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Woulda coulda shoulda.
I knock on the door and brace myself for what will shockingly not be the most awkward conversation I’ve had since taking this job.
No one answers.
My first thought is one of relief, but that’s only because my mind still isn’t working right. I still need to talk to them. Just because they didn’t answer the first time doesn’t mean I can write a note on their door and wait for them to come back.
I knock again. Then a third time. Then I ring the doorbell. Finally, I look for their contact info in the sheet Best Pool gives me and call their number.
No answers. God damn it.
I run my hand through my hair and think about what to do. I need that vacuum. They don’t notice it’s missing yesterday, but I won’t get away with that forever. At some point, someone’s going to inventory the van, and when they realize it’s not there, we’re going to have a conversation.
But what can I do? It’s not like I can break into their house.
That gives me an idea. It’s not a good idea, but I can’t exactly say it’s a bad one. At least, it’s not worse than any other idea I’ve had recently.
I can’t break into the Kensingtons’ house, but I can hop the fence to their pool. They don’t have a dog, and I didn’t notice any security cameras or alarm systems in the backyard. I can go in, grab the vacuum, push it out the door and take it to the van. I can even lock the gate again after. I’ll just go back inside, lock the gate, then hop the fence and get back to the van. Simple.
I check my phone. It's ten-twenty-seven. That's more than enough time to get this done and get to the Murphys' house the next road over. Worst-case scenario, one of the neighbors sees me and calls the Kensingtons. I doubt the Kensington will even bother to call me once they hear I'm just breaking in to steal my own equipment. They surely won't call Best Pool. After all, I've already cleaned their pool, and they can just hire someone else to clean it next time if they're not happy that I left equipment behind and trespassed when they weren't home to retrieve it.
I don’t quite convince myself that this is the smart thing to do, but I do convince myself that it’s the only thing to do.
“Damn it, Nate. This is why we don’t do drugs anymore.”
Once more, I note that it’s not a promise to stop.
I take a deep breath and release it slowly. Time to get to work.
The sun is far more punishing outside of the van than inside. I can feel my shoulders start to slump in exhaustion already.
Fuck, today’s gonna suck.
As I reach the gate, a stray thought occurs to me. The Kensington aren't home, but Lila might be. She's my age, so she's technically an adult, but her parents might have a rule about not answering the door when they're not home.
Wouldn't that just be the icing on the cake? I hop the fence and see Lila sunbathing by the pool. How do I convince her I'm not a creep then?
An image flashes through my mind of Lila in the pool, arms and legs wrapped around me, eyes flashing wildly in the moonlight.
I shake my head to clear that thought. That is the definition of the last place my mind needs to go right now.
I reach the gate and walk a few feet to the left, where I know there's grass on the other side. It's now or never.
I’ve made it pretty clear that I don’t expect any answers to my prayers, but I still say, “God, please don’t let anyone be home.
I jump and catch the edge of the fence, then pull myself up and over. Back when I was using every day, I would go some days without eating, and I wouldn’t have been able to vault a fence like that. Yet another reason to throw the shit away.
Yet another failure to promise myself that I will.
I land on the other side and look around for the vacuum. I find it right where I left it on the edge of the pool, but I no longer care about it. I’m far more interested in what’s inside of the pool than what’s outside. Or rather, who’s inside the pool.
God’s in a habit of not answering my prayers lately. Lila Kensington is in the pool. She’s not naked, which is a good thing.
She’s also not alive, which is very, very, very bad.
CHAPTER SIX
Detective III Lena Ramirez could have wished for a better start in her new role as Chief Investigator of the Major Crimes Homicide Division. She didn’t mind handling murder cases, at least, not any more than any other police officer minded seeing violent crime scenes for a living, but she hated when those crimes took place in the wealthier neighborhoods. She’d had exactly one murder case in a wealthy neighborhood before now, six years ago when she was still Detective I. A real estate mogul screwing his nanny on the side found out said nanny was pregnant and decided he might as well have her killed instead of any number of other ways he could have handled it.
