LITMIR.BIZ

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“By the time a squad car rolled up, the crooks were long gone, along with your light fixtures, cabinets, appliances...” He shook a bony arthritic finger. “You better believe I told those officers everything I saw. Showed ’em the pictures I took with my cell phone, too. One cop wrote down your phone number, promised to call you to see if you wanted to press charges. When I didn’t hear from you, I figured you’d gone soft on ’em, again, and were too embarrassed to admit it.”

      “Probably just as well that no one from the department called.”

      “Let me guess...because they’d throw those criminals in the slammer, and their kids would end up in foster care?”

      “In separate houses, no doubt.”

      “Yeah, that’d be a shame. Isn’t their fault they were born to a couple of losers. Still...” Shamus started for the door. “Soon as I get home, I’ll email Ricky. Anything particular you want me to tell him?”

      “Would you mind holding off on that, actually? I have a lot of research to do and a lot to think about, remember.” She squeezed his forearm. “Okay?”

      “If nothing else, you’re proof that giraffes don’t change their stripes.” Chuckling, he shook his head again. “Remember what your grandpa said? Your heart has always been bigger than your head—a good thing, so long as it doesn’t hurt you.” He stepped outside, pausing on the porch. “Don’t wait too long to get the wheels of justice rolling, though. Call me when you change your mind.”

      “I will. And thanks, Shamus. Why don’t you stop by next time you’re on our side of town, have supper with us. I know the boys would love seeing you.”

      “Might just do that.” He shuffled down the walk. “Probably the only way I’ll find out what’s going on with this place,” he mumbled, jerking a thumb over one shoulder. Then, in a louder voice, “You have every right to be reimbursed for the time, trouble and money it’ll cost to replace everything they took, you know. And you don’t need to feel guilty about it, either!”

      “When you’re right, you’re right,” she said, but he was already out of earshot.

      Eden returned to her seat on the bottom step and dialed Joe Templeton. After the obligatory greetings, she asked when he’d last visited the property.

      “Not since I delivered the eviction notice. Why? Is there a problem?”

      “Not a problem,” she said through clenched teeth. “Lots of problems. If I made a list, I’d get writer’s cramp. Or carpal tunnel. Or both.”

      “Gee, Eden, I’m sorry to hear that, but—”

      “I’m coming back over here in the morning, and I’m bringing my camera. I’d like you to be here when I document this...” She looked around and ground her molars together. “This mess.”

      “I, ah...”

      His phone hit the desk with a thunk and Eden heard him riffling papers. “What time did you have in mind?”

      “Seven.” At that hour, he couldn’t use the old “other meeting” excuse. “That’ll give us time to evaluate things without taking too big a bite out of the rest of your day.” And speaking of eating, Joe didn’t know it yet, but he was going to explain how he’d allowed this to happen—and why he hadn’t notified her about it earlier—over coffee and eggs at Breakfast King.

      “Oh, and, Joe? Bring your camera, too.”

      “Okay, but why?”

      “We’re compiling photographic evidence for a possible lawsuit, that’s why, and two cameras are better than one.”

      She listened patiently as Joe explained how unlikely it was that they could find the Hansons, let alone get them to stay in one place long enough to file suit.

      “Besides,” he said, “you know the old adage, ‘can’t squeeze blood from a—’”

      “I thought you might say something like that.”

      “Anyone who’d all but destroy the place they called home can’t be expected to do the right thing and reimburse me for the damage done,” Eden said.

      With the wisdom of Gramps and Shamus ringing in her ears, Eden said, “See you tomorrow, seven sharp. And don’t forget the camera. I’ve had too many pictures go missing to trust my cell phone.”

      “See you in the morning, then,” he said, hanging up.

      She’d paid Joe a handsome monthly fee to oversee Pinewoods, and he’d let her down, big-time. Admittedly, that was partly her fault. If she hadn’t been so concerned that spur-of-the-moment inspections might hurt his feelings, she might have nipped things in the bud before they became problems. Starting tomorrow, she’d lead with her head instead of her heart.

      “Better watch it, Quinn,” she said, locking the front door behind her, “because this exercising-your-rights stuff feels good enough to be habit-forming!”

       CHAPTER FOUR

      JOE SLOUCHED AGAINST the tufted red Naugahyde booth at Breakfast King, scrolling through the pictures Eden had taken at Pinewood. “I’ll bet this happened when they dragged the stove out the door,” he said, pointing at an image that showed a deep gouge in the kitchen’s door frame. His dark brows furrowed as he studied photos of curtain rods hanging from single screws and cabinet shelves that slanted at awkward angles. He turned off the camera and slid it to her side of the caramel Formica tabletop.

      “Saying I’m sorry doesn’t begin to cut it,” he said. “I feel awful that the Hansons stuck you with that mess.”

      Eden folded her napkin back and forth, back and forth, and fanned herself with the resulting paper accordion. “I’m sure you’ve faced situations like this before. Any idea what we’re looking at in repair costs?”

      Joe shook his head as the waitress delivered their coffee.

      “Thousands,” he said when the woman walked away. “Easily.”

      Eden waited for him to empty two milks and three sugar packets into his mug before continuing. “So how does this work? Will you hire a contractor?”

      He nearly dropped his spoon. “Me? Whoa. You expect me to foot the whole bill?”

      Eden smoothed out her paper accordion. “In retrospect, I should have paid more attention to the Hansons. It’s my property, after all.” She met his eyes. “But as we discussed when I hired you, the nature of my job makes it difficult, at best, to get away. You told me not to give that another thought, because absentee landlords make up the bulk of your client list, and that it was your job to do periodic spot checks, to make sure tenants are living up to the conditions outlined by the lease. And that if they didn’t, we’d come to an agreement about repairs, in order to avoid arbitration.” She paused long enough for her words to sink in. “Remember?”

      “Of course I remember.” Nodding, Joe stared into his mug. “I spent most of the night on the computer, trying to hunt down the Hansons.” He looked up. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have a bit of luck.”

      She drew an invisible figure eight on the tabletop. “In other words, since you can’t find them, we can’t file a lawsuit.”

      He winced slightly at the word. “Oh, if I kept looking, I could find them. Eventually. I used to be FBI, remember. But what’s the point?”

      If he quoted the old “can’t squeeze blood from a turnip” cliché again, Eden didn’t know what she’d do. She pointed at her purse beside her on the seat. “I brought our contract, just in case we needed to refer to it.”

      Smiling slightly, he nodded again. “Why am I not surprised.” Joe picked up his mug, put it right back down again. “Okay. I

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