I sat down across from her and grabbed a cookie. “The neighborhood’s been kind of funny lately, don’t you think?” I said.

Trixie cocked her head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Odd things going on. Like what happened down at the creek. That guy, who wanted to preserve Willow Creek, who got killed?”

“I heard about that. A real shame.”

I told her my role.

“God,” she said. “I never found a dead person.”

“I saw him a few days earlier, at the sales office. He got in this big argument with Greenway, you know, the hot shit who’s in charge of the development.”

Trixie nodded knowingly, like maybe she knew this Greenway character. I didn’t ask.

“I had been over there, asking about getting someone to fix that hole.” I pointed up by the pot lights. “And fix the shower, where the water was leaking from, and this Spender comes in and they start yelling at each other.” I gave Trixie a few more details, how Spender said he couldn’t be bought, about Greenway ordering him out.

“And then there’s Earl,” I said. I waited to see whether Trixie would pick up on my opening.

“What about Earl?” she asked.

“Have you noticed anything, I don’t know, out of the ordinary at Earl’s place?”

Trixie studied me, bit softly into her lower lip. She seemed to be sizing me up, deciding what I might or might not know, and what she might be willing to let on that she knew. Finally, she said, “You mean the fact that Earl has a huge pot business in his basement? Is that what you’re referring to?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That would be it.”

“Look,” Trixie said. “You know me. I don’t judge. Live and let live. Take what I do.” She paused. “People tell me their secrets, their financial secrets, and it takes a lot for people to open up enough, to trust you enough, to tell you what’s going on with their lives. So you learn to be accepting. Earl’s never caused me any trouble. Take you, for example. When you moved in here, and I found out you were a writer, I thought, I’m okay with that.”

I was taken aback. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

“Well, writers can be kind of weird, but like I said, I try not to judge.”

Trixie finished her coffee. “You said you wanted my phone number.”

I handed her my list, said she could write it on there. But first she read what I had written.

“If you get around to sticking that dynamite up Greenway’s ass, give me a call before you light the fuse. That would be something to see.”

I blushed. “I guess I better throw that out. Write your number at the bottom and I’ll tear it off.”