“Yeah, me too. No one is out and about,” Jack said. “Guess it’s too hot for any kind of outdoor activity. How do you want to do this, Dennis?”

Cyrus let loose with a sharp bark. We need to get a move on here.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re gonna move, big guy, but first we need to see if there is some kind of central building, an office of some kind, maybe a community center, or at the very least a clubhouse. Let’s walk down to the end of the block and see what’s there. This area looks strictly residential. All the patches of grass are mowed, probably cut with manicure scissors, and the flowers aren’t wilted, so the irrigation system obviously works. The buildings are well cared for, freshly painted—a really nice place, in my opinion,” Jack said as he strode forward, Cyrus at his side.

“Maybe they have a lawn service that comes around once a week. I can’t see senior citizens down on their knees pulling weeds, and I haven’t seen a single weed,” Dennis observed, peering down at the patches of lawn as they moved along.

“It might be my imagination, but I feel eyes on me,” Jack said.

“Yeah, I have the same feeling. I wasn’t going to say anything, thinking it was just my imagination,” Dennis replied, his voice jittery.

“Look, Dennis,” Jack said, pointing to a small plaque by the front door of the last building. “It says OFFICE. Looks like they have an intercom. Let’s give it a whirl.”

Jack marched up the five steps to a long, skinny porch that looked like a runaway rainbow with bright blue morning glories and clematis climbing up the walls and pillars that held up the narrow roof over the porch. There were clay pots full of petunias, Shasta daisies, and impatiens, all of which were thriving even with the brutal summer heat. Jack pressed his thumb on the doorbell and waited. A froggy-sounding voice blasted from the intercom. “Identify yourself.”

“Jack Emery and Dennis West. We’re here at the request of Mrs. Cosmo Cricket,” Jack lied with a straight face. “We’d like to speak to Mr. Gentry Lomax.”

“He isn’t here right now,” the froggy-sounding voice said.

“Is Ms. Love here? Ms. Bessie Love. We can speak with her if that’s possible.”

The froggy voice spoke again. “It’s Mrs. Love, not Ms. Love. And you are speaking with her right now. What is it you want? We have a strict policy here, and we do not open the doors to anyone we don’t know. You need to make an appointment. That’s how we do things here.”

“I can appreciate that, Mrs. Love, but Mrs. Cricket asked me to come here. I don’t think she would appreciate your policy of not cooperating when it concerns her husband, who is fighting for his very life and who owns this complex along with his partner, Zack Meadows. Are you seriously telling me you want me to go back and report this conversation to Mrs. Cricket?”