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Authors: Meg Cabot

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Uh-oh. Footsteps in the hallway. The cops must think they have enough. They’re banging on the door to 15A. I am telling you, Nadine, I am going to win a Pulitzer—

Wait a minute. They are telling Max to come quietly. But Max isn’t coming quietly. Max is—

To: Mel Fuller

From: Nadine Wilcock

Subject: WHAT???

MEL??? WHERE ARE YOU??? Why did you stop like that? What’s happening???

ARE YOU ALL RIGHT???

Nad

To: George Sanchez

From: John Trent

Subject: Attempted murder

Attachment: [For 1st AM (fp) SAY CHEESE w/exhibits: 1) Max Friedlander in cuffs, captioned w/cuts “The suspect being led away by New York’s finest”; 2) Helen Friedlander on skis, captioned w/cuts “Beloved opera buff and pet owner”; u have in rack]

SAY CHEESE

Famous Fashion Photographer
Arrested for Attempted Murder

In a sting conducted in tandem with the NYPD’s 89th Precinct,
New York Chronicle
reporter John Trent, and the
New York Journal
’s Mel Fuller, an arrest has finally been made in the brutal assault on Upper West Side resident Mrs. Helen Friedlander.

Mrs. Friedlander, 82, was found unconscious in her apartment nearly six months ago, the victim of an apparent assault. Clothing spread across the victim’s bed indicated to police that the opera buff and animal lover might have been attacked by the so-called Transvestite Killer.

But after last month’s arrest of Harold Dumas, who confessed to killing seven women over the course of the past year, it became apparent that Mrs. Friedlander’s assault was what police sergeant Paul Reese calls a “copycat.”

“The perpetrator wished to throw investigators off track,” Sergeant Reese said in an interview early this morning. “He thought he could do so by making it look as if it had been the work of a serial killer known to have attacked other women in the area. There were several things, however, that just weren’t right.”

Among them was the fact that Mrs. Friedlander had apparently known her attacker, having left her door unlocked in order for him to enter the apartment freely, and that no money had been stolen from the premises.

“The motive for this attack,” according to Sergeant Reese, “was money, but after pushing the victim and causing her life-threatening injury, the perpetrator panicked, forgetting his need for cash.”

The suspect arrested last night would not have needed the two hundred dollars that had been sitting in Mrs. Friedlander’s purse the night of her attack: Had the victim died, he would have stood to inherit millions.

“The victim is exceedingly wealthy,” Sergeant Reese explained. “And the suspect is her only living relative.”

That suspect, Maxwell Friedlander, is Helen Friedlander’s 35-year-old nephew. A well-known fashion photographer who has recently run into financial difficulties, Mr. Friedlander confessed to John Trent,
New York Chronicle
crime correspondent, and former
friend of the suspect, that he was in need of money.

Explaining that his aunt was “sitting on this huge pile of cash,” while he himself had none, the suspect justified his actions by saying that he had not initially meant to kill Mrs. Friedlander, but that if she died, he would benefit greatly from the inheritance left to him by her.

Mrs. Friedlander did not die, however. She has languished in a coma for nearly six months. And to Max Friedlander, this was a situation that needed rectifying. And last evening, he attempted to do so, planning, according to a secretly taped interview between the suspect and Mr. Trent, to kill his aunt in her hospital bed with an injection of insulin.

It was just after this admission that police moved to arrest Mr. Friedlander in his aunt’s apartment. Instead of coming quietly, however, Mr. Friedlander broke free and attempted to flee the premises by taking a back stairwell.

It was at this point that Mr. Friedlander was struck hard across the face with this reporter’s laptop, a blow that stopped him in his tracks and required seven stitches at Manhattan’s St. Vincent’s Hospital.

Mr. Friedlander will be arraigned this morning. Charges include the attempted murder of Helen Friedlander; conspiring to commit murder; resisting arrest; and fleeing an officer. Mr. Friedlander is expected to plead not guilty to all charges.

George—it’s me, Mel. I had to type all this on John’s computer, since mine is being held as evidence. What do you think? Did I do good or what?

Mel

To: Mel Fuller

From: Nadine Wilcock

Subject: I suppose this means

the two of you are back together.

I will try to find room for him at the head table at our reception. Although I’m sure it will be difficult, considering how swollen your head will be by that time.

Tony will be happy. He was secretly rooting for John all along.

Nad ;-)

P. S.: I always did like him, you know. Well, at least after he loosened Aaron’s molars for him.

To: Mel Fuller

From: George Sanchez

Subject: All right already

I suppose we could work in a hard news story or two from you occasionally.

Very occasionally.

You are still on Page Ten in the meantime. And now that I know what you can do, I want to really see some good stuff in that column. No more of this Winona Ryder crap. Let’s hear about some real celebrities. Like Brando, for God’s sake. Nobody talks about Brando anymore.

George

P. S.: Don’t think if anything happens to that laptop that you aren’t the one who’s going to be paying for it, Fuller.

To: Mel Fuller

From: Dolly Vargas

Subject: Darling

Just a quick congratulatory note before Aaron and I jet off for Barcelona—yes, I know, I can’t believe he finally gave in, either. But I suppose in light of your recent journalistic coup, he is finally admitting defeat…and I’m the consolation prize!

As if I care. You know, a hard man really
is
good to find, and I honestly don’t mind what kind of music he listens to. He’s single, he’s childless, and he can sign a check. What more can a girl ask for?

Anyway, best of luck to you and Little Lord Fauntleroy—I mean Mr. Trent. And
do
consider inviting me up to the house on the Cape…. It really is divine, from what I saw in
Architectural Digest
.

XXXOOO

Dolly

To: Mel Fuller

From: [email protected]

Subject: MAX

OH, MY GOD, MEL, I AM HERE IN MILAN FOR THE SPRING SHOWS AND I HEARD FROM EVERYONE THAT MAX IS IN JAIL FOR TRYING TO KILL HIS AUNT, AND THAT YOU ARE THE ONE WHO PUT HIM THERE!!!

OH, MY GOD, YOU ARE THE COOLEST GIRL EVER!!! ALL MY FRIENDS WANT TO KNOW IF YOU WILL PUT THEIR
SCUMBAG EX-BOYFRIENDS IN JAIL TOO!!! MAYBE WE COULD START A BUSINESS TOGETHER: YOU COULD PUT GIRLS’ BOYFRIENDS IN JAIL, AND I COULD TEACH THE IMMIGRANTS HOW TO DRESS!!!

ANYWAY, I JUST WANTED TO SAY THANKS FOR PUTTING MAX IN JAIL WHERE HE BELONGS, WITH ALL THE OTHER DIRTBAGS. I AM ESPECIALLY HAPPY BECAUSE I HAVE MADE A NEW FRIEND HERE IN MILAN. HIS NAME IS PAOLO AND HE IS A GALLERY OWNER AND A MILLIONAIRE!!! NO KIDDING!!! HE IS VERY INTERESTED IN SEEING MY DRIFTWOOD DOLPHIN COLLECTION!!! HE SAYS THEY DON’T HAVE THOSE IN ITALY AND HE THINKS I CAN MAKE A FORTUNE SELLING THEM HERE. THIS SHOULD SUPPLY US WITH SOME GOOD START-UP CAPITAL FOR OUR BUSINESS TOGETHER, HUH, MEL?

One of the girls just told me it is considered very rude to write in all capital letters in e-mail. Is that true? Did you think I was being rude? I am sorry.

Anyway, Paolo is taking me out to dinner now, so I have to go. I do not think I will get anything very good to eat. Did you know they have no Applebee’s in Milan? No, really. Not even a Friday’s. Oh, well. See you when I get back!!!

Vivica

To: Mel Fuller

From: Don and Beverly Fuller

Subject: I’m afraid

Daddy and I didn’t understand that last e-mail you sent us at all. What do you mean, you aren’t coming home after all? Daddy already moved all of his bowling trophies out of your room. You
HAVE to come home. Mabel Fleming is counting on you taking over as Arts and Entertainment writer. She says if she has to review one more school play, she just might…

Well, I’m too much of a lady to write it. You know Mabel. She’s always been so…flamboyant.

I suppose I should be happy you’re coming home for Christmas, anyway. Five days is better than nothing, I suppose. But, Melissa, where is this John fellow you’re bringing along going to sleep? I mean, you can’t expect me to let him stay in your room. What would Dolores say? You know she can see everything that goes on in our house from her attic window. And don’t think she doesn’t look, that old cat….

He’ll have to stay in Robbie’s old room. I’ll start moving my sewing things out of it.

I’m happy to hear about your neighbor, anyway. Why, it sounds like something out of
Touched by an Angel
or that new show, what is it called?
Miraculous Cures
, or something. I’m glad to hear that she has woken from her coma and is doing so well, and will be out of the hospital in time for the holidays, though why her nephew should have tried to kill her…

I’m telling you, Melissa, I just don’t like your living in that city. It’s too dangerous! Murderous nephews and serial killers who wear dresses and men who tell you one name when it turns out their name is something else entirely….

Just think, if you moved back here, you could have a mortgage on a three-bedroom house for what you’re paying in rent for that little bitty apartment. And you know your old boyfriend, Tommy Meadows, is a real estate agent now. I’m sure he could get you a very nice deal.

But I guess if you’re happy that’s all that matters.

Daddy and I can’t wait to see you. Are you sure you don’t want us to pick you up at the airport? It seems a waste for you and this John person to rent a car just to drive from the airport out to Lansing….

But I suppose you both know best.

Call before your flight leaves, at least, so we’ll know when to expect you. And remember, don’t drink on the flight: You’ll want to have all your wits about you in case the plane starts to go down, and you need to make an emergency exit.

Love,

Mommy

To: John Trent ; Mel Fuller

From: Genevieve Randolph Trent

Subject: Sunday dinner

Your presence is requested at dinner this Sunday at my home at 366 Park Avenue. Kindly be there promptly at seven for cocktails. Dress will be informal. Jason, Stacy, the twins, and the newest addition to the family will also be in attendance.

And might I add that I am very pleased to be issuing this invitation to you, Miss Fuller. I have a feeling that in the future we will be enjoying a great many more Sunday dinners together.

Stacy has suggested that, now that you’ve gotten a taste for writing together, you two will want to start a newspaper of your own. I must say I find such an idea markedly distasteful. There are far too many newspapers in this town already, in my opinion.

But, then, I’m just an old woman. What do I know?

Looking forward to seeing you,

Mim

To: Mel Fuller

From: John Trent

Subject: Hey

How about knocking off early and joining me and Paco for a little walk? We have something we want to ask you.

John

To: John Trent

From: Mel Fuller

Subject: I couldn’t think of anything

I’d like to do more.

And by the way, the answer is yes.

Mel

Acknowledments

Many thanks to
Beth Ader, Jennifer Brown,
Laura Langlie, and David Walton.

About the Author

Meg (a.k.a.) Meggin Cabot is the author of the bestselling, critically acclaimed, immensely popular
Princess Diaries
novels—Volumes I-III (
The Princess Diaries
;
Princess in the Spotlight
; and
Princess in Love
) are published by PerfectBound, along with
All-American Girl
.
The Boy Next Door
is her first adult contemporary book. She is also the author of (among many, many other books, including even more Princess Diaries titles)
She Went All the Way
;
Haunted
:
A Tale of the Mediator
; and two Regency-era novels
, Nicola and the Viscount
and
Victoria and the Rogue
. Meg lives with her husband in New York City. Please visit
www.megcabot.com.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

Credits

Cover design by Michelle Caplan

Cover illustration by Chuck Gonzales

THE BOY NEXT DOOR
. Copyright © 2002 by Meggin Cabot. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition © JULY 2003 ISBN: 9780061828867

FIRST EDITION

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