Those People Behind Us, page 21
Lisa follows her gaze. “It’s a blue heron. I see them all the time down at the wetlands.”
“I’ve heard that’s a nice place to walk.”
“If you park on Pershing and walk to the bridge and back, it’s a four-mile loop.”
“I’ll have to remember that.” The woman hesitates. “I’m Jeannette Larsen. And my husband is Bob.”
“Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“I’m late for work.” Jeannette backs out of her driveway and speeds off.
She’s in a hurry, Lisa thinks. She’d wanted to mention the city council meeting tonight, but Jeannette didn’t give her much of a chance. She remembers the Suburban now, she’d followed it out of the Albertsons parking lot last week and watched it move into the turning lane without signaling and streak in front of two oncoming cars. Reckless, Lisa thinks now. What’s that all about?
Further down Hillside, Ray Murdoch is outside watering his mother’s roses. He glances at her and turns his back, obviously hoping she won’t stop and talk to him. What an old grump.
“How’s your mother, Ray?” Lisa says when she gets closer. “Martha told me she broke her hip.”
“Thanks for asking.” Ray’s face softens a little. “She’s at a rehab facility. I can tell she’s feeling better because she’s complaining all the time.”
“These houses really aren’t designed for older people, are they? Are you guys thinking about moving?”
Ray snorts. “I guess you’re always angling for another commission.”
“No!” Lisa says. “I didn’t mean it that way. I worry about seniors living here. I want them to be safe. We already lost Stephanie Gorman, and then our Betsy. . . .” Her voice breaks and her face feels hot. “I’m sorry,” she says, fanning herself with the newsletters. “I didn’t mean to get emotional.”
“I’m sorry too,” Ray says. “I didn’t know Betsy, but that must have been awful.”
“Thank you. It was. Anyway, Neil Gorman’s estate sale is next weekend.” She hands him a newsletter. “We’re expecting a big crowd.”
“Seems like Joni Gorman might want to wait and see how Neil does before she sells everything.”
She could have waited a little longer before she got rid of Betsy’s things, she supposes. Gone through them more carefully, saved the pearls for Monique. “Joni doesn’t think Neil will ever be able to live on his own. Alzheimer facilities are expensive. And that house is supposed to be Joni’s inheritance.”
“Some people think everything is about money,” Ray says.
He must think I’m as greedy as Joni. “Some people have their children’s futures to worry about.”
“Joni doesn’t. I don’t either. But I see your point.”
She watches as the blue heron lands gracefully on the roof of the house next door. Ray turns to see what she’s looking at. “A heron landing on a roof is supposed to be good luck,” she says. “One of the Tongva elders told me that at the anniversary celebration last year. Can you believe it’s been almost twenty years since we saved the wetlands from development? Remember how they had plans to drain it and build a shopping center?”
She’s proud of stopping that, proud of protecting the last remnants of open spaces for her children. Just like she’s trying to preserve the value of the Prestige Haven neighborhood. She should put that in her next newsletter.
“Those people have a fishpond in the backyard,” Ray says. “I’m guessing that’s what the bird’s after.”
“If they leave feathers behind it’s even better luck.”
“Well, it’s not my yard, so it wouldn’t do me any good.”
What a grouch. She hands him a newsletter. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the city council’s plans for the Riptide apartments,” she says. “We need to stop that from happening.”
“Doesn’t bother me. People need to live somewhere.”
“They haven’t planned nearly enough parking. You’ll never be able to park in front of your own house.”
“I park in the garage. I might need to live in those units once my mom is gone.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll inherit this house.”
“Not necessarily. My mom might leave it to PETA or Greenpeace.”
“She wouldn’t do that.” Ray just likes to argue. She could explain about the increase in crime and the impact on police and fire and the school systems, but this isn’t what she wants to talk to him about. “Do you know the people who live in the house behind you? The Nelsons? Their son Keith works for my husband.”
“I didn’t know that. Another one of your listings, I see.”
“It is. I’m actually a little too busy these days. How well do you know Keith?”
Ray shrugs. “I know who he is.”
“Did he have some kind of a falling out with his parents?”
Ray’s lips tighten. “How would I know? None of my business. Why don’t you ask the Nelsons if you’re so interested in their son?”
He knows something, she’s sure. “You’re right. It isn’t my business either. Just thought you might have noticed something. I know you’re home a lot. I used to see Keith sitting in his car, but I haven’t seen him around lately. Any idea where he went?”
“Nope.”
“Have you ever seen Keith talking to any of the neighborhood kids?” Like my daughter, she almost adds, but she doesn’t want to give Ray the idea she doesn’t have her kids under control.
“No,” Ray says. “I haven’t.”
“Do you think you might be watering those roses too much? We are in a drought after all.”
“Wellington sits on top of an aquifer. My mother loves her roses, and they need water.”
“Say hello to Miss Vickie for me. I hope she gets well soon.” She turns and heads toward the next house. Ray definitely knows more than he’s saying. Keith is a problem, and she is right to worry about him.
It’s date night and Lisa’s turn to pick the restaurant. Their favorite sushi place has a huge crowd and a half hour wait. The hostess apologizes and gives them a buzzer. “Let’s get a drink at Knuckleheads next door while we wait,” Eric says.
When they walk into the bar, Lisa recognizes two of the four men sitting at a nearby booth. Greg Oppenheimer is the top realtor in the Wellington Marina, and she’s met Frank Palmer, one of the city planners, before, at a benefit for the wetlands. The other two men have their backs to her. One is dark haired, the other, large and blond. The bartender sets two coasters on the bar and Eric orders gin and tonics.
“You know what I saw last Saturday?” the blond man in the booth is saying. “A coyote walking down the middle of my street at ten thirty in the morning. Like he owned the neighborhood! I couldn’t believe it. Is that normal?”
Greg Oppenheimer catches Lisa’s eye and smiles. “You’d better get used to that,” he says.
“Too bad we can’t poison them,” Frank Palmer says. “Or even better, shoot them.”
“Christ!” Eric says under his breath.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” the blond man says. “That coyote was a good-looking animal. And they were here before we were.”
“That’s what people say when they first move here,” Greg says. “You’ll change your tune. Isn’t that right, Lisa?”
“Don’t leave your small children or pets outside unattended.” Lisa steps closer to the booth. “Hi Frank, Greg. You remember my husband, Eric?”
“Sure do.” Greg raises his glass. “You’re kicking butt over at Sandcastle these days, Lisa. I’ve been following the comps. Your numbers are impressive. And I love your newsletters.”
Lisa smiles. This is a huge compliment coming from Greg. “The market’s good right now.”
“Enjoy it while you can,” Frank says. “That housing project is about to take a dump on your property values.”
Her smile freezes. “We’re still hoping we can stop that.”
Greg shakes his head. “That ship has sailed, Lisa. The Riptide’s coming down and it’s only going to get worse. The city council’s in closed sessions right now, approving permits for another project near the high school.”
“I didn’t know that,” Lisa says. “Is it legal for them to meet secretly?”
“It’s what they do,” Frank says. “We need to recall the entire council.”
“It’s date night,” Eric says. “We both promised, no work talk.”
Greg points to the buzzer. “You guys aren’t eating here? Knuckleheads has the best fish tacos in Wellington.”
“We’re having dinner at the sushi place next door,” Eric says. “It’s one of our favorites.”
The blond man glances over his shoulder and smiles. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. “My wife and I love sushi.”
“There’s always a big crowd of Asians in there,” Frank says. “I guess that’s a good sign.”
“It’s a sign we’d better watch out for kamikaze drivers in the parking lot when we leave.” Greg nods at the blond man. “Like your Chinese friend from the concert? What was her name?”
“Gloria? She’s not Chinese.”
Greg shrugs. “They were an odd couple. You don’t see too many Mexicans with Chinks. Their kids must be mutts.”
“Jesus, Greg,” Eric says. “What a thing to say.”
Lisa turns around and whispers, “Let it go, honey.”
“Finish your drink,” Eric says. “And let’s get out of here.”
“Felix and Gloria are good people,” the blond man says. “Nothing odd about them.”
Greg laughs. “Don’t get all defensive, man. I didn’t mean anything.”
“How about another round of Fireballs?” the dark-haired man in the booth says. “My day sucked. I got reamed by Carter Welch. The downtown merchants are not happy about all those broken windows.”
Lisa glances over her shoulder at the mention of the city attorney.
“The idea was one free beer,” the dark-haired man continues, “not endless rounds.”
“Yeah,” Frank says. “Things got a little out of hand. Some of the guys were overserved at Cyclone’s. But we all know it was ANTIFA who broke the store windows and beat people up.”
“Are you talking about that protest at the pier?” Lisa says. “I didn’t hear about people getting beat up.”
“It was a ‘Take Back America’ rally, not a protest,” the dark-haired man says. “And it got hijacked by people who don’t belong in Wellington. Left-wingers. Inlanders. ANTIFA. They broke windows and pushed people around.”
“Disrespectful,” Greg says. “They weren’t locals of course.”
“On a lighter note,” Frank says. “Walmart’s got a nationwide sale on tiki torches. Great timing, right?”
“You guys having a luau?” the blond man asks.
The other men laugh. The timer for the sushi restaurant buzzes.
“Saved by the bell,” Eric says.
“See you guys around,” Lisa says as Eric pays the bill.
“I told you that protest was dangerous,” she says when they’re outside the bar. “Monique is lucky she left when she did.”
“I stopped listening after that first remark Greg made,” Eric says. “I’ve never liked him or Frank. I wouldn’t trust anything they say. I hope you don’t expect me to go to their luau.”
“We have to go if we’re invited, honey. I’m sure you have work colleagues you don’t like either, but you still do business with them. Greg’s a big deal and Frank works for the planning department. And that dark-haired man obviously knows Carter Welch. I can’t believe the city council is already signing off on another housing project. It’s so depressing.”
Eric takes her hand. “Let’s go have a nice dinner.”
“Okay. But I bet anything your ex-con was part of that violence.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
RAY MURDOCH
Ray waves at Lisa as she heads into the sushi place with a man he assumes is her husband since they’re holding hands. “That’s the realtor from my neighborhood,” he tells Louie.
“Does she know anything about that affordable housing complex going in near you?”
“I know she’s against it,” Ray says as he opens the door to Knuckleheads. “Why?”
“I’m thinking I might apply,” Louie says. “The space rent for my trailer is going up seventy-five bucks a month. I can’t afford that. It feels like they’re trying to force me out.”
“What a world,” Ray says.
“I can’t even remember the last time I was in a bar,” Louie says as he follows Ray inside.
“Knuckleheads is a restaurant too. They’re supposed to have good fish tacos. Thanks for looking at that car seat.”
“It’s not going to be that much work. Getting a new window might take some time.” Louie smiles at the waitress. “How are you doing tonight, darling?”
“Just fine,” she says. “You can sit over there. I’ll bring you some menus.”
“You need to stop with that darling business,” Ray says as they walk toward an empty booth.
“I’m harmless,” Louie says. “She knows that.”
Ray glances at the four men in the next booth before he sits down. Sometimes he sees people he recognizes, but these men aren’t familiar. One of them facing him looks like an old surfer, sun-streaked long hair, overly tanned. The guy next to him wears glasses and has a thin rat-like face. They both ignore him. The other two have their backs to him. One is bigger and blond, the other dark haired. It looks like they’ve been here awhile, judging from the pitchers of beer, empty shot glasses, and half eaten plate of nachos.
“How many miles are you up to now on that bike?” Louie asks as Ray slides into the booth.
“I did twenty yesterday,” Ray says. “Down to the Pelican Pier and back.”
“That’s terrific. I’m proud of you, buddy.”
“I could go a lot further if I didn’t have to plan my routes around places to stop and pee.”
“Speaking of which,” Louie says, standing. “I’ll be right back.”
“The city council wants names, and they want arrests,” one of the men behind Ray is saying. “It can’t be anyone involved in fight club either. I’ll talk to Wayne Connor. He knows a lot of people, and he was down there in the action.”
Fight club, Ray thinks. Wasn’t that a Brad Pitt movie?
“I’m not sure about Wayne,” another man says. “He’s got a short fuse.”
“We need people with short fuses,” the first voice says. “As long as they’re willing to take orders.”
“We should have another conversation with Wayne,” one man says. “I’ll invite him and his friend over to the house on Saturday for a barbecue. You guys should come too. Bring your wives.”
Keith’s friend Wayne sure seemed to have a short fuse, Ray thinks. Louie is back.
“It sucks getting old,” he says. “I think I have to pee and then I can’t.”
The waitress overhears and grins as she hands them menus. “What can I get you gentlemen to drink? We have a special on pitchers tonight.”
Louie laughs. “Our beer drinking days are behind us, darling. Ten years sober last month,” he adds.
“That’s wonderful,” the waitress says. “I just got my five-year chip. How about a pitcher of iced tea on the house?”
“That’s nice of you, sweetheart,” Louie says.
Ray expects a lecture on calling women darling and sweetheart, but it doesn’t come. They order fish tacos. Louie pulls out his phone. “I’m going to email my friend at the junkyard about that Honda window.”
“I don’t know how you can type on something that small. Why don’t you just call him?”
“He never hears his phone ring.” Louie squints at the screen.
Ray knows that Louie can’t do two things at once, which means there will be no more conversation until the email is sent. He thanks the waitress when she brings the pitcher of tea and pours two glasses.
“They’re taking down the statue of General Lee,” one of the men at the booth behind him says. “It’s government overreach, plain and simple. You haven’t been following that story?”
“Not really,” the man directly behind Ray says. The big blond guy, he thinks. “I mean, I’ve heard some Southern states took steps after that church shooting in Charleston. That was terrible.”
“Too bad Roof didn’t take out more of them,” one of the men says.
Ray nearly chokes on his iced tea. Surely, he’s misunderstood.
The big guy sounds horrified too. “Excuse me?” he says.
“Dylan Roof,” the man says. “Remember him?”
“That kid who shot up that church in South Carolina?”
When the man doesn’t say no, Ray carefully sets his iced tea glass down on the table, a bitter taste in his mouth. He hasn’t misunderstood anything. “Are you listening to this?” he whispers to Louie.
Louie holds up his index finger. “Just a sec. I’m almost done.”
“They’re letting the illegals take over,” one of the men behind him says. “They want to replace real Americans like us with minorities they can control. We have to step up now before it’s too late. We’re the last line of defense.”
Defense against what? Ray wonders.
“I didn’t realize you guys were so . . . political,” the big guy says.
“Political” isn’t the right word, Ray wants to tell him. “Reactionary racists” is more like it.
“It’d be great to have you sponsor the trip,” one of the men says.
“I’ve already made a donation,” the big man says. “A substantial one, too.”
“That money went toward our educational programs and mentoring,” another man says. “And we appreciated the contribution. There’ll be plenty of opportunities later on if you can’t help us out this time.”
“What the hell kind of education and mentoring are you guys offering?” The back of the booth shudders as the big guy stands. “I need to get out of here.”
Louie looks up from his phone.
“You haven’t finished your beer,” one of the other men says. The big guy strides away from the booth and out the front door, slamming it behind him.
