I was home by 8:30 and went to bed shortly afterward.

•   •   •

Let’s skip the talk about my morning jog, which felt the same as it always did. Good for me, but b-o-r-i-n-g. I showered, ate breakfast, and went into the office, where I spent the morning on the phone, first making an appointment with an S.O.S. technician to come out and talk about installing an alarm system, then talking to the guy who owns the bungalows to ask for his approval. He balked until I said I’d pay for it myself. I pointed out that if I should move, the system would stay in place, providing improved security for anyone who occupied the office after me. He was on board the minute he realized he wouldn’t have to pony up a dime.

The S.O.S. technician arrived at one o’clock to give me an estimate. Cullen, last name unspecified, was young and earnest and seemed to take his job seriously. He devoted fifteen minutes to “reviewing the site,” though I’m sure he could have designed the whole system in the time it took him to scratch his chin, measure, make notes, and ponder the possibilities. My office is modest and I knew the wiring wasn’t complicated. He filled out the paperwork and gave me a bid for putting contact wires on all the windows and doors, installing two alarm panels, and the monthly monitoring. To his estimate, I added another smoke detector, a motion detector, a glass-break detector, a radon detector, a carbon monoxide detector, and a couple of passive infrared beams for good measure. I noticed he didn’t argue about the redundancies and add-ons, which made me wonder if he was salaried or working on straight commission.

We scheduled the installation for the following Tuesday at noon, and he made a point of mentioning the fact that payment in full was due on completion. There was something obnoxious about his saying so, as though I might be the type who’d hold out on him. I made a mental note to pop by the bank and move sufficient funds into my checking account to cover the expense. Now that I was accustomed to spending money, there didn’t seem to be an end in sight. This is how lottery winners end up broke. He did say he knew a locksmith who could rekey my door locks at the same time.

Late in the afternoon, I called Ruthie. “Drinks and dinner at Rosie’s tonight?”

“What time?”

“How about six o’clock?”

“Sounds good. What’s the occasion?”

“There isn’t one. I heard a story I’d like confirmed.”

“Hope it’s juicy.”

“We’ll see about that,” I said.

•   •   •

At five, I locked the office and I was on my way out to the car when I turned around and went back. I let myself in, set my shoulder bag on the desk, and peeled back a corner of the wall-to-wall carpet. I opened my floor safe and pulled out the mailing pouch, locked the safe again, then headed for home.

I drove through town, taking State all the way down to Cabana Boulevard, where I turned right. It was one of those perfect Santa Teresa days I sometimes take for granted. The temperature was in the midsixties with clear skies, sunshine, and a light breeze. Nearing Bay, I got caught at the traffic light, and when I glanced to my right, I spotted Edna and Joseph toddling in my direction, he in his wheelchair, she pushing from behind. He had a basket affixed to the front of his chair and he was using it to tote a number of bulging plastic bags. I was momentarily annoyed that Edna intended to impose on Henry to ferry her back and forth on her weekly shopping trips when Joseph was more capable than he let on.

I kept an idle eye on them as I waited for the light to change. Edna and Joseph were apparently unaware of my observation. I watched her slow and then stop as they reached the motel trash bins set out at the curb. Joseph pulled himself upright, and while she lifted the lid, he removed one plastic bag from his basket and tossed it in. He resumed his seat. She pushed his wheelchair as far as the next bin, where the two of them did it again. The entire transaction took fewer than five seconds, so smoothly accomplished I thought I must be seeing things. Could they possibly be tossing their garbage in other people’s bins?

The light changed and I turned right onto Bay and then left on Albanil. Trash bins up and down the block had been moved to the curb, including the two Henry used. There was no bin in front of the Shallenbargers’ house, and now that I thought about it, I couldn’t remember seeing a bin out on the curb since the Adelsons had moved. I was still shaking my head when I pulled into Henry’s driveway and parked. Should I mention it to him? He’d as good as adopted them and I knew he’d be reluctant—if not wholly unwilling—to hear petty complaints about the pair.