Free The Girl Next Door by Patricia MacDonald Page B

table and punched in the numbers to reach her voice
     mail.
    “Yeah, Nina,” said the gravelly voice of Len Weinberg, who had been her agent since
     the start of her career. “You gotMonday and Tuesday free like you wanted. But you’ve got three auditions after that.
     Wednesday morning you have an audition for Seasons Cosmetics and you have to be in
     the chair by six a.m.”
    Six a.m., Nina thought. She’d have to take the bus into the city Tuesday or she’d
     never make it on time. As she listened to the rest of Len’s message, she wandered
     back into the living room and flopped down on the couch, gazing absently at the talking
     heads on the news. All of a sudden, she saw her father’s face pictured on the screen.
     It was a recent photo, taken during a jailhouse interview after he won his parole.
     She put down her phone, grabbed the remote, and turned up the volume.
    “Authorities here in Hoffman have learned that the convicted wife killer, who was
     once a respected physician, has moved back into their community. The news has some
     people worried. We talked to the chief of police, who had this to say.”
    An image of a stocky red-haired man filled the screen. His tie was tight against a
     stark white collar. Under his solemn face, the footage was captioned “Chief Eugene
     Perry, Hoffman Police.” Nina did not recognize the new chief from the time of her
     mother’s murder. “I’m aware of Dr. Avery’s history,” Chief Perry said. “It’s nothing
     for people to be concerned about. He does not pose a threat to the community.”
    The reporter was returned to the screen. “The chief is confident that they have the
     situation in hand,” he said, “but there are others here in Hoffman who are not so
     sure.”
    The reporter’s face was then replaced by tape of some middle-aged woman shopping on
     Lafayette Street saying, “You’re darn right I’m worried about it. I mean, a man that
     violent living here in our community. I didn’t know the man, but I remember when it
     happened …”
    Oh my God, Nina thought. Who told them? We’ve been here one day. Already they’ve got
     him plastered all over thenews. How can he get any peace? I knew he shouldn’t come back here.
    The camera switched back to the reporter, who was saying, “This is Ed Fitler, reporting
     from Hoffman, New Jersey, where an anxious town is trying to adjust to the homecoming
     of a convicted killer.”
    Fuming, Nina snapped off the TV and stalked over to the window. There had to be a
     law against that. How could they put that stuff on TV for everybody to see? She peered
     up and down the street, as far as the trees allowed her to see, but there was no sign
     of her father.
    She could picture him walking along out there, kicking through the leaves, his hands
     in his pockets, taking a little pleasure from his freedom. What if somebody saw him
     out there and recognized him? And decided they didn’t want him on their street? People
     could be so irrational and vicious. They might come chasing after him. They could
     hurt him. Kids were known for things like that. Adults, too. She couldn’t just leave
     him alone out there. She grabbed up the keys and her jacket and ran out to the car.
    Nina slowly trolled the quiet, lamplit streets of Hoffman. She drove up and down the
     streets looking for a thin man in a windbreaker. Where could he have gone? she wondered,
     as she peered up driveways and along sidewalks. Once the twilight joggers and dog
     walkers were finished, nobody walked around this town. Anyone who saw him might take
     him for a burglar. Anyone who recognized him might take him for something worse than
     that.
    Nina drove along the northern perimeter of the Madison Creek Nature Preserve, and
     then slowly turned down their old street. Before she even got around the corner she
     had a feeling she was going to find him. It made kind of a perverse sense that he
     would go there. And sure enough, as she rounded the