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“So, tell me your impression of these people.”

Annabelle sighed and she knew she could be wading into dangerous territory. If any of this got back to them…

“On the top is the one from Margaret Sneed Wanton-Klapper. Her name is a mouthful, and she likes it that way. Sneed is an old family money name in Denver, and she wants it to be known she’s part of them, though only distantly. She runs the neighborhood watch and was the first one I called two days ago. Though she pretends to be helping me out, she actually just lords it over us that we’ve lost the dog. I can tell she’s extremely happy that Cookie is gone, and she hopes that it makes us cancel the gala.”

“Jack and Linda Hofstetter moved in just a few years ago. Unfortunately, they moved right next to Wanna-Klap-her and they’re starting to…”

“Wait,” Rowdy said, looking up from the papers and grinning. “Did you just call her Wanna-Klap-her?”

Annabelle felt blood rush to her cheeks, but she tilted up her chin. “Yes, that was my bad. Her name is a mouthful and I’ve found myself shortening it over the years.”

Rowdy grinned at her, settling more comfortably against her desk. “That sounds like you’ve said it in conjunction with something else. Like, Wanna-Klap-her…” he held a hand out to her to finish his sentence.

“Like Wanna-Klap-her sanctimonious face off,” Annabelle finished quietly, a grin breaking out across her face.

Rowdy tipped back his head and laughed, nodding. “I’m going to have to try not to use that when I talk to her.”

“Oh, hell, please don’t. I would never hear the end of it. Mrs. Dodd wouldn’t hear the end of it.”

“Would Mrs. Dodd fire you over it?”

Annabelle shook her head, giggling. “Nah, she’s said worse.”

“So, tell me about the rest of these.”

Annabelle went over the rest of the complaining neighbors. As she read over the emails again, she could see certain words pop out that Wanna-Klap-her had used. It was so obvious that she’d led the complaint charge. The Comptons used half a dozen of the same words, and the Ngyuens used even more of the same words. One sentence was verbatim.

“These people weren’t even in town that night, but they still sent me an email letting me know how happy they were gone so that they didn’t have to deal with this mess.” She pointed at the last email from the Browns.

Rowdy shook his head, somehow not even surprised. “Sounds like Mrs. Dodd really ruffled some feathers.”

Annabelle shrugged. “Yes. But Mrs. Wanton-Klapper has always had it out for Mrs. Dodd. I think she moved into the neighborhood expecting deference and recognition for her name but didn’t realize that Mrs. Dodd had been here for many years and already knew everyone. Heck, Mr. Dodd helped to lay out the plans for the golf course and the surrounding subdivision, and he knew everyone that built a house. We’ve got ball players and musicians and businesspeople in this area that make more money than you or I could ever spend, and he became friends with them all.”

Rowdy nodded and Annabelle could tell that he was mentally recording everything she said.

“Okay, I’ll work on these. Thank you, Annabelle.”

She watched as he pushed to his feet, then stagger a little, like something caught in his hip. “Are you all right?” she asked.

He turned his face away, like he didn’t want her to see his pain. “Yeah, I shouldn’t have sat on your desk like that. Serves me right for wanting to get closer to you.”

Annabelle laughed and watched as he limped out of her office. It was a good thing he wasn’t looking at her because she just knew her cheeks were pink.

4

Rowdy decided to start with the Browns. He drove to their house, which was the furthest away from Mrs. Dodd’s house, and just down the road a little. There was a middle-aged man packing up a golf-cart with clubs when he pulled up the long drive.

He slipped out of the truck and grabbed to leather portfolio he’d put Annabelle’s emails into. Chad had explained that when he went on interviews, he needed to have something in his hand to take notes. People liked to believe they were a part of something, and if you were writing down their words it made them feel important. And sometimes it opened the floodgates to information.

“Hello, Mr. Brown? I’m Rowdy West, an investigator from Lost and Found Investigative Services. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“If you’re quick,” the man grumbled, tucking a new set of balls into his bag. “I have a tee time at the driving cage in twenty minutes.”

Of course, he did. “No problem. Are you familiar with Mrs. Dodd, your neighbor? Her dog is missing.”

Mr. Brown looked up at him and Rowdy could see the condescension in the man’s face. “She hired an investigator to find her dog?” Snorting, he turned back to the cart, shaking his head. “Yes, I know her. She’s a crazy old bat, but she’s never hurt anyone, that I know of. And I don’t think the dog has either.”

“So, you haven’t seen the dog, then?”