Текст книги "Trigger Snappy"
Автор книги: Camilla Chafer
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Trigger Snappy
Lexi Graves Mysteries, Book 8
Camilla Chafer
Trigger Snappy
Copyright: Camilla Chafer
Published: August 2015
Publisher: Audacious
ISBN: 978-1-909577-09-1
The right of Camilla Chafer to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
Visit the author online at www.camillachafer.com to sign up to her newsletter and for more information on other titles.
Other books:
Lexi Graves Mysteries:
Armed & Fabulous
Who Glares Wins
Command Indecision
Shock and Awesome
Weapons of Mass Distraction
Laugh or Death
Kissing in Action
Trigger Snappy
Stella Mayweather Series (Urban Fantasy):
Illicit Magic
Unruly Magic
Devious Magic
Magic Rising
Arcane Magic
Endless Magic
Contents
Copyright
Synopsis
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
About the author
Trigger Snappy
When private investigator, Lexi Graves, quit her job, she never thought working freelance would be so hard. Struggling to make a name for herself as a solo investigator, she’s intrigued when a wealthy, new client claims she’s being stalked and chooses Lexi as her last hope for help.
Without any evidence, the police don’t believe Juliet Hart is being victimized, and her boyfriend and best friend are also both skeptical. Yet, Juliet is convinced she is being watched and someone is playing tricks on her. Is she simply paranoid, or is there something more sinister at play?
Initially, the case appears easy: tail the client and find out if someone else is watching her too. Yet before Lexi can make serious headway, her client is arrested for a crime she claims she didn’t commit. Now Lexi’s case collides with her boyfriend’s, her ex-boss, Solomon, putting them on opposite teams.
The more evidence Lexi finds, the more convinced she becomes that her client’s stalker is not only very real, but has nefarious motives. Way in over her head, Lexi urgently needs to find out why her client is being stalked, and by whom, before it costs Juliet not only her freedom, but everything she values and holds dear.
Chapter One
"Well done! Another case successfully closed!" Lily raised her glass and clinked it against mine. Hers was a mocktini because she was six months pregnant. Mine was a cosmopolitan, the rim dusted with sugar. That was one of the perks for working in the back room of Lily's bar. As my best friend, sister-in-law, and most recently, landlord to my fledgling private investigations business, she had good reason to beam at my announcement that I closed a case.
"I wouldn't call it successful," I said, trying not to sound as low as I felt while sipping the cosmo.
"Did you close it?"
"Yes."
"Did you get paid?"
I looked at the check for three hundred dollars and my mood dropped even lower. "Yes."
"Then I call it successful!"
I closed the manila file on my desk and slid it into the card box that I nicknamed "the filing cabinet". The check was safely ensconced in my purse, ready to take to the bank, leaving my desk clear of everything, but our drinks. Sure, Lily was correct in all respects; I solved the case, I got paid, and my clients went away happy. The problem was: I wasn't satisfied. After successfully learning my trade at the Solomon Detective Agency, and working on cases that nabbed serial killers, fraudsters, and murderers, it was a huge step down for me. Now, I was just working the Mom-and-Pop cases, ever since starting up alone as Lexi Graves, Private Investigator. I missed my old job. I missed my colleagues, and I missed access to all the databases and technology I once had at my disposal. I probably could have asked to retain some access to those databases, but pride stood in my way. After insisting I could make it alone, that was what I was doing... albeit slowly. I probably could have even asked my old boss for my job back, but I wanted to see what our relationship was like when he was simply my boyfriend, and not my boss. Fact was, despite my job sucking, my relationship with him was great.
"You just had a thought about Solomon, didn't you?"
I blinked. "How did..."
"You smiled. Lexi, if you're not happy working solo, why don't you ask Solomon to hire you back? You know he would in a heartbeat."
"Uh-uh." I shook my head. "No way. I knew it would be tough starting up as a solo PI, but I can make it work. It's just going to take time. More time."
"Maybe you should advertise. You could get one of those big pictures on a bench!"
"So everyone can draw mustaches on my face?"
"C'mon! We don't do that stuff anymore!" Lily dropped her ink-stained fingers into her hand and looked up at the ceiling like it was the most fascinating thing ever.
"No," I replied firmly as I thought about the unnecessary drain advertising would inflict on my bank account. When I quit my job, I received a good severance package that I wasn't too proud to refuse; and I fattened my bank balance with a check from a freelance job I'd taken. I had to clear the name of a pretty popstar who got caught up in a blackmail and murder plot. Thanks to those two breaks, rather than my solo career, I managed to pay all my bills over the past few months, whereas my small cases merely helped out. "Plus, those kind of adverts are really expensive. I need a big case before I can go expensive."
"How are you going to get a big case?"
"That's the million dollar question."
Lily glanced towards the door. "Maybe one will just walk through the door." A knock sounded at the door and her mouth dropped open. "Wow! That was quick!"
I raised my eyebrows and gave her an incredulous look as I got up and walked over to answer the door. It was a small office so it didn't take long, about as long as my hope of earning a million bucks lasted.
A woman my height stood in the doorway, her hand raised, and ready to knock again. She was dressed in a navy, wrap dress with black pumps, and a trenchcoat was folded over her arm. Her bag was in the thousand dollar range and her manicure, like her haircut, looked new. Maybe, I was wrong, however. Maybe she wanted to fund my new life with a complex and pricey case.
"Hi. I'm looking for Lexi Graves. Uh, the PI," she added, dropping her voice like she couldn't quite believe what she saying.
"That's me," I replied, sticking out my hand. She took it, shook it gently, and smiled shyly. "Come in to the office. This is Lily, the owner of the bar."
The young woman shook Lily's hand too. "This is a lovely bar," she said politely.
"I know. Thank you!" Lily beamed as she got to her feet, patting her expanding belly. The belly caught the woman's eye more than my sad office did. I eyed my cocktail glass. I had no hope of sliding it out of sight.
"Oh! You're pregnant!" she exclaimed.
Lily patted the bump again. "Three months to go, and then it's cocktail hour! What can we help you with?"
"Oh, yes, see..." the woman started, looking flustered. She stopped, took a deep breath and started again as she fixed me with a firm look. I'd seen that kind of look before. The mixture of worry and fear told me she needed help and I was her final hope. This woman had clearly exhausted her other options. "My name is Juliet Hart and I think I need your help."
"Take a seat and tell me about it."
Juliet glanced at Lily. "Can we speak privately?"
"Absolutely," said Lily without moving.
"She means privately with me," I said.
Lily's mouth pursed into a disappointed pout. "Can I get you a drink?" she offered.
Juliet shook her head quickly. "No, thank you."
"Okay. Well, Lexi is a great investigator and I’m sure she can solve your problem," Lily said, collecting our glasses, stepping around Juliet, and crossing to the door. There, she paused and turned back to me. As I waved Juliet into the seat Lily just vacated, Lily pointed to the expensive purse Juliet deposited on the floor and gave me a thumbs-up before shutting the door.
"What can I help you with?" I asked as I took my seat on the other side of the desk.
Juliet glanced around, taking in the sights of my office. She was spending much more time than necessary to look over my ancient desk, new IKEA chair, and the bookshelf of scant paperwork. Behind me was a window, the iron security bars barely concealed behind the wooden blinds. With my desk clear, I wondered if I should reach into my purse and extract my laptop and notepad in an effort to look like I actually did work, and did not just drink cocktails during the day. Juliet's face was so impassive that I wondered what she deduced from the room.
When her eyes finally resettled on me, she took another deep breath and closed them, making funny little movements with her mouth like she wanted to talk, but couldn't decide how to start. So I waited patiently for her to begin. She was trying to be poised, I deduced, but her hand wringing, just visible if I sat a little straighter, said a different story. I also checked out her jewelry: a slim, elegant watch, and a fat, diamond engagement ring. Nice.
"I think I'm being stalked," she said, her eyes still closed like she couldn't quite believe what she was saying. "I think someone has it in for me, but I don't know why. I swear I have never done anything to hurt anyone… ever. I'm a nice person. I have a nice, quiet life. I'm not the kind of person to attract a stalker, but I think I've got one."
"And what kind of person does attract a stalker?" I asked.
She paused, her eyes flicking open as her forehead wrinkled. My question surprised her. "I don't know. Someone vivacious, maybe. Someone flirty. Someone that people want to get close to, but can't... you know, like a celebrity!"
I leaned forward, clasping my hands together as the chair's wheels skidded. I had to scramble to stay put. Some first impression! "Anyone, and I mean anyone, can acquire a stalker," I told her, my feet planted firmly on the ground. "You could be anyone or anything. It doesn't matter to a person who fails to respect boundaries."
"I guess."
"Don't guess. It's true. Why do you think you have a stalker?"
"I don't think. I know."
"Then tell me how you know."
"It's little stuff mostly, but no one believes me," said Juliet before resuming her hand wringing.
"What was the first thing you remember that made you think one hundred percent that someone was stalking you?"
"On the day my car moved four spaces from where I parked it."
"That's awfully specific."
"I was wondering about things before then; so I started being more careful. I mean, I was extra careful to remember stuff. That day, just last week, I was driving to pick up my friend from the coffee shop, and I parked in front of a fire hydrant. It was a hot day and I kind of laughed, thinking if someone shears that thing off, my car would get a free wash."
"What happened when you parked?"
"I got out of the car and locked it. I'm always very methodical about that. I went inside the coffee shop and found my friend already there waiting. We drank half our coffees before the table got knocked and my cup spilled. Coffee splashed all over my skirt. My friend had some wipes in her purse so she gave them to me to clean up in the restroom. I did that, came back, and we got another coffee before leaving to go home and that’s when I realized my car was moved."
"Did you notice the change right away?"
"No, I just started walking over to the car until I realized it wasn't my car next to the fire hydrant, but someone else's. My car was four spaces over. I was sure I did not park it there and I can't work out how it was moved."
"Does anyone else have access to your keys?"
"Yes, my fiancé has a key, but he was out of town that day, and didn't get home until nine that night."
"Okay. What made you feel you had to be so careful by that point? Did something happen before that?" I guessed, knowing I was correct when Juliet nodded.
"All kinds of little things, but I just brushed them off. I work long hours so I was tired. I wasn't thinking... I forgot... but... back then, I never thought I was being stalked; but now, I think it must’ve started long before my car mysteriously moved."
"But you didn't believe what you told yourself before," I finished. It was a familiar story. After handling a few stalking cases, from what I learned, the stalking starts long before the victim becomes aware of it. I wasn't surprised Juliet tried to explain away her own bad feelings.
"No, I didn't. I've always been a careful, organized person. Like, I know when I have sixty dollars in my purse, and I haven't spent it, but forty is missing. I know when I put my gloves in my coat pocket, I expect them to be there when I need them again. Except they're gone. I know I have my debit card in my bag, but when I go to pay at the restaurant, it's gone; and I find it at home later, sitting on the kitchen counter where I couldn't possibly have left it."
"How many things have happened like that? Ballpark figure?"
"I don't know. Thirty, I guess."
Thirty incidences were a lot. Unless she was super harebrained, and I didn't think Juliet was, she had good cause to be in my office; but I didn't plan on telling her that just yet though. First I needed more information. "Has anyone ever approached you?" I asked.
"I'm not sure what you mean?"
"Have you seen anyone watching you? Like at the store, or near your home, or at work? Or has someone gotten a little too friendly? Or made you feel uncomfortable?"
"I get the feeling occasionally that someone is watching me, but I never see anyone."
"It's just a feeling?"
"Yes, but... I don't know how to describe it. I never used to be a paranoid person!"
"Are you a paranoid person?"
"No... yes..." Juliet threw her hands in the air and laughed nervously. "I don't know!"
"Gut feeling. Yes, or no?"
"No."
"What do your family and friends think about you being stalked?"
"They think I'm making it up..."
"That you're a liar?"
"No, it's not that. My fiancé trusts me, and I can tell he wants to believe me, but I have nothing to show him. No one tried to attack me. No one tried to break into our house. It's just little stuff. He thinks I need to take some time off work. He even suggested we postpone our wedding if it's that stressful, especially after..." Juliet stopped and sighed, her shoulders dropping.
"After?" I prompted.
"It's stupid. We had a cake tasting for our wedding, and a week later, we got a huge bill. A ten thousand dollar cake! My name and signature was on the receipt, but I never ordered it. Then we got all these other bills for dresses and a venue and thousands of dollars in cut flowers. Thirty chairs turned up with chiffon bows! Rob thought I turned into Bridezilla! I had to cancel my credit card and they're trying to work out whether it was fraud, or if I can be held responsible. But who would order all that stuff, thirty thousand dollars worth, and just send it to me? Lexi, I don't know what to do! After that happened, I knew I had to talk to someone."
I wanted to know how someone could have thirty thousand dollars of credit on their card, but I was too polite to inquire. Plus, I could see my mother's face if I asked such a question. "You didn't go to the police?" I guessed.
"I did and they looked into it, and told me the IP address used on those orders came from my house! They didn't say as much, but they implied that I was obviously trying to wriggle out of the charges after regretting a wild, spending spree. I told them about the stalking and the other weird things, but they... they politely said I was paranoid. If I don't find out who's doing this, I could be liable for tens of thousands of dollars, but it's not just that... whoever is doing this is ruining my life! What if it escalates? I have my fiancé to think about and my stepson. What if someone hurt them to get to me?" Juliet stopped abruptly, her voice rushing to the point where she was barely breathing in her hurry to state her case. She drew a deep breath, reached for her purse, pulled out a tissue and dabbed her eyes. When she looked up again, she seemed more drawn, and not like the confident, curious woman who knocked at my door only minutes ago. "Do you believe me? Do you think I could be a stalking victim?"
I didn't need to take long to make my decision. "Yes, I think it's possible you're being stalked."
"Possible isn't definite," pointed out Juliet.
"I need to take a closer look at your life before I can give you a more definitive answer. And I also need to accept your case in order to prove you are being stalked."
"Please, I'm so afraid. I need you to prove it, find them, and stop them. Just tell me what you need me to pay and I'll pay."
Before I answered, I had another question. "How do you know I can help you? I don't advertise."
"I was referred to you. You helped a friend's friend. I remembered your name and looked for you. Her name is Elisabeth Fong."
I remembered Elisabeth, but it had been a long time since I helped her locate a missing close friend whom everyone else had given up on. It wasn't a case that I ever advertised, and rarely spoke about, so I figured Juliet's answer had to be legitimate. "Okay. You'll need to pay a retainer," I told her. "We can agree on the fees and a cap figure so you won't be overcharged. I'll only take instruction from you so you don't have to worry about anyone else interfering."
Juliet nodded quickly, not even curious as to what my fee might be as she pulled a checkbook from her bag and uncapped a small, silver pen. She wrote the check and handed it to me. I left it lying between us on the desk, although I snuck a glimpse at the number. It was more than I would have asked for. "When can you start?" she asked.
"Now."
Chapter Two
I met Solomon for lunch in a deli midway between Lily's bar and his agency. Since moving to my new premises, the deli was conveniently situated for us both to meet during the day, not that we always had time to meet. One or the other occasionally had surveillance, or other work commitments that scuppered plans but it was nice when we could get together. It also let me temporarily forget that I hadn't stepped inside the agency for months. I assumed I would go there again someday; I just couldn't decide when. Several times, I wondered if Solomon didn't suggest meeting at the agency, or at my office, for the same reason.
This day was particularly pleasant: sunny, a gentle breeze, and blue skies with barely a fluffy cloud. I looked particularly fabulous in my butt-hoisting, skinny jeans, long boots, and a tight sweater. Boosting my mood was an intriguing new case, a retainer check, and Lily's very early cosmo. I had to walk past three bench advertisements with mustaches on the models' faces on the way there, and I couldn't help wondering if I knew the culprit.
"You look happy," said Solomon, sliding into the booth opposite me, mere minutes after I arrived. He looked pretty pleased with himself too, but I doubted it was because three women at the neighboring table checked him out on his way in. Whether he noticed their appreciative glances was something I never figured out since he never missed anything, but failed to react. He was extremely good at making sure his attention was always fixed on me, which was exactly the way I liked it. Perhaps my early morning decision of skinny jeans and tight sweater figured into that.
"So do you. Good day?" I asked, in my usual ambiguous way. I had a vague curiosity about his work as well as an unwillingness to actually look too interested. That was just in case he thought I missed working with him. Frequently, I had to remind myself that I was the one who walked away from the agency, and the coterie of interesting jobs that arrived at its doors. Solomon never pleaded with me to return, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I was pretty sure, however, how I felt about his biceps under the rolled sleeves of his inky-blue shirt.
"Very. I've taken an intriguing new case."
"Too interesting to hand down to the guys?" I asked. I was referring to my former investigative colleagues, Fletcher, Flaherty and Delgado – first names optional. All three were seasoned law enforcement professionals, whose credentials trumped my own. However Solomon kept me on for my smarts, my intuition... and because people all too frequently treated me like I was dumb. Simply stated: I could get into the places three hard-assed men that people picked off as cops a mile away couldn't. People took one look at my style choices and shiny hair before losing all traces of suspicion. That ensured I was assigned a number of high profile, and occasionally dangerous, cases which I handled successfully.
"I have a client who suspects an employee of insider trading. Financial crimes interest me."
"Why is that?" I asked. "I mean, I know you enjoy cases with financial motives, but why this one insider trading case?"
"Something about it."
"Go on," I prompted as the waitress proffered a pair of menus and immediately launched into that day's specials. She spoke so fast, all I could do was gawk. "So what'll it be?" she finished.
"I have no idea," I told her. "What was the third option?"
"I don't know."
"But you said it."
"I memorized the entire list, not each individual thing on it," she said, her chin thrusting upwards as she blinked before catching sight of Solomon. Her mouth dropped open a little. "I could recite it all again. I'm training to be an actress," she added breathlessly.
"The chicken salad and a soda," I told her.
"I'll take that too," Solomon said as he handed her the menu without looking up. She took it, but didn't move, blinking instead at him a couple more times.
"Today, please," I told the waitress, smiling hopefully at her, wondering if she'd even heard our orders.
"'Kay," she mumbled, sliding away. A moment later, she giggled something to the other waitress at the counter and they both glanced over.
"I think our waitress has a crush on you," I told Solomon.
"I have a crush on you," he said as he smiled.
I made a show of pretend giggling and twirling my hair around one finger. All the same, my heart skipped a beat as he looked at me. His dark eyes held secrets that he whispered to me and only to me. "You were telling me..." I prompted before getting any big ideas.
"Oh yeah. I don't know. Something a little off about the case. My client owns an investment firm, and he's concerned several illegal trades were made. He asked me to look first at his employees."
"I don't understand trading, but aren't there some kind of safeguards in place? And can't every trade be tracked back to a trader?"
"Technically, yes, but there's something very strange about the trades that were made. He wants to make sure he fires the right person."
"Is he losing money?"
"Yes." Solomon named a figure that made my blood run cold.
"That much?"
He nodded.
"Seriously? People can lose that much money?"
"Yes."
"On a single trade?"
"On a single trade, yes, sure, but that much was lost on multiple trades."
"Wow!"
"It's not a huge amount."
"It is to me!"
"Not to these people, but an illegal trade is an illegal trade. It involves ethics as much as recovering their losses."
"Does he know who did it?"
"He has his suspicions. He tracked the trades to one employee, but he says it can't be her. My job is to prove it unequivocally, one way or the other."
"Sounds tricky."
"It will be, but I'm looking forward to it. Surveillance starts tomorrow. I have a feeling this case might test me. This person is smart. They'll do everything they can to cover their tracks and avoid a jail term."
"How would it test you? You've investigated every kind of case."
"Don't forget we can be duped," he reminded me, "and we can let a perpetrator slip right past us."
"Only if they're really smart."
"I think this one is really smart."
We paused as the waitress slid large plates in front of us. The cook didn't scrimp with the salad ingredients and the plate groaned. I thought my stomach might groan too if I finished it all. I reached for the side dressing, peppering a liberal sprinkle across the leaves.
"I got an interesting new case today," I told him as I shoved the first forkful to my mouth. Flavor exploded on my tongue and I took a special moment just to enjoy it.
"What's the top line?"
"Stalking."
"Too many stalkers in this world."
"Absolutely," I agreed, swallowing before I continued, "my client is convinced she has one; but the people around her tell her it's just her stress and forgetfulness. I need to prove she has a stalker and make him or her stop. Or prove she doesn't have one so she can finally find some peace."
"Does this have the potential to get nasty?"
"I don't think so. She hasn't been approached, but..."
Solomon placed his fork on the plate. "But what?"
"From what she told me, this person could have been in her house, and possibly had access to her car keys."
"Does she have problems with anyone?"
"Not that she’s aware of; and she seemed very honest."
"Stalkers can be all kinds of people. Strangers, relatives, friends, even partners. Just about anything can tip them over the line from nosy and overly caring to obsessive and controlling."
"Tell me about it," I said, thinking of the stalkers I'd encountered in my tenure as a PI. My first stalker was an accountant in the office I worked for as a temp. He began following me around and leaving bizarre gifts. He definitely had one very big screw loose and was now, thankfully, serving time.
"Looks like we have two interesting cases on our hands." Solomon raised his soda glass and clinked it against mine, a salute to our way of life. I noted he didn't ask me to take a look at his case, or offer to go over the details of mine. I wasn't sure whether I should have been pleased that he seemed to be respecting the boundaries that neither one of us put into play, or just curious at his sudden indifference. Did he think I wasn't up to the job? Or was he merely being discreet, and not trying to barge into my new career path? I wasn't sure, but at least, I could be certain, given Juliet's reference, that he didn't send a pity case in my direction. Just as I was about to change the topic, my cell phone trilled. A text message from my mother appeared on screen. It read I met a nice man today.
I frowned at it.
"What's up?" asked Solomon.
"Nothing. My mom says she met a nice man today."
"She knows she's married to your dad, right?"
"I don't think she forgot." I tapped on the screen You're married.
Seconds later, another message flashed up: For you. 35. Lawyer. Single. No kids. Hair AND teeth.
Solomon leaned across the table and I tipped the phone towards him. He shook his head and returned his attention to his salad. "She knows we're together."
I have a boyfriend, I wrote back.
Did he propose yet? texted Mom.
No.
Are you with child?
No.
I waited a full minute for the response. It read Tick tock!
I sighed and dropped the phone onto the table. Solomon reached forward and turned it around, reading the texts. I was pretty sure he had to stifle the urge to laugh.
"I could get you pregnant and propose right now," said Solomon. "We don't even have to leave the deli."
All the air sucked out of my lungs, and I transcended somewhere between my body, that moment, and the realm of possibilities. It was like an out-of-body experience, but without the supernatural movie effects. When I recovered my thoughts and found my voice, all I could say was, "I have a case to solve."
"Maybe later," said Solomon with a wink.
~
I thought about Solomon's casual proposal, along with all the synchronized things he could do, as I walked back to my car, which was parked in the tiny, rear lot of Lily's bar. I thought about it some more on the drive over to Bedford Hills, which Juliet stated as her address.
In my purse was a millimeter-thin, manila file that still smelled box-fresh. It was filled with the information she gave me to start the case. Mostly minimal stuff: her full name, address, employer and place of employment, general family details, and I needed far more than that to catch a stalker. I wanted to interview her longer, but she told me she needed to get to another appointment. Then she said, since it was her day off, I could come by her house to talk some more. I figured talking and simultaneously checking out her home was a good idea.
Bedford Hills was a sprawling development of large, detached homes that housed Montgomery's richest homeowners. Houses didn't come up for sale often since they were the kind of places one aspired to live in, not depart from. The roads here were litter-free, the sidewalks clean, and the landscaping pristine. Some houses were hidden behind large walls and security gates with sweeping driveways, but not Juliet's. By Bedford Hills’ standards, hers would have been called a starter home. It shared the road with several similar houses: smaller single family dwellings, with gardener-maintained yards and driveways filled with minivans and smaller models of Mercedes and BMWs. I glimpsed a couple of sports cars that I figured were probably weekend toys.
Parking out front, I surveyed Juliet's house. The large, iron numbers to the side of the door made it easy to locate from the street. There wasn't much about the house that was personal, at least, from the outside. The numbers were formal, black ironwork on brick walls with a white porch in the center. The two windows flanking each side of the door had symmetrical drapes; and the flowers bordering the garden looked like they were planted by a very artistic hand. Juliet had a beautiful manicure, minus any dirt, so I suspected she probably employed a landscape gardener too.
I got out, buzzed my VW doors locked and approached the house. Juliet must have been waiting for me because the door opened before I had a chance to knock.
