A Quiet Neighbor (27 page)

Trying not to panic, I ask, “Where was your
wife during that time?”

“She said she was in her room drinking. I
believe her. When I came back she was already knocked out in bed and she reeked
of alcohol. I…I didn’t check the girls’ room when I got back…I didn’t think I
needed to.”

“Brett? I need you to focus.” I wait a beat for
him to clear his head. “You don’t think Tess could have gotten so drunk she
accidently killed Loral and placed her at the school, then came back and passed
out?

He shakes his head. Grim and tight-lipped he says,
“No. When Tess gets drunk she pretty much just keeps to herself and passes out.
She’s not violent. Also, although they had an unconventional relationship, Tess
loved Loral.”

“Okay. So then why did she cover for you?”

“Probably because she didn’t want anyone
knowing about her drinking problem and her affair. Also, I didn’t do it and I
think she needs to believe that. Our marriage isn’t perfect but I hope she at
least knows I would never hurt her, Loral, or our two girls. I hope she doesn’t
believe I did it. I couldn’t really tell, she was so shaken up and still hung
over.”

“Got it.”

“Ky. What I just told you…it doesn’t help me
get out of this mess, does it?”

Looking into his softening blue eyes, I want to
make them crinkle with hope, to erase the years of pain I inflicted. But I can’t.
“No.”

“Ky, what do I do? Tell me what to do. I can’t
go to jail. I have two girls that need me.”

“You need to talk to your lawyer. For now, it’s
all circumstantial. There’s no real evidence to tie you to the murder except
for an eyewitness account and a cop’s hunch.” I tighten my ponytail and let out
a heavy sigh. “I have to be honest. You don’t smell good, Brett. My partner’s
going to try to break you down, gut you and then fry you on a stick. My advice
is to contact Art and not say much. Got it?”

Brett sits back down, confused. “What do you
mean, contact Art?”

“Leila’s husband.”

“I know who he is, why would I contact him?”

“Brett, he checked into the W hotel not that
long ago. He’s your lawyer. Haven’t you been talking to your sister?”

Brett sits, stunned.

“Fuck. Apparently, I’m supposed to break the
news.” I take out my cell and a business card from my back pocket. I slide the
card toward him. “His number. I’ll call him and let him know you’re in
interrogation. He should be here shortly after Pickering starts. Don’t say much
until Art arrives, got it?”

Brett nods, solemnly, a single tear escaping
from his eye. “Leila contacted you?”

I nod, uncomfortable.

“Brett, I’m going to leave you now and give Art
a call.”

Brett stares at the business card and nods.

Before stepping out, I stop and turn. “Oh, just
curious, but have you taken martial arts before? Learned the art of something
called Dim Mak?”

He shakes his head, confused. No recognition or
guilt registers in his eyes.

“Good,” I breathe. “What about Tess? Or anyone
else?”

“No, no one. Wait. Does cardio kickboxing class
count? I think Tess did something like that before.”

“No. I wasn’t looking for aerobic classes. I
was thinking more like an Asian kung fu class type of thing.”

“Then no.” His eyes widen as a spark of hope
winks within his milky blues. “Is that what killed her? Did the killer use some
type of crazy kung fu, karate-chop thing and kill her? Because that means it
couldn’t have been me, right? Because I don’t know that kind of shit. Right,
Ky? That’s proof it couldn’t have been me.”

“Brett, it’s not that simple. But stay hopeful,
okay?”

Solemnly he nods again.

“Oh, Brett?” He glances up. “I feel terrible
about what I did seventeen years ago. I was stupid. I don’t know what I was
thinking. I’m so sorry.”

The blue in his eyes clouds over, distant.
Feigning a smile he says, “Thanks.”

As I close the door behind me and dial Art’s
number, I have a sudden thought and walk back into the room.

“Sorry, one more thing.”

“What?”

“I was just curious…but, do you know anyone
that owns a black pug in your neighborhood?”

Chapter
Twenty-Two:

Flashback
to:

Thursday,
June 16, 1994

11:00
A.M.

Young Kylie Kang:

It was a particularly sweltering day in the
middle of June. School had ended for the summer; instead of reveling in the
excitement of pool parties, family vacations, and no homework, I was dreading
the days to come. For me, summer break was prison. I had to get up around the
same time I would on a normal school day and work at my parent’s BBQ restaurant,
then I had to do hours of English and Math workbook problems so I could be
ahead of everyone else in my class next year, and on top of that, learn a new
hobby. Not a fun, mindless hobby, but something that would put me one step
closer to an Ivy League college, like learn an instrument, take up a sport, or
go to art class. Then there was the fear that Brett would be out of my life
forever.

Emma Ficks had been busily planning Brett’s
graduation barbeque for months. Leila was getting pouty about all the attention
Brett was getting from her family. And I was counting down the days to when he
would no longer be a part of my life. That was when I started to plan.

Brett’s graduation party was everything but
dull. Excitement filled the air. Teenagers swarmed the backyard, donning black
caps with blue and gold tassels swinging across their bright, exuberant faces.
There were blue and gold balloons burgeoning from every post, patio chair, and
table in sight. Crepe paper streamers festooned the rest.

A string of misters was tacked along one side
of the patio awning to prevent guests from overheating. Young siblings of the
graduates were zooming through the curtain of mist, screeching with delight.

Smoke billowed from the barbeque island set at
the far corner of the yard, and the sugary smell of glazed chicken and ribs
swirled in the air. Hungry teenagers lined up holding white paper plates,
eyeing the grill greedily and helping themselves to a bounty of sliced fruit
and veggies, baked beans, freshly baked rolls, potato salad, and ice cold cans
of soda.

Gifts from family and Gary’s co-workers piled
high atop three folding tables situated alongside the house by the sliding
door, while envelopes filled with money had been tucked safely away inside
(kept under the watchful eye of Grandma Ficks).

Brett was outside, huddled between a group of
fellow graduates laughing and chatting up a storm. His dark hair glistened in
the sun, while his blue eyes winked a light that drew me in. I gazed longingly
at his broad shoulders and sculpted chin. His charming grin had a knack for
making my heart flutter and when he waved in my direction, my knees buckled in
response. I took the wave as a sign; a green light from the universe above.

I couldn’t focus on the one-sided conversation
I was having with Leila. More than once Leila had to stop mid-sentence, frown,
and ask if there was anyone home up in that buzzing head of mine. Honestly, in
my defense, it was difficult to pay attention to Leila bragging about the trip
to Disneyworld her grandparents just promised. Yes, it was cool that Leila was
going to attend an exclusive tea party with Snow White and Cinderella, but did
she have to bore me with every detail, from what outfit to wear to what
questions she should ask? Why would she even want my input? It wasn’t like I’d
been to Florida or Disneyworld. It didn’t matter. My thoughts were only on
Brett.

Luckily, before Leila threw another hissy-fit
because her so-called blood-sister wasn’t hanging on every word that came out
of her mouth, Emma pulled Leila aside so she could help with the dessert trays.
Leila rolled her eyes and flashed me a helpless look before following her mom
into the kitchen.

I decided at that moment that it was now or
never. I took a minute to gather up courage, pretty much gulped it in by the
lungful. My body started to tingle and a film of sweat coated the nape of my
neck and palms.
It’s now.
I moved with hesitant steps over to where
Brett stood.

Each step quickened my pulse until it was no
longer a gentle pitter-patter but a frantic machine gun. Gulping down my panic,
I tapped his broad shoulder and stepped back.

Brett turned and cocked an eyebrow. “Ky? What
is it?”

“Hi, um, are you busy? I mean of course you
are, it’s just…do you have a second?” I chewed on my bottom lip. Suddenly I
wasn’t sure of anything and the little confidence I had built up was rapidly
draining from my flushed face.

He grinned. “Sure.” Turning to his group of
curious friends—a few, I noticed were smirking—he said, “I’ll be back in a
sec.”

Locked in my thoughts, I didn’t notice anything
except that Brett was actually following me toward the house and that he
smelled overpoweringly like the men’s fragrance counter at Macy’s. Passing the
kitchen, I breathed a sigh of relief when I noticed Leila and her mom weren’t
there. Taking a quick glance out the kitchen window, I saw Leila and her mom
outside rearranging the dessert table. Trays of assorted fruit, cookies, and
mini cakes glistened in the sun.
Good, the coast is clear.

“What is it, Ky?”

I turned nervously back to Brett. His thick
brows drew in with a look of concern. His handsome face melted my anxieties and
I drew in a breath of reassurance.

“I—I just wanted to give you a graduation
present.”

“That’s it? Didn’t you see the table outside?
You can just leave it there with the rest of them.”

I shook my head, my confidence again faltering.
As he turned toward the door I grabbed his arm. The heat made me blush and I
jumped back. “No, I mean yes I saw the table outside with all the gifts on it,
it’s just that the gift is a little embarrassing so I was hoping you’d open it
in your room.”

He shrugged. “Sure, I guess. Is it already in
there?”

I nodded, desperately hoping I wouldn’t faint.
I followed him into his room, closing the door behind me.

Posters of various rock bands and football
players were taped haphazardly on the white walls—I itched to straighten and
re-tape them in an orderly fashion but resisted the urge. The sun was streaming
in through the open window and draped across his desk, which was cluttered with
stacks of acceptance folders from various colleges, textbooks that would never
be re-opened, and an array of pens and pencils that would never again touch
paper. His king-sized bed stood, intimidating, in the middle of the room and I
stared at it intently. I couldn’t help wondering where his secret box was
stashed.

“So, where’s the gift?”

My head snapped up and met his perplexed blue
eyes with uncertainty. I had spent all last week rehearsing and playing both
parts—what I would say and what he would say—and so far everything was going to
plan. Deciding to stick to the script, I pointed to the bed. “Um, sit there.”

Brett was nice enough to play along. Looking
back, I could see how obnoxious and dumb I was to ever think a
seventeen-year-old boy would go for an eleven-year-old girl, but I was naïve
and in love. And he was going away; to me it seemed like forever, and at eleven
I thought my life would be over without him. I had to make my move, to show him
how I felt.

It’s now or never. It has to be now.

I handed him a shoebox. “Hold onto this and
open it when I tell you to, okay?”

Scratching his head and looking amused, he
peered up at me. “Why can’t I just open it now?”

“You’ll see. First, close your eyes.”

Nervously I waited until Brett obliged and closed
his eyes. Quickly, before I could second guess myself, I unzipped my
flower-print dress and removed my cotton training bra and matching polka-dotted
underwear. Positioning myself so he’d be eye level with my flat chest, I took a
deep breath and anxiously told him to open his eyes.

The next few minutes were a whirlwind of
redacted clips, the mortifying kind that never make complete sense afterward
but haunt your dreams forever. So far, the script I wrote and rewrote in my
head was playing out as planned, but the feelings I thought would transpire and
course through me flatlined.

As I watched Brett’s eyes blink open, I
panicked and froze.
What was I doing?
In a state of shock Brett couldn’t
speak or move. He sat on the edge of his bed like a statue, mouth agape.

In that split second, uncomfortable by the
shocked silence, I made the unconscious decision to continue the practiced
script. I flipped open the lid and tossed the contents over my head. My
movements were jerky and awkward. Soft petals from seventeen roses fluttered
down over my naked body in clumps. One skimmed my left breast and my pink
nipple puckered at the sensation.

Looking down, I leaked the words out in a
strangled whisper: “I love you, Brett.”

Brett just sat there, stunned and motionless.

Heat flushed my face. Unsure of what to do
next, I panicked. Without thinking I jumped on top of him, somehow hoping he’d
shield me from my nakedness.

Before he could snap out of his daze and push
me off, footsteps and voices approached from the hall.

The door opened.

“Brett? Are you—” In a state of shock, Emma
dropped the mixing bowl she was holding. Horrified, she opened her mouth to
scream but nothing escaped except a gasp of dry air. Like mother like son. Leila
was a few steps behind her humming a song; her sweet babbling baby voice
inching near.

I began to shake all over. Hot tears streaked
down my face. Nothing was going as planned. Nothing. In that split second
everything fell apart. My dreams, my plans, shattered.

Time stopped. All I remembered from that point
on was the heavy, foreboding silence. Numbness. Wide eyes. If only eyes could
scream. At least I had the common sense to release myself from Brett’s frozen
grasp and grab my dress. My fingers weren’t functioning properly. I fumbled for
my bra and panties and ran out the door without bothering to zip up the back of
my dress. I just had to get out of there as fast as possible. Pushing past a
dumbstruck Emma and equally dumbstruck Leila, I stormed out of the room with my
head down and the flap of my unzipped dress patting my bare back red.

Running out the back door, I bypassed the party
by exiting through the side gate. Without turning back, I ran forward, my
vision blurred by hot, stinging tears. I saw a few flashes but I didn’t stop to
see where they were coming from. I had to run.

After two blocks of running, I stepped onto the
city bus that would take me to Rowland Heights. The bus ride was long and
bumpy. I could feel curious eyes probing from all sides. I could hear their
accusatory thoughts.

Keeping my head down, I crossed my arms and huddled
close to the crack between the tattered burgundy vinyl chair and metal frame,
jerking every time someone rustled in the seat behind or beside me. I wanted to
disappear, to turn back time, to have never been born.
What was the point
anymore?

Flushed with embarrassment and angst, I felt my
skin boil. My hearing was muffled by the constant ringing and I felt like a cornered
zoo animal. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and deeply ashamed.
Would it be so
bad if the bus crashed or burst into flames? Of course, without any passengers
and if only I got hurt and died, no one else. I wouldn’t want to wish death on
anyone else. But, would it be so bad, to die?

What was I thinking?

Three bus transfers and an hour and a half later,
I ran inside and locked myself in the bathroom before my parents could see me.

What was I going to do? What would my parents
say? Whether I willed it or not, I was dead.

Days passed. Waves of tears streamed down my
bloated face, staining my pillow and sheets. I avoided my family and stayed
cooped up in my room for most of the day, going without meals. I was hurt and
embarrassed. There was no way I was going to be able to face anyone, let alone
my parents. What would I say?

Apparently, I didn’t have to say anything. The
Ficks’ took care of that for me.

I didn’t even realize
Appa
was going to
meet with Gary until he returned, his face stern and unreadable. His knuckles
were scraped and dried blood spotted his striped Lacoste polo shirt. Booze hung
on his breath in a hot vapor and his dark eyes were puffed and bloodshot. He
came charging into my room and in a low bark he said, “Up,” and jerked the
sheets off my lax body.

Startled, I must have shrieked. “
Appa
?”

“Kitchen. Now.”

Sniffling and with my head down, I sulked
behind him to the kitchen. Hell seemed to rise up with each step, hot and
stifling and foreboding. It was the first time in days I forgot all about Brett
and my embarrassing stunt. All I could think about now was how much trouble I
was in and why.

When
Appa
got into this mood there was
always a reason, and there was always a punishment. What would it be this time?
The Home Depot paint stick? No, only
Umma
used the paint stick. Maybe
I’d have to kneel on a slab of hard stone with my hands held high above my
head. That sounded more realistic. But for how long? An hour? Two? Hands empty
or with a bowl of water? My arms and shoulders stiffened in anticipation.