𝑺𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒉 𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓

     The evening air is cold. Clutching my clothes around my body, I step a distance away from our porch. The kids are sleeping, and Dan is working in the study, so this is the appropriate time to see Ms. Gillian. Her lights are on. She’s probably not asleep.

     I’m still with the conviction that Jeff murdered Adrienne Styles. I just need proof. He’s got every motive to kill his wife, and I’m sure he hired someone to spy on Adrienne to make her believe she was imagining things. It all makes perfect sense to me now. The jigsaw is much clearer.

     Jeff needed everyone to think his wife was crazy. That way everyone would believe she jumped over the window sill when they found her body in the garden. Perfect ruse. I’m still not sure how Ella is involved in Adrienne’s murder. She didn’t strike me as a killer when I saw her in person. She seems like a beautiful woman caught up in Jeff’s web of lies. No wonder he got pissed and shooed me away.

     Dan hasn’t confronted me about my whereabouts today, which leaves me thinking that Jeff hasn’t called him yet. At least he’s got the decency not to cause any trouble after he killed his wife and ran off to stay with her friend in his cozy lakehouse. What a jerk!

     I don’t hate Jeffrey, and I don’t like him either, but if he’s a murderer, he deserves to be in prison and not enjoying his life as a free man in his beautiful lakehouse. Well, I can’t deny I love his lakehouse, and I’d want a retreat with my family there.

     I walk farther away from our house and veer onto Ms. Gillian’s property. Sighing softly, I make my way to her front porch which looks very neat. There’s a rocking chair nearby and a swing bed suspended from the ceiling. I knock on the door and wait. No response. I knock again. Still no response.

     “Ms. Gillian,” I call out, “it’s your new neighbor, Sarah. I want to introduce myself and say hi.”

     I wait for a response, but I get none.

    “Ms. Gillian.” I raise my voice to no avail because she doesn’t respond.

     I touch the doorknob. The door creaks open slightly. I’m hesitant to enter. I don’t like going into people’s houses uninvited. I step aside to the windows outlooking the lawn. I peer into the interior through the pane. My eyes immediately land in the living room. The TV sits across from the couches, and it’s on. I’m sure it’s muted because I don’t hear any sound in the background.

     I try to discern the movements of someone, but I can’t. Where’s Ms. Gillian? Is she already sleeping? I don’t think she’ll go to bed and leave the TV and the lights on. And most importantly, not lock her door.

     Retracing my steps to the front porch, I decide to enter the house. If something is happening to Ms. Gillian, she’ll thank me later for entering her house without her permission.

     I push the door and step into the house. The stile slides out of hand, and the door closes with a bang. I halt, wondering if I have disturbed anybody’s peace. When I don’t hear any reaction, I surmise I haven’t.

     As I near the living room, I hear a low monotonous snore. I place my best guess Ms. Gillian has dozed off over the TV. I don’t want to disturb her if she’s sleeping, but I can’t just go back while the door is not locked, leaving her vulnerable to possible predators. I don’t expect some thieves to burgle her. I know this is one of the safest neighborhood in Fort Worth, but it’s safer to lock your door before retiring to bed.

     I’m halfway to the couch she’s sleeping on when she snores loudly and sits up, jerking her head to see the intruder in her house. Fabrics rustle as she searches for something on the couch. She brings out a pair of glasses, puts them on, and peers at me.

     “It’s you.” She lets out a sigh.

     “Yes. Your door wasn’t locked, so I entered to check if everything was all right.”

     “Oh dear, I’m always dozing off,” she says, getting up from the couch and limping toward me with a warm smile. “What time is it?”

     “It’s probably eight by now.”

     “Oh my. It’s late, and I didn’t lock the door.”

     From the looks of things, I can confidently say she lives alone, which makes me wonder why she doesn’t have any househelp at least. It’s when I see the color of her hair that I realize she’s very old. Perhaps she’s in her late eighties or early nineties. She’s wearing her nightclothes, so I assume she was set for bed when she sat behind the TV and dozed off.

     She stops and looks at me. “I’m Kate, but everyone around here calls me Ms. Gillian. Sorry, I couldn’t make it to your housewarming. I heard from the neighbors it was awesome.”

     I smile at her. I can tell I’m going to like this old woman. “No worries. I came to say hi and ask you a couple of questions. I’m Sarah by the way.” I stretch my hand toward her. She takes it and shakes it. Her fingers are fragile, and I fear that I might break them if I press too hard.

     “Sarah,” she repeats, as though trying to remember something, “why do you remind me of Adrienne?”

     My heart hammers at the mention of Adrienne, and I don’t know why. Adrienne’s diary said she used to spend a lot of time with Ms. Gillian. At some point, she referred to her as her grandma. So I guess it’s natural that she’d see Adrienne’s reflection in me because I moved into the house belonging to her.

     I haven’t met Adrienne before or seen an accurate picture of her. My mental description of her is a tall woman with apricot hair (I know this because I saw the crime scene photos), a pointed nose, and thin lips. Other than that, I have no vivid image in my head.

     So far she’s the only person who isn’t afraid to mention Adrienne Styles to me. The rest of the neighbors are reluctant to talk about her, as though she never existed.

     I giggle. “I’m sure it’s because we moved into her house.”

     “Adrienne was like my own daughter. She used to come here all the time, and we’d spend a lot of time together.”

     I realize instantly that Ms. Gillian is still grieving, and all she needs is a sympathetic ear to hear her cries and all the things on her mind. Well, I must admit I wasn’t expecting her to open up to me about Adrienne abruptly. I was hoping to ask her questions about Adrienne, and I’m glad she’s brought it up. All the better for me. I’m more than ready to listen to her.

     I guide her back to the couch and take a seat next to her. She tells me more about Adrienne, what a lovely lady she was before she lost her memory, and how her life was forever changed after the accident. After minutes of listening to her eulogize Adrienne for being a kind lady, I ask the question on my mind, “Did Adrienne mention seeing any strange man in the neighborhood?”

     She replies quickly, “Yes. She’s asked me before if I had seen someone strange in the neighborhood. I told her no.”

     She looks dubiously at me. “How do you know this?”

     I was expecting that, but I didn’t think she’d be smart enough to keep track and ask me. Of course, I’m wrong. I can’t lie to her, especially when I want answers from her.

     “I found her diary,” I say. “That’s how I got to know you’re the right person to ask about Adrienne Styles.” I push closer to her side and take her hand. “Ms. Gillian, did Adrienne ever tell you that she suspected Jeffrey was cheating on her with another woman?”

     “No. Where did you get that from? Jeffrey is a decent man. They were very much in love. He’ll never cheat on her.”

     It seems Jeffrey has blinded everyone with his veneer of deception. Everyone except me of course. This only confirms my conviction that Jeffrey killed his wife and made her seem like she was losing her mind.

     “Jeffrey cheated on Adrienne. I spoke to him today, and I found out.” I look wistfully at her. “Jeffrey is not who you think he is, and I’m sure he killed his wife to protect his secret.”

     “Preposterous! Jeffrey couldn’t have!”

     There’s no way I’m going to succeed in convincing Ms. Gillian that Jeffrey killed his wife without proof. That’s why I need to find the man in Adrienne’s dairy. If Jeffrey hired him to spy on Adrienne and make everyone believe she was hallucinating, then this mystery stalker is my only witness. The only problem is that I can’t find him if I don’t even know what he looks like.

     “Ms. Gillian, I’ll never slander an innocent man. I know we just met, and we don’t know each other, but I’m telling the truth. Jeffrey had been manipulating Adrienne into believing she was crazy. That’s why he hired a psychotherapist for her. Adrienne wasn’t hallucinating. Someone was indeed stalking her. Someone hired by Jeffrey.”

     “Tell me, Ms. Gillian,” I implore, “you knew Adrienne. Did it ever occur to you that she’d make things up like seeing a man she hasn’t?”

     She doesn’t talk, and I’m sure she’s mulling over everything I’ve told her. It’s high time the neighbors saw Jeffrey for what he is; a murderer. And I’m going to prove it.

     After a while, she murmurs, “No. Adrienne might have lost her memory, but she wasn’t crazy.”

     “Exactly my point. Someone killed her, and I’m sure it’s Jeffrey.”

     “Because he was cheating on her and she found out?”

     I nod.

     Tears glide down Ms. Gillian’s face, and I’m sad that I’m the cause, but Ms. Gillian deserves to know the truth. Adrienne was like a daughter to her. I pat her hand. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this. I promise.”

     Two minutes later, I leave Ms. Gillian’s house. I’m glad we’re on the same page. At least someone believes me. Now I’m going to find the mystery stalker. I don’t know how, but I’m going to find him. He’s my only witness. Jeffrey isn’t getting away with murder, especially after what he did to Adrienne.