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  On Third Avenue, only two houses had yet to incur complete renovation. Both appeared to be relics from the seventies—tiny, brightly painted ranch-style homes with more sand than grass for lawns. The outdated quintessential beach houses were probably no larger than eight hundred square feet each, and were, ironically, situated directly across the street from each other. The structures practically screamed investment, with owners probably waiting for the market to rise then pounce on a good price. One day in their place there would also be salmon colored McMansions. Meanwhile, they were shacks. One was Kathleen’s tiny yellow, well-kept cottage. The other was a lime-green eyesore with a crooked For Rent sign in its sandy front yard.

  For reasons she couldn’t quite explain even to herself, Shel had taken down the phone number and looked up the realtor online when she’d returned to her hotel room. She’d placed an early morning call to Ms. Junie D’Amico and requested they meet at the Coffee Cup as soon as possible to discuss the property.

  Shel’s initial thought centered solely around getting a better look at Kathleen’s home in broad daylight. From the vantage point across the street, she figured she’d formulate her next move, though her gut already told her what that would be. She tried to ignore the sensation, willing things to unfold around her as they were meant to do instead of rushing them. Patience wasn’t her greatest strength.

  Junie D’Amico returned with coffee in hand, unknowingly rescuing Shel from her internal prattle. The older woman looked revived upon her first few sips of the brew. She grinned, revealing a tiny bit of pink lipstick on her teeth. “So is it Shelly or Michelle?”

  “Just Shel.” She held the café door open for the woman.

  “Will your husband be joining us, dear—” Junie stopped herself, glanced at Shel, and appeared to quickly come to terms with reality, either having pegged her for a lesbian or a woman too rough around the edges to attract a husband. “Never mind that.”

  Shel smiled, as it was clear the well-coiffed woman was desperate to connect with her on any level, if only to satisfy the visions of dollar signs in her head.

  Junie nodded toward a gleaming white Escalade. “You think you can keep up with me?”

  “I’ll surely try.”

  Within minutes, Junie’s boat-sized SUV docked at the small, gravel, U-shaped driveway in front of the listed rental. Shel parked behind her and waited as Junie leaped from the driver’s side, smoothed her slacks, and tucked an errant white hair behind her bejeweled ear. She aimed the key remote at the car until it chirped, and glanced down.

  Shel guessed the troubled expression on Junie’s face indicated she was initiating her Manolos to the only gravel they’d probably ever touched. Junie tiptoed her way to the front door of the ranch-style house. Cautiously guarding long fingernails lacquered as pink as her lipstick, she punched a code into the lockbox on the lime-green house.

  A wall of hot, stagnant air hit Shel when the door opened. The place smelled like damp socks.

  From Junie’s wrinkled nose, she also detected the odor. “This is a two-bedroom home, and if I could convince the old gentleman to sell it, people would jump on it. Of course it would be a total tear down,” Junie candidly said. She seemed to realize that all the sweet talk in the world couldn’t mask the eyesore of a home.

  Though Shel hadn’t had the least bit of interest in truly renting the place, she admired Junie’s frankness. “He doesn’t want to sell, huh?”

  “He doesn’t even want to rent.” Junie raised her hands and dramatically dropped them to her sides. “He’s been my most difficult project to date. But he’s in a senior home, he’s crotchety, and nobody’s going to convince the old fool that he’s not going to walk right back through that door tomorrow.”

  “Then why try?” Shel asked, looking around the dusty, drab quarters.

  “The gentleman still has a mortgage. A peculiar insurance-based clause in his bank paperwork says that all properties under financing must be occupied.” Junie glanced at Shel and rolled her heavily blue-lined eyes. “Needless to say, it’s not going over well with the old man. He acts like I’m the villain in this movie.”

  Junie continued her rant, but Shel ignored her spiel and instead stared across a roomful of sheet-covered furniture and out the window at Kathleen’s little cottage. “What about the house across the street?” she casually asked.

  Junie looked surprised at the interruption. She followed Shel’s line of sight out the window. “Not on the market.”

  “Is it a rental?” When Junie shook her head, she asked. “Any chance you know who owns it?”

  “I could find out easily enough. Right off the top, I can tell you the deed hasn’t changed hands in the fourteen years I’ve been in this area. A good realtor knows these things.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Shel leaned against the couch positioned before the front window. She softened her tone, lest she appear overly interested. She wondered if Kathleen had purchased the home. She turned toward Junie. “Just curious—what would one of these little houses go for around here?”

  Without hesitation, Junie answered, “Million-five.”

  “Dollars?” Shel’s eyebrows hiked. At Junie’s nod, she added, “Wow.”

  “But nothing’s for sale on this street right now.” Junie leaned closer to her and whispered, “Unless the guy who owns this one kicks it, which could happen any minute. I can find out if anyone else is attached to it, if you’re interested.”

  Shel looked out the window to study the yellow house. “One point five, huh?”

  Junie confirmed the price before launching back into her speech. “So this place was built in 1973, all original plumbing and wiring, which could spell trouble later, if not sooner. Surprisingly, the utilities are included in the rent, but the owner is not allowing any wiggle room in the budget to replace the decrepit appliances. Plus he demands the roof be fixed—apparently it’s leaking somewhere and that’s going to be expensive. Also, there’s no lawn service. The whole thing’s a bust, really.” She turned around, her hands firmly on her dainty hips. “Honey, why don’t you let me show you something else? Something newer and better that you don’t have to re-roof. Something that doesn’t smell like…frog farts.”

  Hearing “frog farts” out of the expensive mouth of Junie D’Amico earned Shel’s attention. She quickly turned away from the window to gauge the woman’s expression. They shared a genuine chuckle.

  “I appreciate that, Junie,” she said, “but I like this one. Frog farts and all.”

  Junie turned serious again. “I suppose it is a grand location, the beach being just a few blocks down.”

  “Oh, it’s certainly the location I desire,” Shel said, not thinking about the beach at all.

  She heard the door slam shut across the street and turned to see Fortier’s tiny daughter running full steam toward the road. The little girl’s sudden appearance combined with the tyke’s amazing speed caused her to draw in a sharp breath and listen for cars. Almost involuntarily, Shel edged toward the door, finding it hard to believe she was ready to run to the street and stop the child. She chalked it up to protecting her investment since she was convinced she lacked even a single maternal instinct.

  Still, her voice hiked up a notch when she asked, “Junie, is there a lot of traffic on these streets?”

  “Hardly any. Plus, there’s a hospital at the end of the block and a grocery store one block over from there. Naturally a few blocks away you’ve got the convenience of Fifth Avenue…”

  Junie’s voice melted into the background as Shel watched Kathleen Fortier zip out the front door and run across the lawn after the child.

  “How much is the rent?” she absently asked, still watching Kathleen, hot on the trail of her daughter, who was fast approaching the street.

  “Five thousand.”

  Kathleen caught up with the child just short of the curb.

  A car, though slow moving, blocked Shel’s view for a heart-stopping moment. “Jesus Christ,” she gasped
.

  “Tell me about it,” Junie said, obviously assuming she was aghast at the dollar amount. Junie was probably used to delivering news like this every day, Shel thought, but probably not when associated with such a dive. “Not worth a penny more than three grand in this condition, but sadly, I must honor the owner’s wishes.”

  Kathleen had done an about-face, the child in her arms, and stormed back to the house. The door loudly slammed shut once again. Shel rubbed her eyes, wondering if she’d misjudged the entire situation. Maybe yesterday’s moment of softness was just that: a moment. Perhaps Kathleen Fortier had no control whatsoever over her own child. Perhaps she was a monster…

  “Maybe I was wrong,” Shel mumbled.

  “Pardon, dear?” Junie looked slightly bewildered.

  Shel returned her gaze to the window. Kathleen’s house was quiet. The place seemed as mysterious as its inhabitants. She wondered how Kathleen Fortier, selling an occasional painting for five hundred bucks, could possibly afford to live in a house with that kind of rent attached to it. It gave legitimacy to Richard Fortier’s claims of embezzlement or blackmail. Her heartbeat accelerated in sync with her improving mood. It seemed wrong that Kathleen being an unfit mother would be profitable to Shel, but make no mistake, were it proven true, Shel planned to be the one to profit.

  She heard herself say, “I’ll take it.”

  Junie’s jaw went slack and her eyes nearly bulged out of their nipped and tucked sockets. “Look, honey, I’m happy to do my job, but this place has no air-conditioning. Furthermore, the old gentleman is also not kicking in for pool services, and he insists that the pool be cleaned and filled at the renter’s expense.”

  “This place has a pool?” Shel muttered. She shook her head. “Never mind. How much did you say again?”

  “Five grand, month to month.” Junie shuffled through her paperwork, reading as she went. “Furniture stays, listed as all original, which means musty and rickety, and he is refusing to sign a full-term lease. I don’t know how I’m supposed to work like this. Honestly.”

  Shel knew a lease didn’t matter. It was Fortier’s money and she’d be out of there within a few weeks anyway, possibly with a hundred grand lining her pocket. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it.”

  It was the first time she’d managed to silence Junie. The woman nodded, as if waiting for her voice to catch up with her, and finally said, “Let me get the papers.”

  A little while later, before Junie’s Manolos could make their final teeter across the driveway, Shel yanked sheets off old couches and overstuffed chairs. Dust particles danced across beams of sunlight pouring through the newly opened windows, sending her into a full-fledged sneezing fit. Junie had been right about the furniture. In fact, she’d been right about everything. Shel would have to dust the place top to bottom to make it slightly habitable, no matter how short a time she planned to stay.

  She brushed her hands on her jeans and moved into the bedroom. It was a small room made smaller by the king-sized bed. Surprisingly, the mattress was relatively new and, thankfully, passed her bedbug examination. If she could properly rid the mattress of its musty smell, it would probably make for a good night’s sleep.

  The old man’s personal effects had long ago been sent to storage, she assumed, so a closet almost the size of the bedroom was available to her, but it would, along with a small dresser, remain empty. Close to everything she owned fit inside a suitcase and a duffel bag, which she planned to quickly deposit on the closet floor—forget unpacking.

  The bathroom was completely tiled in jadite, circa Holiday Inn 1973, and the galley kitchen was fine for as much as she’d use it, which would be never. Still, the smell…

  A few hours, a box of Comet, and gallon of bleach later, her lungs were thoroughly seared, but the rooms were clean. The smells of bleach and cleanser beat the pants off must and mildew any day.

  She returned to the hotel, gathered her things and the cat, and brought them to the new temporary headquarters. Newton sniffed the bleach-filled air and made a haughty assessment of the place. She could tell the cat disapproved of the quarters, probably having gotten used to the swank atmosphere of the fancy hotel. She ignored him, gathered her cleaning supplies, and hauled everything to the rear of the house. She stopped short when she spotted a doorway just beyond the kitchen.

  “Almost forgot,” she said to herself. The door was swollen shut with damp weather, but a few hard tugs did the trick. She grinned at the cat who’d been curiously trailing her. “Newton, you’ve got your own room.”

  As if he realized exactly what she’d said, Newton moseyed past her and jumped on top of the single bed in the room. He clawed a circle, pulling up and making a nest of the old chenille bedspread covering the mattress before finally settling in. It appeared Newton had reconsidered, perhaps valuing the upgrade in privacy over the downgrade in quarters.

  Shel parked the damp mop against the wall near the doorway and told Newton, “The one who doesn’t pay rent gets to sleep with the mop.”

  As Junie had indicated, she easily found tiny Guin’s Market a few blocks away. There she stocked up on scant provisions: beer, toilet paper, bread, peanut butter, coffee, and cat food, and as she had a stove at the moment, she even sprang for some refrigerated ready-made pasta.

  At four o’clock, she made herself a quick sandwich and drank a beer chilled in the old refrigerator. She perched on the couch and waited impatiently until five thirty. As she had the day before, Kathleen pedaled up the driveway of the house across the street and parked the bike on the cement slab front porch. She then removed the child’s helmet and lifted her down from the seat. Then, without so much as a word to the kid or a glance around her, she led Harper around to a side gate, and presumably they went into the house from a back entrance. She wondered why they didn’t use the front door.

  “Friendly little cuss,” Shel muttered.

  She studied the quiet yellow house for the rest of the afternoon. By seven o’clock, she was thoroughly bored. She showered, grabbed another beer, and retreated to her own tiny cement slab of a front porch and plopped into the single plastic lawn chair. Either the old owner hadn’t had much company or hadn’t wanted any. It suited her perfectly.

  She resituated the chair to face Kathleen’s house and settled in. Using the hem of her shirt for a grip, she twisted the lid off her bottle of beer, shook out a newspaper, and alternately read and spied on her neighbor until it was too dark to look legitimate.

  A light came on in Kathleen’s front window. At nine o’clock, the light turned off. Shel assumed they’d gone to bed. It didn’t seem like a bad idea.

  Inside her own place, she checked the door locks, and climbed into the comfortable bed. But no matter how tired she felt, her thoughts wouldn’t turn off.

  She figured she should soon drive somewhere—maybe Fort Myers—to get cash off Fortier’s AmEx. With rent and deposit, she’d nearly exhausted his cash advance, and she didn’t want to put more local purchases on the credit card, thereby giving away her precise location. She’d come painfully close to blowing her cover already just using the card at the hotel. But that was long before she’d considered Naples a viable candidate in her search. Her head still spun with the coincidence. Shel knew there was more to be learned about Kathleen before she could simply turn her over to Fortier.

  She remembered her old police academy days, training alongside officers whose jobs would ultimately be to employ the law in a rather black and white capacity. Early on, Shel had been selected to go undercover, and while the laws still applied, there existed a gray area in which to operate. For example, it was sometimes necessary to let a lesser offender slip by to get at his boss, the bigger takedown, for the greater good.

  But there were other gray areas Shel had encountered, which required independent thought for a different kind of greater good. She’d never been a bleeding heart, but she’d come across a few practicing thugs in her time who were, in reality, only slightly off the path of an
otherwise potentially decent life.

  She was forced to remember the young mother who’d made a delivery to Shel’s phony shit apartment. She’d marveled at the stupidity of the woman who was toting the goods in her diaper bag, no less. The woman’s eyes were clear, atypical for the junkies who usually made these deliveries. The only thing showing in her eyes was real fear. This truly wasn’t her scene. She’d confirmed Shel’s suspicion when she’d quickly volunteered that she was a “temp” for the usual guy, just trying to earn a little much-needed money.

  As she was compelled to discover the truth, Shel offered to do a line with her, an action that had the woman looking at her as though Shel were nothing more than a low-life scum. It was Shel’s desired response and the point at which she “accidentally” disconnected her wire that could have had the woman in custody within minutes. The law did not distinguish between felonious acts. Once their linkage was down, she told the young mother this and more.

  Zoey was her name, and within minutes she’d come clean with a story that Shel had heard half a dozen times before. Zoey had fallen in love with a boy who’d promised her a good life, but was anything but. Now, she had a baby and was desperate to make enough money so that she and her baby could go back home to her family.

  Shel asked her how much she had saved up, but it wasn’t enough for a cab ride, forget about flights. The boyfriend kept a close watch on money, so Zoey had made the tragic decision to moonlight in the delivery biz.

  Shel knew the sting money in her possession was marked, so she instead dumped her own wallet onto the bed. It was lucky timing for the young mother as Shel would have paid rent that day. She handed over almost five hundred bucks and made the girl promise to take her baby and leave for the airport as soon as she left the seedy hotel. Zoey stared at her, mistrust now in those wide, fearful eyes.