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Something is happening across the street.
As much as I try not to be nosy, despite the warnings from my daughter and the Revere Police Department, I simply can’t ignore what’s in plain view from my living room window: That white van is back again. The van that’s been hanging around my neighborhood for no apparent reason. This time it’s parked a little way down the street, almost directly in front of the Leopolds’. Yesterday afternoon I saw it cruise down the street, moving slowly enough that I caught a glimpse of the driver, a man with short hair, his head turned toward the Greens’ house.
Now here it is parked at the curb, facing in my direction.
I don’t know when it arrived. I didn’t see it at fivep.m., when I glanced out the window, but now at eight-fifteen it’s sitting at the curb, the engine and lights turned off. A parked vehicle isn’t necessarily alarming, but when the driver’s just sitting there, something is not right. It’s too dark to see the driver’s face; from this distance he’s just a silhouette in the windshield.
I call the Leopolds. Lorelei picks up.
“The van’s parked outside your house,” I tell her.
“The van?”
“You know, the white one that keeps showing up in the neighborhood. Don’t draw his attention! Turn off your lights before you look out the window.”
“What am I supposed to look for?”
“Check out his profile and maybe you’ll recognize him. I want to know why he keeps coming back.”
I wait on the line as Lorelei turns off lights and goes to the window.
“I have no idea who that is,” she says. “Let me ask Larry. Hey, Larry!” she yells.
Over the phone I hear her husband grumbling as he comes into the room. “Why are the lights off in here? What are you doing?”
“Angela called to say the white van’s parked outside. Do you know who that is?”
A moment’s silence. Then he says, “No. Why should I care?”
“Because it’s been here three times this week,” I tell Lorelei.
“Angela says it’s been here three times this week. That seems strange, doesn’t it? Do you think he’s spying on someone in the neighborhood? Maybe he’s a private detective or something.”
There’s another silence. Larry is thinking about this, and I fully expect him to make some denigrating remark about silly women and their silly imaginations. I’m sure that’s what he thinks about me, because he truly believes he’s far more intelligent than I am. When it comes to Scrabble, he’s right. But that’s only Scrabble.
It doesn’t make me wrong about this particular matter.
To my surprise, I hear him say simply: “I’m going to find out who the hell that is spying on me.”
“What? Larry!” his wife calls out. “What if he’s dangerous?”
“I want this to stop here and now” is the last thing I hear him say.
Through my window I see the porch lights come on and Larry comes charging out his front door.
“Hey!” he shouts. “Who the hell hired you?”
The engine lights suddenly come on and the van lurches away from the curb and shoots off into the night.
“Leave me the hell alone!” Larry yells after it.
Well, this is unexpected. I’d assumed the van was here to watch the Greens. After all, they’re the ones who’ve been acting suspiciously, who seem to be hiding something. Now I wonder if I’ve been completely wrong. Maybe it’s not about the Greens.
Maybe it’s all about Larry Leopold.
I don’t dare talk to Lorelei about this. After Larry goes back into his house, I head across the street and knock on Jonas’s door. I know he’s home because I saw him in the window, lifting weights. After dinner, he always lifts weights. He answers my knock dressed in his usual skimpy workout gear, his shirt steamed to his skin with sweat.
“Angie baby! You finally ready for that martini?”
