No one knew the answer, but Dennis ventured a guess. “I would assume it pays very well, and remember, he gets a cut of the rents from Happy Village. And who’s to say he paid for this pricey plaque himself?” When there was no comment, Dennis shrugged, and added, “I’m just saying.”

Maggie whirled around and asked if she should knock or just open the door.

“Just open the door already,” Ted said, irritation evident in his voice.

Cyrus growled low and deep in his throat.

Maggie opened the door. The four of them barreled through, Cyrus in the lead. The man sitting at the desk rose, a look of stark fear on his face. “What the hell . . .”

Everyone’s hands hit the air, palms outward to say, Whoa, whoa. “Miss Crystal Shine said it was all right for us to come back here because you weren’t busy and could spare a few moments. We’re here at Mrs. Cricket’s request.”

In the space of time it took Jack to offer up his spiel, the gang had the luxurious office cataloged and priced out. The Jackson Pollock artwork that adorned the walls was way, way up into the hundreds of thousands of dollars. The Persian carpet alone could feed a city for a full year. The sofas and chairs were so luxurious, they screamed to be sat upon—custom crafted, undoubtedly, with an impossible price tag. The coffee table shimmered from the subdued overhead lighting. The only thing on the table was a massive basket of white lilies, white tulips, and white roses, with fern nestled among the stems. The desk looked as if it came from the White House, like a replica of the president’s desk. The greenery, and there was plenty of it in the huge room, could have come straight out of a rain forest. Droplets of water could be seen on some of the leaves.

And then there was the man, who didn’t bother to get up to greet his unexpected guests. It was hard to tell if he was tall, medium, or short, since he was sitting down. He had a full head of sandy-colored hair that was a tad too thick and styled; it couldn’t be real. His nails were buffed and manicured. He wore a five-thousand-dollar Hugo Boss suit with a red power tie. His shirt was pristine white, with the cuffs monogrammed in the color of his suit.

Later, Dennis said any man who had to have his initials on his clothes had an identity problem of some kind.

“It’s customary to make an appointment. That’s how we do things here. All you have to do is call,” Meadows said.