The Enemy Next Door

By John Locke

In Louisville, Tobie Turner meets her disagreeable next-door neighbor. In Las Vegas, Jack Henry meets a mousy brunette. To reveal anything else at this time would result in spoilers.

ADVANCE PRAISE FOR THE ENEMY NEXT DOOR

“The Enemy Next Door will force other best-selling authors to step up their games.”

“Don’t bother trying to guess how Locke will shock or surprise you in every chapter, or make you laugh or gasp or
curse out loud. Just know that he will.”

“Wild, crazy, jaw-dropping fun. I absolutely loved it!”

“All of Locke’s novels are one-sitting reads. This is that, times two.”

“Funny, sexy, full of surprises, The Enemy Next Door is easily one of the best books John Locke has ever written.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Locke
• Release date: May 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781937656379

John Locke

John Locke kommt 1632 im englischen Wrington zur Welt. Nach dem Besuch der Westminster School in London studiert Locke bis 1658 in Oxford. Zwischen 1660 und 1664 lehrt er dort Philosophie, Rhetorik und alte Sprachen. Sein enzyklopädisches Wissen und seine Studien in Erkenntnistheorie, Naturwissenschaften und Medizin bringen ihm früh die Mitgliedschaft in der Royal Society ein. Als Sekretär und Leibarzt des Earl of Shaftesbury ist Locke in Folge der politischen Machtkämpfe in England gezwungen, ins holländische Exil zu fliehen. Erst 1689 kehrt er nach England zurück und widmet sich auf seinem Landgut seinen Studien. Im selben Jahr erscheint anonym Ein Brief über Toleranz, der die ausschließliche Aufgabe des Staates im Schutz von Leben, Besitz und Freiheit seiner Bürger bestimmt. Die hier formulierten Ideen finden in der amerikanischen Unabhängigkeitserklärung ihren politischen Widerhall. Lockes Hauptwerk, der Versuch über den menschlichen Verstand, erscheint erst 1690 vollständig, wird aber vermutlich bereit 20 Jahre früher begonnen. Es begründet die Erkenntnistheorie als neuzeitliche Form des Philosophierens, die besonders in der französischen Aufklärung nachwirkt. Locke lehnt darin Descartes' Vorstellung von den eingeborenen Ideen ab und vertritt einen konsequenten Empirismus. Aus der theoretischen Einsicht in die Begrenztheit der Erkenntnisfähigkeit ergibt sich für Locke die Forderung, daß sich weder ein Staatssouverän noch eine Glaubensgemeinschaft im Besitz der allein gültigen Wahrheit wähnen darf. Der mündige Bürger, der in der Lage ist, kritisch selbst zu entscheiden, wird konsequenterweise zum pädagogischen Ziel Lockes. John Locke stirbt 1704 als europäische Berühmtheit auf seinem Landsitz in Oates.

Book preview

Forward

Tobie Turner

Louisville, Kentucky

TOBIE AND HER family (husband Robert, daughter Kate) had been living at the house on Ascot Drive less than two days when the doorbell rang for the first time. Knowing her clothes and hair were a mess and that boxes were still visible in a corner of the kitchen, she hesitated. When it rang a second time, she combed her fingers through her hair and answered the door to find a little girl of about seven standing alone at the doorstep. Hi, she said. I’m Kayleigh Winesugar.

Well, hello, Kayleigh. I’m Mrs. Turner.

I know. I saw you moving in. We’re your neighbors from next door. May I come in?

Her question took Tobie slightly by surprise. Of course. Do your parents know you’re here?

It’s just mom since Dad ran off with his girlfriend.

Tobie stepped aside so Kayleigh could enter. When she did, she went right to the flowers lying on the kitchen counter.

How come they’re not in a vase?

I bought them for a friend, Tobie said, but they started turning brown, so I was about to toss them.

Can I have them?

Of course. As Kayleigh picked them up and put them to her nose, Tobie asked, How old are you, Kayleigh?

Seven.

That’s exactly what I guessed, though you seem a lot smarter than the seven-year-olds I’ve met.

Is that true? Kayleigh said, or are you just being nice?

It’s true.

Then, thank you. How old’s your daughter?

Sixteen.

Where does she go to school?

Creason.

Cool, Kayleigh said. "How old are you?"

Thirty-six.

My mom’s 32, but you’re prettier.

I’m sure that can’t be true since you’re so pretty. I’d like to meet her sometime. Is she at work?

No. She got fired.

Oh, no! I’m so sorry to hear that! Tobie paused. "Did you say your last name was Winesugar?"

Yes.

That’s lovely. I’ve never heard it before.

Thank you. Can I style your hair?

Tobie laughed. I’m sure it needs it.

I’m really good at—

Her words were interrupted by the doorbell, which was ringing nonstop, with great urgency.

Coming! Tobie hollered.

Before she got to the door, it flew open. "Kayleigh! a woman said, sharply. What are you doing here?"

I came to visit.

Tobie said, You must be Kayleigh’s mom.

The woman stiffened. That’s a boy’s name.

I agree! I’ve always accused my parents of wanting a boy.

She frowned. Did your parents give you a home? Did they feed and clothe and raise you?

They did.

"Seems ugly to accuse them of anything if you ask me. Put down those nasty flowers, Kayleigh!"

Tobie said, It’s okay, I gave them to her.

The woman turned her attention to Tobie and sized her up. And down. And back up, before asking, Why?

She thought they were pretty.

"No, I didn’t! Kayleigh said, indignantly. I asked why they weren’t in a vase, and you said you were gonna throw them away and I asked if I could have them and you said yes."

Feeling her face start to flush, Tobie said, She’s 100% correct. That’s exactly how the conversation went, word-for-word. I just assumed Kayleigh thought they were pretty.

You gave my daughter flowers you were going to throw away?

Yes. I bought them for a friend, but they started turning brown, so I was going to toss them.

Just to be clear, your flowers weren’t good enough for your friend, but they’re good enough for my daughter?

Yes, in a manner of speaking.

Why?

She’s seven.

So?

She wanted them.

"She wanted them?"

Yes.

What if she wakes up tomorrow morning and wants your husband? Are you just gonna give him to her?

Tobie studied her face to see if she was joking.

She wasn’t.

So, she said, "I don’t own my husband, so he’s not mine to give. But I’d certainly discourage him from dating a seven-year-old in any case. More to the point, I think I may have inadvertently offended you. If so, I didn’t mean to, and I sincerely apologize."

"Like you said, she’s seven, so I don’t blame her for coming to your door. But I do blame you for letting her in without asking my permission. This is something you’re going to regret. Let’s go, Kayleigh."

They did, and just like that, Tobie made an enemy out of the lady next door.

Part One

What Happens in Vegas . . .

1.

Jack Henry

Las Vegas, Nevada

MY PLAN IS to meet the mousy brunette without being obvious.

I’d sat six rows behind her in the writer’s conference this afternoon and never once saw her check her phone. I knew she was staying here at the Regis, as were all the attendees, due to the package discounts. Like everyone else in the auditorium, Regina was asked to reveal her name, home city, and what she hoped to learn at the conference. For those who cared to listen, she had said, I’m Regina Sutton, forty-eight-years old, married, and mom to two beautiful college graduates. I’m from Cincinnati, this is my first time in Vegas, and I’m here to learn how to self-publish the first of what I hope will be several steamy romance novels.

Regina didn’t need to add she’d been unspectacularly married more than half her life. That fact was announced by her slumped shoulders and the outdated hairstyle, makeup, and wardrobe that covered her generally pleasant face and figure. While a celebrity-style makeover would benefit her greatly, it wouldn’t elevate her to the level of trophy wife. But even as-is, most men would consider Regina a quality candidate for a one-night stand.

Now, freshly showered, I check my suit in the mirror and take the elevator down to the main floor, where I walk through the lobby and halfway down the hall before stopping. To my left, elegance. To my right, a family style restaurant. I enter that one and see Regina sitting alone at what might be the worst table in the joint: a two-top beside the far wall.

Pitiful.

I approach, smile, and say, Hi! You’re here for the writer’s conference!

She looks up at me with nervous curiosity.

I ask, May I sit for a moment? I have some big news about tomorrow’s surprise guest.

She glances around the restaurant, clearly uncomfortable. Then looks back up at me and says, Okay.

I sit and extend my hand. I’m Jack Henry, from Denver, Colorado.

She gives my hand a small shake, then withdraws it to her lap. Regina Sutton, Cincinnati, Ohio.

I notice she’s added four inches of height by doing nothing more than lifting her head and straightening her back and shoulders.

Who’s the surprise guest? she asks.

Lauren Nowicki!

Regina looks puzzled. Shakes her head. I’m not familiar with her work.

I say, "She’s a newbie. Wrote Dog Moon Gold last year and self-published it four months ago. Sold a half million copies, got an agent who sold the movie rights."

Wow! Regina says. That’s amazing! What sort of book is it?

Thriller.

She cocks her head. It’s not my genre, but even so, I can’t believe I’ve never heard of it.

A waiter shows up, introduces himself, and asks if we’d like to order a drink. I study Regina’s face but can’t get a read on her level of interest. Pressing forward, I say, Let me at least buy you a drink.

Oh, no. Not necessary, she says.

It’d be my pleasure, one author to another. To the waiter I say, Bourbon Sour.

The waiter looks at Regina. And for the lady?

Iced tea.

I wince. "Iced tea? We’re in Vegas, Regina! One drink. That’s my limit, by the way. I laugh. Well, that’s not true. One drink is my usual. Two’s my limit."

She looks at the waiter. Can you give us two minutes?

He frowns. Of course.

Regina pauses a beat, then says,

2.

YOU’RE QUITE SMOOTH, Mr. Henry, but I’m married. Plus, you’re way too young and good looking to be interested in me, unless you think I’m wealthy, which I’m not.

I shake my head. "First of all, you’re plenty good looking. Second, not to brag, but I’m quite secure financially. And third, you’re exactly the right age for me, and I can prove it. But I’m not hitting on you, I’m actually trying to recruit you."

For what?

I’m hoping you’ll be my writing partner tomorrow.

What are you talking about?

They’re splitting us into groups of two. If we don’t have a partner, they’ll assign us to a total stranger.

To do what?

Critique another team’s first chapter and they’ll critique ours.

For the first time, Regina shows the slightest hint of a smile. I had no idea. But the answer is yes, I’ll be your writing partner, even though we’re also technically strangers. I also have two words for you.

Tell me.

White wine.

I nod at the waiter, who’s been hovering nearby since leaving us. Bourbon Sour for me, white wine for the lady.

The waiter looks at Regina. Would you care to see our wine list?

No, thank you. Your house Chardonnay will be fine.

Of course, he says.

When he leaves, I say, Your genre’s Romance, right?

How’d you know?

You said it today at the seminar.

She frowns. There were 200 people there. How could you possibly remember me?

I remember everyone that was in my line of sight. I was sitting a couple of rows behind you. The old guy between us was Andy, from Tulsa, remember? He’s the one that writes Young Adult, which struck me as creepy.

She laughs. "I do remember Andy. Sorry I missed your comments. What’s your genre, Mr. Henry?"

Please, call me Jack. Thriller. Suspense. Mystery. Romance.

"You write in all those genres?"

It’s just the one book, but I tried to make it as universal as possible.

I’d love to read it.

He laughs. "That’s what we all say, right? But do we mean it?"

"I do."

Well, thank you.

How can you prove it? she asks.

Prove what?

You said you can prove I’m exactly the right age. What did you mean?

I locate a photo on my phone and show it to her.

Who’s this?

Erika, my former fiancée.

She’s quite pretty.

Notice the resemblance?

To me? No. She’s far prettier. How old is she?

In that photo, she was forty-six.

Why’d you break up?

She died in a car crash.

Oh, no! How long ago?

It’ll be two years in September.

I’m so sorry. Truly. She puts her hand on mine for a moment, then withdraws it. By the way, my close friends call me Gina.

Thank you, I say. But from here on out, no more sad talk, okay? Instead, tell me what possessed you to become a novelist.

By the time our drinks are consumed, we’re chatting up a storm. I ask if I can buy her dinner. It’s a yes, but she wants to pay her share. I say, I can’t allow it. It’s too expensive.

"I’m not broke," she says.

We’ll be eating across the hall, I say. "I already have reservations, and I know they’ll be thrilled to host two of us instead of just me. If I don’t eat there, I’ll get charged anyway, so please let me do this. By the way, they pinged me while we were talking to say our table was ready."

That explains why you wore a suit to a family buffet. Unfortunately, I’m dressed far too casual for that place.

You’re fine, I promise.

It takes some coaxing, but soon we’re sitting outside, on the balcony terrace, overlooking the lush foliage and spectacular water elements in the green space below.

She asks what I do for a living and seems mildly impressed to hear I’m a legal consultant. We share a wonderful dinner and enough wine to make her confess she has marital problems.

I encourage her to talk about it, and she does. By the time she’s done, I know she’s planning to leave Walter (her husband of eighteen years), and when (end of the month) and why (they’ve grown apart, the children are gone, and she doesn’t want to spend the last 30 years of her life caring for a man she no longer loves, and in fact, resents).

Does Walter know you’re about to leave him?

No, and when I tell him, he’s not going to believe it.

Why’s that?

He thinks I’m unappealing and have no options but to be with him.

Have you in fact found someone else already?

"No, and nor have I been looking. But thanks to you, I’m convinced it’s time to make that leap. Having heard herself say that she bursts into laughter. I didn’t mean with you, Jack, I just meant—"

I understand. I’m not your type.

"That’s not at all what I meant. But you are too young for me in the sense that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with you, much less keep you happy. How old are you, anyway?"

Thirty-four.

She laughs again. Good Lord! What would my friends say if they saw us here, sharing a romantic dinner? They’d call me a cradle robber, for sure!

Hardly. Can you afford to be on your own?

Thankfully, yes. Not only am I a tenured high school teacher, I also own an insurance annuity that’s going to vest next month. I can cash it all in or start drawing a monthly income for life.

That’s fantastic, Gina! How’d you manage that?

My grandfather set it up forty years ago.

Bless his heart, I say. But if you leave Walter, isn’t he entitled to half the money?

Nope. He signed a prenup.

Perfect. But if Walter’s your beneficiary, you should remove him before filing for divorce.

She grins. Already did, three days ago. Now, if something happens to me, the money goes directly to the kids.

Good for you!

After I pay the bill, we linger a few minutes, enjoying our buzzes from the drinks. Finally, Gina says, Thanks for inviting me, Jack! As fantastic as dinner was, meeting and getting to know you was the highlight. I can’t remember when I’ve had a better time!

My pleasure. May I escort you to your room?

May I escort you to yours?

If you wish.

When we get to my door she says, "I can’t sleep with you, but I’ll make us a rum and