Her eyes ablaze with curiosity, fifty-four-year-old Marcella Williams stood to one side of the front window of her living room watching the long moving van chug slowly past her home. Twenty minutes ago, she had seen Georgette Grove’s silver BMW go up the hill. Georgette had been the agent who sold the house. Marcella was sure that the Mercedes sedan that arrived shortly after that belonged to her new neighbors. She had heard that they were rushing to move in because the four-year-old was starting prekindergarten. She wondered what they’d be like.
People didn’t tend to stay in that house long, she reflected, and it wasn’t surprising. Nobody likes to have their home known as “Little Lizzie’s Place.” Jane Salzman was the first buyer of the house when it was sold after Liza Barton went on her shooting spree. Jane picked it up dirt cheap. She always claimed the house had a creepy feeling, but then, Jane was into parapsychology which Marcella thought was a lot of nonsense. But no question, the fact that the house was known as “Little Lizzie’s Place” eventually got on the nerves of all the owners, and last year’s Halloween prank was the finish for the last owners, Mark and Louise Harriman. She flipped out when she saw the sign on her lawn, and the life-size doll with a pistol in its hand on her porch. She and Mark had been planning to relocate to Florida next year anyhow, so she simply moved up the timing. They moved out in February, and the house had been empty since then.
That train of thought led Marcella to wonder where Liza Barton was now. Marcella had been living there when the tragedy occurred, and she still could picture Little Liza at age ten, with the blond, curly hair, round Kewpie doll face, and quiet, mature manner. She was certainly a smart child, Marcella thought, but she had a way of looking at people, even adults, as if she were sizing them up. I like a child to act like a child, she thought. I went out of my way to be nice to Audrey and Liza after Will Barton died. Then I was happy when Audrey married Ted Cartwright. I said to Liza that she must be thrilled to have a new father, and I’ll never forget the way that little snip looked at me when she said, “My mother has a new husband. I don’t have a new father.”
I told them that at the trial, Marcella reminded herself with some satisfaction. And I told them that I was in the house when Ted collected all the personal stuff that Will Barton left in his study and put it in boxes to store in the garage. Liza was screaming at him, and kept dragging the boxes into her room. She wouldn’t give Ted an inch. She made it so hard for her mother. And it was clear that Audrey was crazy about Ted.
At least in the beginning, she was crazy about him, Marcella thought, mentally correcting herself as she watched a second van follow the first one up the hill. Who knows what happened there? Audrey certainly didn’t give the marriage much time to work out and that restraining order she got against Ted was absolutely unnecessary. I believed Ted when he swore that Audrey had phoned and asked him to come over that night.
Ted was always so grateful for my support, Marcella remembered. My testimony helped him in the civil case he filed against Liza. Well, the poor fellow should have been compensated. It’s pretty nasty to go through life with a shattered knee. He still has a limp. It’s a miracle he wasn’t killed that night.
When Ted got out of the hospital following the shooting, he had moved a few towns away to Bernardsville. Now a major New Jersey developer, the logo for his construction company was frequently seen on malls and highways. His latest venture had been to take advantage of the fitness craze by opening gyms across the state and building town houses in Madison.
Over the years, Marcella had bumped into him at various functions. The last time had been only a month ago. Ted had never remarried, but he’d had a string of girlfriends along the way, and, according to the gossip, the last break-up had been very recent. He always claimed that Audrey was the love of his life, and that he’d never get over her. But he certainly looked great, and he even said something about our getting together sometime. He might be interested to know that new people are moving into the house.
Marcella admitted to herself that since her casual meeting with Ted, she’d been casting around for a reason to call him. Last Halloween, when some kids wrote LITTLE LIZZIE’S PLACE. BEWARE! on the lawn with white paint, the newspapers had called Ted for a comment.
I wonder if those kids will pull a stunt like that on the new owner. If there are any kind of shenanigans, it’s a given the newspapers will contact Ted for a comment. Maybe I’ll let him know that the house has changed hands again.
Pleased at the excuse to call Ted Cartwright, Marcella headed for the phone. As she crossed the spacious living room, she gave a brief smile of approval to her reflection in the mirror. Her shapely body showed the daily regimen of exercise. Her frosted blond hair framed a smooth face, tightened by several recent Botox treatments. She was confident that the new liner and mascara she was using enhanced her hazel eyes.
Victor Williams, the husband from whom she’d been divorced for ten years, was still dining out on his sardonic comment that Marcella was so afraid she’d miss getting the dirt on someone that she slept with her eyes open and receivers in her ears.
Marcella called information and got the number for Ted Cartwright’s office. After instructions to “dial one for this, dial two for that, dial three for . . . ” she finally reached his voicemail. He has such a nice speaking voice, she thought as she listened to his message.
Her own voice distinctly coquettish, she said, “Ted, this is Marcella Williams. I thought you’d be interested to hear that your former home has changed hands again, and the new owners are in the process of moving in. Two vans just passed my house.”
The sound of a police siren interrupted her. An instant later she watched as a police car hurtled past her window. There’s already a problem there, she thought with a shiver of delight. “Ted, I’ll call you back,” she said, breathlessly. “The cops are on the way to your old house. I’ll let you know what develops.”