She nodded, looking nervous. “I am.”
“No, you’re not.” I handed her the clipboard tucked under my arm. “Now, you’re ready. Almost.” I tugged my phone from my back pocket. “I got an app that records phone conversations. I’m going to call your phone now, and you answer, so I can listen to everything that Donna says. Plus, we’ll have a recording in case she says anything incriminating.”
“That’s brilliant, Katy.” She slipped the phone into her breast pocket.
“Now, you’re ready.” I felt like I was sending my firstborn into battle. “Wait! You should park your car in front of her house.”
“You’re right. Good call.”
Violet yelped frantically through the boys’ open living room window.
“Uh-oh. I bet she saw that mouse again,” said Earl. “Mice terrify her.”
“We gotta go,” said Randy. “We’ve been trying to catch it so we can release it back into the wild where it can live a happy mouse life.”
As they trotted across the street, Earl called to me, “In our former life, we would’ve offed the mouse with a shovel.”
Sam parked her SUV behind a construction truck, then glanced in my direction, looking anxious.
I whispered into my phone, “Talk loud so I can hear you.”
She squared her shoulders and started for the door. On the former Miller’s property, I moved to a spot in the bushes that was parallel to Nina’s front door. Then spread the branches apart to keep an eye on Sam.
She jabbed on the doorbell a few times before Donna opened the door.
“HELLO,” said Sam. “I’m from ELDER CARE SOCIAL SERVICES.”
“Why are you shouting?”
“SORRY. Sorry. It’s noisy out here.” Sam pointed at the yard activity. “I didn’t know if you could HEAR ME OVER THE BULLDOZER. I can hardly hear myself think!” She paused a moment, standing on tiptoes, struggling to peer over Donna’s broad shoulders. “AWFULLY NOISY IN THE HOUSE, TOO.”
“I CAN HEAR YOU! So stop the shouting. What do you want?”
“I’m here to do my scheduled monthly check-up on Nina Lowen.”
“Why? She’s perfectly healthy.”
“And we want to keep her that way. She is expecting me.”
Samantha set a foot on the threshold and Donna’s hand blocked her entrance. “What’re you doing?”
Sam stepped back, waving her clipboard. “As I said. Mrs. Lowen’s check-up.”
“You’ll have to make an appointment. My aunt is napping.”
“Napping? Now? We have an appointment.” Sam made a big show of checking her watch. “This is our regular day and time. You’ll need to wake her up. I’m on a tight schedule.”
“Like hell, I will. The woman is a viper. If I wake her from her beauty sleep there will be hell to pay.”
“That doesn’t sound like the sweet Nina Lowen I know,” said Sam.
“Well, then she’s got you fooled. Give me your card and I’ll have her call you to set another appointment.”
My scalp tingled. What will Sam say?
She didn’t miss a beat. “I left them in my car. I’ll jot it down for you.”
I saw her writing on the paper attached to the clipboard. She tore off the number and handed it to Donna. “I’d like to hear back today. Otherwise, I’ll have to report this to social services.”
Donna did not look pleased.
Samantha glanced at her watch again. “Tell you what. I think I can squeeze her in around four o’clock. Please make sure she’s awake.” She turned her back on Donna and practically jumped down the steps.
Donna waved the scrap of paper. “Wait a minute!”
Sam ignored her, hastily picking her way through the dirt clods and ditches to the pavement. Keeping her head down, she jumped in her car and sped to my house.
I backed out of my hiding spot and ran home. We didn’t say a word until we were in the kitchen.
“Oh, my God, Sam—you were brilliant!”
She puffed her chest. “I was, wasn’t I?” Then her bravado sagged and she slumped onto a kitchen chair. “Except now I have to go back. That woman is scary. And what’s up with the hideous orange muumuu? Not a good look on her. Or anyone.”
I sat next to her. “Who knows? She’s always dressed like she’s in the middle of a heatwave.” I gave her a hug. “Thank you for doing that, but I don’t expect you to go back—especially in your condition.”
“I’m pregnant, not dying from a rare tropical disease. I need to go back. I agree with you. Something really strange is going on over there.”
“At least you don’t think I’m crazy.”
“I always think you’re crazy, so what else is new?”
“Yeah, yeah. Very funny. But I don’t want you going alone. So, who can go with you?”
“Not you,” she said.
“Obviously. Not Ruby either.”
Sam snapped her fingers. “How about Ruby’s boyfriend, Ben?”
“Hmm. That could work. He’s a retired hotshot L.A. lawyer, so he can spout legal jargon that no one understands, but it sounds threatening. I’ll call him.”
I did, and, being the dear man that he is, he agreed.
In my entry area, Ben held open his suit coat. “Do I look official enough for you in my three-piece?”
“Love the watch chain,” I said.
“Belonged to my grandfather. He gave it to me when I passed the bar. It’s been a while since I’ve worn my work clothes. I’m relieved this suit still fits considering how spoiled I am by Ruby’s excellent cooking.” He winked at Sam and me.
“Ha! That’s rich!” snorted Ruby. “You’re the chef, not me.”
“If anyone wants coffee, I’ve got a fresh pot on the stove,” I said. “Let’s go sit in the kitchen.”
Everyone accepted a cup except Sam, and we sat at the table
Ben gleefully rubbed his hands together. “What’s the plan?”
While I briefed him, Sam researched Social Services house calls online to gain more verbal ammunition. A few minutes before four, they got into Ben’s shiny silver Mercedes, drove around the block, and parked in front of Nina’s house. Ruby and I crossed the Millers’ lawn to the spot in the shrubbery where I had viewed Sam earlier.
Ben pressed the doorbell and stood back, looking professional and authoritative. After a reasonable wait, he rang again.
After the third ring, he asked a construction worker if Donna was home. The young man shrugged his shoulders and spoke in Spanish.
Ben replied in what sounded like a perfect accent to my ear. “Está ella en casa?”
“Si.” The man said a lot more that was way beyond my two years of forgotten high school Spanish.
Then Ben pounded on the door, hollering, “I am the legal counsel for social services. You are required to let us in to see our client, Nina Lowen. If you do not…”
The door swung open.
“It’s four o’clock, and I’m back as promised.” Sam gestured at Ben. “This is Ben Burnett. He’s the legal counsel for—”
“Yeah, I heard.” Straddling the threshold, Donna crossed her arms. “You already reported me?”
“My concern is for my patient above all else. Unfortunately, earlier today, you were not amenable to my visit, so Mr. Burnett is here to ensure I have access to Mrs. Lowen. Once I’m satisfied that she’s in good health, I can file my report.”
Donna didn’t budge.
“We’d like to come in now,” said Ben.
“Unless you have a warrant, I don’t have to let you in.”
Sam moved closer to her. “I’m also required to do a safety evaluation given the state of disrepair the home is now in.”
“I did a little research after you left. The only way you’re getting into this house is if you can show me a warrant signed by a judge, or I invite you in, which sure ain’t happening.”
Ben drew his phone from his pants pocket. “That can be arranged. By not cooperating with us, this will go
on file and will cause considerable problems for you if we are forced to take you to court.” It looked like he had dialed a number, then paused. “Are you the legal guardian of Nina Lowen?”
“Yes, I am,” she snapped.
Since when? I wondered.
“I’d like to see that documentation, please,” said Ben.
“Oh yeah? Well, document this!” Donna slammed the door.
Sam shouted, “You better clean up the place because you can bet we’ll be back.”
Ben took her arm and hustled her down the steps. The yard workers gaped at the pair weaving their way through the yard.
“What are you staring at?” yelled Sam as she climbed into Ben’s car. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer!”
Ruby and I rushed home to meet them in the driveway. When Sam got out of the car, she took one look at me, and we both cracked up.
“I haven’t heard you scream like that in ages,” I said.
“Then you need to spend more time at my house. Raising a teenage girl brings out the beast in me all the time.”
We gathered on the porch. The ladies sat on the glider, and Ben leaned against the rail.
“So now what, Ben?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Unfortunately, that woman is right. We would have to show a warrant.”
“Obviously, that’s not happening,” I said.
“Sometimes I really hate the internet,” said Ruby. “If she couldn’t have checked the rules online, she probably would’ve let you in.”
“Actually, it’s better that she did that,” said Ben. “If she’d called social services and found out we weren’t who we said we were, she could have had the cops waiting for us.”
Ruby stood and dusted her immaculate denim capris. “We gotta scoot. We have tickets to see Forever…Patsy Cline at the community theater, and I need to change my clothes. We’re double-dating with your parents.”
“Dinner first at The Red Door,” said Ben.
“Ooo. I’m jealous. I love that place,” I said.
Sam stood. “Time for me to go, too. I promised Casey I’d make his favorite for dinner.”
“Mac and cheese?” I asked.
“No. He’s broadened his culinary horizons and is into tuna noodle casserole now. Cheddar cheese is the magic ingredient.”
Chapter Seventeen
Friday • June 19
Posted by Katy McKenna
I ran errands this morning. The bank, hardware store, groceries. Returning home, it surprised me to see no trucks, vans, or workers at Nina’s house. After parking in my driveway, I waved at Randy across the street, then strolled over.
Violet was on the couch next to him. She jumped down, wiggling her bum and lobbing doggy air-kisses at me. I sat on the top step and she nuzzled under my arm until I wrapped it around her. “Did you catch the mouse that was terrorizing poor little Violet?”
“No. Now we have three humane live traps in the house.”
I pointed across the street. “None of the workers are at Nina’s today. I wonder why.”
Randy nodded. “They walked off the job about an hour ago. I was doing my morning salutations when it happened. That woman was screaming her head off at them—really foul language. Totally messed with my chi. Now I get why you were so pissed—I mean angry with us.”
“What was she screaming?”
“Stuff like ‘I paid you a thousand bucks last week, and I can’t pay any more right now.’”
“So everyone up and left?”
He swept back his shaggy hair. “I heard the supervisor say she owed them $7,000 for materials and labor, and if she wasn’t going to pay them, they had other jobs that would, and didn’t need this shit—his word, not mine. Then the dudes working in the house came out and left, too.”
I gazed at the house. “There’s a toilet in the yard.”
“The plumber was about to throw it into the dumpster when all this happened. He had a new one sitting on the porch. He grabbed it and left.”
“Wow. Sorry I missed all the excitement.” One more pup snuggle and I stood. “Thanks for the update. Let me know if any other weird things happen. I’m very concerned about Nina.” I moved to the bottom of the steps. “Hey! Have you seen that homeless guy at the Millers’ house again?”
“I saw him leave this morning.”
“Was he acting sneaky, like he didn’t want anyone to see him?”
“No. He came out the door carrying a backpack and walked down the street.”
Randy namastéd me, and I went home to ponder these new neighborhood developments.
After Sam’s bogus social services visits to Nina’s house, I owe her big time, which means giving her sixteen-and-a-half-year-old driving lessons. I got my license the day I turned sixteen, but Chelsea pulled a stunt a while back that delayed her driving lessons.
Texting your friends that your folks are gone for the night is a recipe for disaster. Thank goodness for homeowner’s insurance.
Not only did Chelsea have to wait to learn how to drive, she now has an embarrassing flip phone with no internet access or texting capabilities. If she wants to communicate with anyone, she has to talk to them. How humiliating is that?
Chelsea’s first driving lesson.
And my first gray hair.
“Okay, Chelsea. Buckle up.”
“Check.”
“Can you see out the rearview mirror?”
She adjusted it, fluffed her hair, then reached to turn on the radio.
“Uh-uh. I want all your attention on the road.”
“We’re in the high school parking lot, Aunt Katy.”
“This is where I had my first lesson. Sam, too. Now, turn the key.”
“Our cars don’t have keys. You just press the button.”
“I know. And if you lose the remote fob thingie, it costs at least a couple hundred to replace.”
She pulled out the metal key and scrutinized it like it was an archeological artifact. “How much does a key cost?”
“A few bucks.”
“Maybe I’ll save up for an old car instead of a new one.” She inserted the key into the ignition. “Should I press the gas pedal?”
“No. It’ll start without doing that.”
She turned the key and Veronica’s engine purred.
“Did you really learn how to drive in this car?” asked Chelsea.
I patted the dashboard. “Sure did.”
“Wow. This car is so old.”
“Hey! It was old when I learned, too. Now it’s a classic, so treat Veronica with the respect she deserves.”
She gripped the wheel, bouncing on the squeaky seat. “Now what?”
“Stop bouncing and put your foot on the brake. No, your right foot. In an automatic, we only use our right foot.”
“What does my left foot do?”
“Nothing.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. I mean it’s right there, and there’s two pedals, so why can’t I use both feet? It would be way easier.”
“Do you want to pass the driver’s test and get your license?”
“Yeah.”
“Enough said.” I released the parking brake. “Put it in drive. The D.”
“D for drive. Duh.”
I tapped the steering wheel. “Now, with both hands on the wheel like I showed you, take your foot off the brake and ever so gently press the gas pedal.”
The elderly car lurched into supersonic warp speed. The G-Force snapped my head back against the headrest. “Stop! Hit the brakes! STOP!” My seatbelt anchored my body to the seat as Veronica screeched to a halt.
“Wow!” shrieked Chelsea. “That was awesome!”
Those few seconds wiped out several years of my life and any debt I owed Sam—now and forever.
This evening
* * *
A party was brewing next door. As their volume climbed, so did my TV volume—and my blood pressure. I reached the tipping point when Daisy tried to bury her head under the cushion
s.
“Enough is enough.” I paused the show, found the noise ordinance online, and printed it. Then stomped to Josh’s door.
After ringing the bell several times, the door opened, and a guy holding a beer and reeking of weed stumbled past me, discharging a loud, rolling belch.
“Real cute,” I said.
The idiot grinned stupidly and passed out on the lawn.
He’d left the door open, so I invited myself in. I’d seen Josh’s cousin, Dillon, from a distance but had not yet formerly introduced myself. That was about to change. I finally located him lounging on the back deck. After edging a couple girls aside, I planted myself in front of his prone body.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Katy McKenna.” I pointed at our mutual cedar fence. “I live over there.”
Dillon grinned crookedly. “Okay.”
“There’s a city noise ordinance that states that ten o’clock is the cutoff time for noise.” I glanced at my phone. “Right now it’s nine forty-two.” I waved the ordinance at him. “You’ve got less than twenty minutes to wind down this party to a whisper, or every neighbor on this block will call the police.” I tossed the document on his lap. “You’ve been warned.”
As I made my way through the house to the front door, I spotted a skinny girl shrouded in waist length black hair sitting on the living room couch. She was petting a cat that looked a lot like Mr. Snickers. “Is that your cat?”
“No. It belongs to the guy who lives here.”
I sat next to her. “Dillon?”
She shrugged her bony, bare shoulders. “If that’s the guy who lives here.”
“I love cats.” I reached out. “May I hold him a moment?”
“Whatever.”
I pulled the feline into my arms and checked his collar tag. “This isn’t Dillon’s cat.”
My fury had resumed tenfold. My first inclination was to confront Dillon. Instead, I left the house clutching Snickers. It was too late to knock on Nina’s door, so I took him home.
I closed the laundry room dog door before setting Mr. Snickers down for Tabitha and Daisy to inspect. After he passed the sniff test, I fed everyone a snack, then showed him the cat box.
While She Slumbered: The Murder Blog Mysteries #5 Page 8