. That’s all I can say right now. You may see members of the Ashby Police Department around school over the next few days. If any of them try to speak with you, please let me or your parents or guardians know before talking to them. We will have a schoolwide assembly tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, so he was definitely killed,” Cory Stuber said.

  “You’re a soulless shithead,” Adaline Wylie chided.

  “Don’t be so naive,” Cory snapped back. “Do you think cops would be here if he choked on a chicken bone? So how did Linklater kick the bucket?”

  Eric felt flames rise up through his gut and into his shoulders. He clenched his fists and said, “Shut the hell up, Cory.”

  “Why?” Cory said with a smug laugh. “Did you kill him?”

  “Enough, Cory,” Penny yelled.

  “Why? Are you gonna call one of your two moms on me?”

  “That’s enough, Mr. Stuber,” Alvi said. The anger that always bubbled in Eric’s gut was now inching up his neck, roiling inside of him. “There is no room right now for hate or anger. We all loved Mr. Linklater, and we will get through this. Together.”

  Principal Alvi left the classroom. Once she was gone, the students slowly got up and filed out. Eric listened to the whispers, the theories, the gossip. He went to his locker and removed his copy of Discovering Our Past: A History of the United States from his backpack. The spine was new, barely cracked. Most students were forced to buy used copies of the curriculum textbooks, but Eric’s mother always made sure his were brand new. New books. New clothes. New everything. He felt embarrassed reading from his pristine copy when his classmates read from books with pages falling out. He never asked his mother where the money came from.

  Back when his father was alive, his parents had rarely argued. But when they did, it was always about money. And the walls were so thin he could hear every word. How they could ever afford college for two. If they’d be stuck in the same house forever. One morning Eric had asked them about it. “If you love each other,” he’d said, “why do you yell at each other?”

  They’d both kissed him and hugged him, and his father had said, “Parents fight. Your mom and I fight because we care about you and about our family. But I love her more than I did yesterday.” And Eric knew he meant it.

  But after their father died, the Marin family had never wanted for anything. New computers. New textbooks. New clothes every season. Things they’d never had before. Eric wondered how they suddenly had money, but he never asked. He had a feeling the answer would make him angry.

  As he put his books into his backpack, Eric knew Penny Wallace had come up behind him. He could always smell her before he saw her. Her deodorant had a sweet scent, like too much sugar poured into too little lemon juice. He liked that he could tell when she was close; it made him feel like a detective or an FBI agent. He closed his locker, spun the lock, and turned around to see Penny there.

  “Oh, hey, Penny,” he said, pretending to be surprised.

  “Hey, Eric,” she said. He felt something twisting in his stomach, her presence washing away his anger like cool water over burning embers. He tried to force back a smile but failed.

  “Well, look at that,” Penny said. “I was starting to wonder if you had teeth. You should smile more often.”

  A witty reply did not come to him, so Eric just said, “Yeah.”

  “You didn’t respond to my text last night.”

  “I was asleep,” Eric lied. Keep her at arm’s length, he thought. For her own sake.

  “No, you weren’t. I got a read receipt.”

  He shrugged. “Caught.”

  “So,” she repeated. “How are you?”

  “OK, I guess.”

  “OK, I guess,” Penny said. “The only time someone says they’re ‘OK’ is when they’re really not OK. Talk to me.”

  “About what?”

  “Come on, Eric. The last few months you’ve been . . . I don’t know, not there.”

  “I’m right here.”

  “You know what I mean. The last few times your family has come over for dinner, I don’t think you’ve said more than two words.”

  “Were you counting?”

  “Maybe,” she said, with a faint smile.

  The first time his mother had told them they were having dinner with Detective Tally’s family, Eric had refused to go. “I don’t have to listen to you,” he’d shouted. “When has anyt
hing good ever come from me listening to you?” Then he’d stormed off to his room, leaving his mother and sister standing in the foyer, shocked.

  A few minutes later, Eric had heard his mother quietly weeping in the hallway. When he opened his bedroom door, he saw her sitting on the floor, knees held to her chin, head in her arms. He could not recall ever seeing his mother look defeated before. Guilt sliced through him like a sharpened blade.

  Eric knew the hell his mother had been through. And even though his brain had said, Fight, you idiot; you’ve got her on the ropes! his heart had reminded him that his mother would trade her life for his in an instant. And that he was at least partially responsible for her sadness.

  And so he’d come out and told her he’d changed his mind, and they’d gone to the Wallace family’s home. To his surprise, it hadn’t been that bad. Tally’s wife, Claire, had cooked enough osso buco to feed an infantry division. And the Wallace kids were pretty cool. Penny especially. They talked about school and music and who had the best Instagram feeds. At the end of the night, they exchanged numbers. Before they went to bed, they followed each other on social media. They filled each other’s feeds with chaste “likes.” And every time Penny spoke to him unprovoked, Eric wondered—maybe even hoped—it might be something more.

  “I know you want to talk,” she said. “Talk to me.”

  “I didn’t realize you could read minds,” he said, more flirtatiously than he’d hoped.

  “Actually, I can. One look at your hand, and I’ll be able to tell you what you’re going to get on Mr. Meador’s English exam next week.”

  “Is that right?” Eric said, this time striking the right tone. He knew it because he could see the color rising in her cheeks.

  She nodded and gently took his hand. Penny looked at it for a moment, then gently placed her right hand underneath his and ran her finger along the creases in his skin.

  Eric felt strange. Warm. Like all the words he knew had been removed from his brain and replaced with mush. He wanted to tell her to stop, but his brain had ceased responding to instructions. Penny traced her finger from the tips of his fingers down to his wrist.

  “What does my hand tell you?” Eric said.

  “Shh,” Penny replied. Her eyes were shut tight as she concentrated. Or at least pretended to concentrate. “This line says you’re going to get an eighty-eight on your English test.”

  “That’s a B plus,” Eric said. “Can my palm bump that to maybe a ninety or ninety-one?”

  “I don’t make up what your lines say,” Penny replied. “This line says you’re a Placidochromis.”

  “A what, now?”

  “A Placidochromis. It’s a type of fish that comes from Lake Malawi in Mozambique.”

  “And why would I be a . . .”

  “Placidochromis. Actually its full name is Placidochromis phenochilus Mdoka.”

  “Bless you.”

  “It’s a fish with lips that look bizarrely human. That’s what you are. You have all these traits that appear human . . . but you don’t really use them.”

  “That was quite a leap,” Eric said.

  “Tell me I’m wrong. Because you want to say more than you actually do. Maybe you don’t think anyone wants to listen. But they will.”

  “Like who?”

  Penny took her hand from Eric’s. She toed the ground. “People.”

  To Eric, the following moment of silence seemed to last forever. Then he said, “So did you learn anything else from my palm, Ichthyologist Wallace?”

  She took his hand and said, “This line says . . .”

  “That Eric Marin killed Mr. Linklater.”

  Eric turned to see Cory Stuber standing there, a smirk on his face that practically begged to be punched away. Two girls stood on either side of him: Vanessa Jackson and Odette Meyers. They looked at Eric like he was a tetherball that would be fun to bat around.

  “Go away, Cory,” Eric said.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Cory said, mock-cupping his ear and leaning in. “Was that a confession? Did you just confess to cutting off Mr. Linklater’s head and making it into a fishbowl?”

  “Stop it, Cory,” Penny said.

  “Know what I just remembered? Penny’s mom is a cop. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing if you got arrested by your girlfriend’s dyke mom?”

  Eric clenched his fists. He could envision swinging upward from his hip, smashing Cory’s smug chin, shattering all his teeth, splitting his lips into red worms, watching his body fly back like it had been spring loaded. But instead he stood there, watching Cory and the girls smile, hoping they would just all go away and leave him alone, like he wanted to be. Like he deserved to be.

  Cory stepped forward, so close that Eric could smell his breath.

  “Did you forget how to speak, Marin?” Cory said. “Let me help you.” Cory brought his fingers toward Eric’s lips, like a pair of pincers.

  But before Cory could touch Eric, a hand grabbed Cory’s wrist, twisting it away, and an arm the size of a small tree trunk slammed into the middle of the boy’s back, driving him face first into the row of lockers with a whumpf. Cory gasped and tried to wriggle free, but the enormous arm held him in place with ease.

  The arm was attached to a kid. Not a kid. A guy. A guy Eric only knew from the way other kids avoided him in the corridors. They swerved around him like you might avoid a rattlesnake in the grass. He was the kind of kid new students were warned to stay away from. Including Eric.

  Benjamin Ruddock. A senior. He was eighteen but could have passed for thirty. He was a head taller than Cory and Eric and outweighed them each by about forty pounds. His sandy-brown hair fell across his forehead. He had the blue eyes of a calm lake, but there was a sparkle of menace behind them, as though a monster was hidden in the depths. Ruddock held Cory Stuber against the lockers almost effortlessly. Vanessa Jackson and Odette Meyers batted at Ruddock’s arm with the effectiveness of paper airplanes flitting against the side of a Sherman tank.

  “Let me go, asshole,” Cory groaned, but his shaky voice belied the fact that he knew Ruddock would only let him go when he damn well pleased.

  “Apologize to my friend,” Ruddock said. Eric’s eyes widened. He’d never spoken a word to Benjamin Ruddock.

  “Go screw yourself,” Cory spat.

  Ruddock dug his palm deeper into Cory’s shoulder, hard enough that his collarbone was likely beginning to bend. Cory cried out in pain.

  “Apologize to my friend Eric,” Ruddock said, “or I’ll hide pieces of you in different lockers.” Ruddock pushed harder. Cory again cried out in pain.

  “I’m sorry,” Cory whispered.

  “I can’t hear you,” Ruddock said in a singsong tone.

  “I’m sorry!” Cory said, loud enough for other kids to take notice.

  “I’m sorry, Eric,” Ruddock said.

  “I’m sorry, Eric!” Cory wept. Ruddock let him go. Cory Stuber collapsed to the ground. The two girls knelt down to help him up, but Cory pushed them away and ran off, a neutered dog.

  “You OK, kid?” Ruddock said to Eric.

  “He was just being a douchebag,” Eric said.

  “Don’t worry about idiots like Cory Stuber,” Ruddock said. “In ten years he’ll be pumping your gas.”

  Ruddock clapped Eric friendly-like on the arm and laughed. It made Eric feel good. People rarely laughed with him.

  “Ben,” he said, extending his hand. “Ben Ruddock.”

  Eric shook it. He could make out blue tattoo ink just under the right sleeve of Ruddock’s shirt. “Eric Marin.”

  “Good to finally meet,” Ruddock said. “I’ve had my eye on you, Eric Marin.”

  “Your eye on me?”

  “Not in a creepy way. I want to talk about your future.”

  “My future?” Eric said. Penny’s eyes narrowed, distrusting.

  “Do you see yourself stuck in Ashby your whole life, dealing with troglodytes like Cory Stuber?”

  “I . . . I haven�
�t really thought about it.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time?”

  “I don’t know. I guess?”

  Ruddock nodded. He turned toward Penny. “Listen, Ms. Wallace. Do me a solid. Let me have a chat with Eric. Then the two of you can catch butterflies until the end of time. OK?”

  Penny looked at Eric.

  He shrugged and said, “It’s OK.”

  Penny nodded. “OK. See you, Eric. Text me later.”

  “See you,” Eric replied. Penny walked away, quickly.

  When she was out of earshot, Ruddock sighed. “I never thought we’d get rid of her.”

  “She’s my friend,” Eric said.

  “You’re right,” Ruddock said. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I get a little impatient. But only for things I’m excited about. Like opportunities.”

  “Opportunities?”

  “That’s why I’m here. To give you an opportunity. You’re a smart kid, Marin. I’ve seen you around. You’re smarter than people give you credit for.”

  “What do you mean you’ve seen me around?”

  “I keep an eye on all the younger classes. For recruiting purposes.”

  “Recruiting purposes? Recruiting for what?”

  Ruddock ignored the question. “We’re always looking for smart, capable, ambitious young men. Young men who have tremendous potential. But you’re being pushed aside by others who are too blind to see it.”

  “I’m not being pushed anywhere.”

  “Sure you are,” Ruddock said. “You’re being pushed around by people at home. By people like Cory Stuber. People like your mom. They still see you as a kid. Only one person can change that, and I’m looking at him.”

  “You don’t know the first thing about my mom,” Eric said.

  “Listen, Eric,” Ruddock said, putting a heavy hand on Eric’s shoulder. “I know your dad isn’t around. Mine isn’t either. I mean, he’s still alive, but he’s basically a living speed bump. Creates more problems than he solves. Hell, I’d rather have no dad than him. So same thing, if you think about it.”