I padded out into the kitchen in my furry snuggle bunny animal slippers, intent on an espresso and a tiny bit of poppyseed bread. Harmony and I had eaten plenty of it before bed last night, and I had to watch my girlish figure. Out of nowhere, Stormy pounced on my foot, batting at the little pink bunny ears. I jumped a mile. She yowled and dashed away, leaving me with enough adrenaline to forego the coffee. Mr. Tuttles watched the entire thing and then trotted over to me, sniffed my slippers, and yipped at me twice.
“I know, I know. Breakfast.”
I fed my demanding overlords and sat with my phone, resting my elbows on the table as I scrolled the internet and sipped my coffee. Harmony was already up and out; Jeremy and the girls were coming in today, and she insisted that she go grocery shopping for them and pay for all the extra groceries we’d need. I tried to tell her she didn’t need to do that, but sometimes Harmony was as strong-willed as her mom, and I gave up the argument
I received an email from one Mr. Brady Strong, Bugged Out Representative, and eagerly opened it. Included was his bid for the Valley Vista extermination contract.
Aha! I’ve got you!
This contract had no extra fees for coming out to remove wasp nests. It was included in the base price. A quick glance showed me that the contract appeared to be on par with what Sunhaven HOA was paying, but I’d have to pull that one up again to be sure. It wasn’t complete evidence that somebody in our HOA board was on the take, but it was a step in the right direction.
I texted Dayna.
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Brady Strong who visited Angie on Saturday?
Looks like he might be on the take
I’ve got a couple of contracts that offer strong proof
She was also consulting with Peter Barlow, a Forensic Accountant
He might have more info
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Good morning to you, too!
Sounds like you’ve already had your morning coffee.
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Haha! I have, in fact
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Okay, we’ll haul his ass in. We can rough him up if we need to.
Also, just kidding in case the FBI is monitoring my texts.
But not really.
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No need to rough him up.
I’m pretty sure he’ll fold like a paper napkin if you put the pressure on.
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Got it! Will do.
I stretched and addressed my plethora of pets. “Alright, kiddos. We need to get after it this morning. I have to go see the pool guy!”
The google search I did earlier gave Max Howard’s pool service two out of five star reviews for service, so that seemed like a good place for me to go spelunking for a criminal.
I sat in my car outside the offices of Howard Pool Maintenance, a not very creative name for a company but an efficient one. It was in the dingy part of Palm Hills, not that there were that many parts of Palm Hills people would call dingy, but the storefronts were smaller and closer together, there was no cooling strip of grass between the street and the sidewalk, and more trash littered the streets than in the nicer areas. His was a small office in a nondescript strip mall, but I supposed he didn’t need a large office. My research indicated he had three employees, and I suspected they were typically out maintaining pools more than they were in the office, so he mostly needed the office for doing business and storing supplies.
I entered to the sound of a loud buzzer, something they could hear if they were in the back, no doubt, and the scent of chlorine wafted by, a scent the workers were probably quite used to and wouldn’t be able to smell anymore.
“Hello, Mr. Howard?” I kept my voice loud and peppy. “I’m sorry for popping in on you on a whim, but I was going to email you anyway, and I was literally passing by your office on my way to the post office, and I thought, well, shoot, I’d just save myself an email!” Max Howard sat at his desk facing the door, morning sunshine pouring into the windowed entrance. He clicked a few times on the computer mouse and looked up at me, his face impassive.
Nobody would say he was good looking, but he wasn’t bad looking either, reminding me of somebody whose nickname would be Spike. Dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, his brown hair was thinning, and he sported a noticeably crooked nose, but he had a dark tan and the build you would expect from somebody who either cleaned pools every day or was part of a clandestine Special Forces Unit with pool cleaning as their cover.
That morning I had decided to go with a ditzy older woman vibe and wore reading glasses around my neck, my hair up in a bun with a pencil sticking through it, and pink orthopedic shoes that almost matched my embarrassingly large pink purse with a white poodle’s face on the side. I personally found the entire effect quite amusing when I’d looked at myself in the mirror earlier.
“Hello, Miss-?”
“Fletcher. It’s Jessica to my friends.”
“Hello Jessica. How can I help you?”
“I’m part of an HOA that needs a new pool maintenance contractor. Our last guy, Billy, unfortunately passed away last week. It was very sad. But of course, now that it’s spring and super hot outside, while we will all miss Billy, what we all really miss is a clean pool! I’m getting bids for a new contract.”
“I see. I’ll need some details. Who referred me to you?”
“You were referred by Mr. Google, haha! And, here, I’ve got all of the info written down.” I pulled some folded and refolded notes out of my purse that I created this morning, writing down the name of a fake HOA, then adding another name and spilling some tea on it, so it was hard to make out. In a slightly more legible script, I had written a couple of pertinent details that one would need in order to give me a bid for a fake pool in a fake HOA.
He looked over my crumpled notes, a frown on his face.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I have to admit, I’m just not very good with computers, and I refuse to spring for all that fancy writing software. That stuff is so expensive, nowadays, isn’t it? So it’s all handwritten!”
“I usually work with the HOA managers for bids, Miss Fletcher, and I assume you are not one?”
“Oh, gosh no, we’re self-managed.”
“Self-managed.” He repeated it like he had just spit out a bitter food.
“Yes, we save tons of money that way, and it’s not that hard to do, you know. We just do our own taxes and stuff, and we hire the contractors, and they all take care of the rest.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Fletcher.”
“Jessica, please.”
“I’m sorry, Jessica, but I usually only take jobs that have been referred to me. Many management companies in the area know me. I’ve found that working with unknown people results in issues with my employees being paid.”
“I can assure you that we always pay our bills!” I said with fake indignation.
“I’m sure that’s true, but I’m sorry. I can’t give you a bid. We are already stretching ourselves thin, and we simply cannot take on any more clients.” He got up and opened the door, waving me through.
I passed him, feeling his eyes burning into my back. Before I was completely out the door, I spun around. “Oh, just one more thing, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m very busy.”
“One minute you said you’d be interested if we had been referred by an HOA management company, then the next you say you’re too busy. Which is it, Mr. Howard?”
He crossed his arms, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.
“I’m very busy,” he said through clenched teeth.
“You work for Sunhaven HOA, right? I’ve been hearing rumors…”
“You need to leave.”
“…about some very nefarious dealings. The President of Sunhaven was murdered in her kitchen. I’m sure you heard.”
He stepped closer to me, his large body, muscles tight, right in front of me. If I leaned forward, I could have touched my forehead to his chest. “Out!” he thundered.
This large, muscled man couldn’t intimidate me. “I think I know what happened here.” I raised my voice to match his volume. “You were taking kickbacks. Who’s your partner?”
“GET. OUT!”
“Was it the manager? The old President? Did Angela Beech find out? Is that why you killed her?”
Howard pulled his jacket open, baring a snub nose revolver in a hip holster. “NOW!” he demanded.
Time to go!
I pulled the pink purse with the poodle face in front of me, as though that was going to be any kind of barrier to a bullet, and skedaddled out of there. As I drove away, I smiled to myself.
That was as guilty a criminal as I’ve ever met.
My cell phone rang as I drove, dragging me up from my reverie. I glanced at it, startled to see from the caller ID that it was Peter Barlow. My heart skipped a beat thinking about the forensic accountant.
“Hello, Mr. Barlow,” I answered, a smile in my voice.
“Peter, please, Kate. I was wondering how your investigations have been going.”
“Still no arrests, but I think I’m making progress. I’m pursuing some of the angles you helped me out with.”
“Along those lines, I was thinking about all your purely hypothetical questions, and I thought I might have some more hypothetical answers. Maybe we could discuss these things over dinner?”
“That sounds intriguing! Dinner would be lovely.”
“Great! I’ll make reservations for 7:00 at Ascent for this Saturday, if that works.”
I assured him it did and pushed “End” on my phone.
Dinner with the handsome and accomplished Forensic Accountant? I wondered if this was a date, or if he was just interested in the case. Don’t be stupid, Kate, I thought. If he wanted to dish up more information about the case, he would have just done so over the phone. This was a date, and I couldn’t help the big grin on my face.
Once again, I found myself sitting in my driveway, texting. Retired me seemed to be more busy than working me had ever been, and I found I was liking it.
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Hey Nick! It’s Kate.
I accidentally made too much poppyseed bread.
I wondered if I could drop some off with you.
Any interest?
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The three little dots dancing on my screen meant Nick was responding, which was good. I was worried he’d be busy, and I’d missed my window.
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Kate! Yes, I would love to see you.
I have a couple of questions for you, too, if you don’t mind.
Come over any time.
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Between Javier Mendez kissing me, Max Howard threatening me, Peter Barlow inviting me out for a date, and Nick Silva wanting to see me, it seemed as if my social life was heating up.