The Neighbors
Last month, my husband went to England for ten days. While he was away, our noisy upstairs neighbors moved out. They moved out in the middle of the night. There was lots of banging around and dropping things. They left a pile of glass from a mirror they broke in the bushes next to the sidewalk. That’s typical of them.
After they were gone, there was a lot of speculation–not that I’m nosy and have nothing better to do than wonder about the neighbors. I’m just curious and interested in learning more about the things that go on around me. I was happy they were gone, but I was also concerned. Today I learned that my speculation and concern may have been warranted.
This evening a stranger knocked on our door and of course my husband answered it. If I were home alone, I would’ve just pretended that I wasn’t home, but my husband always answers the door. I don’t think that’s a good thing. I mean, what if it’s a crazy killer. It was a good thing he was home tonight because if he wasn’t home I would’ve missed out on some interesting information.
This stranger was a woman who was asking a lot of questions about the upstairs neighbors. “Did a Barbara Jones live upstairs?” she asked. (The names have been changed.)
“Yeah, Barbie,” I answered.
“We don’t know her last name,” my husband added.
“Was she living with Doug?” the woman asked.
“I thought his name was Ken,” my husband responded.
The woman laughed knowingly. “Were they driving a green Honda Civic?” (The car has also been changed.)
“Yeah,” my husband responded.
“How long ago did they move out?”
“I don’t know maybe three weeks ago,” my husband said. “May I ask what this is all about?”
“It’s personal. I’m a private investigator. Thanks for your help.”
“I wonder if her name was Magnum,” my husband joked after she left.
I wonder what’s going on.
