Perfect Scents. Virginia Taylor

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      Finally, Hobo decided she was dry enough and she sprang onto the tiles and ambled across the carpet to the front door. She glanced back at Calli as if to say, “C’mon.”

      “If your need to go outdoors is in any way embarrassing, don’t tell me. And if you run away, remember I don’t care. I won’t have to clean your eyes again.” Calli opened the door.

      The cat disappeared into the night. “I didn’t mean it,” Calli said, her fingers pressed to her cheeks. “I do care. Please don’t make me search for you.”

      Within a few minutes, Hobo returned, glanced at the open door, glanced at the garden bed beside the open door, adopted an expression of complete innocence, and rolled herself in the dirt. Then she shook herself, bounded back inside the house, and curled up on the couch.

      “So, that’s your true opinion of my bathing skills?” Sighing, Calli perched beside her and reached for the television remote controller. A crime show flickered onto the screen, lights flashing, actors clumping around in blue latex boots and white coveralls. She changed channels to a cooking show, even worse, because the food looked edible. Switching off the set, she listened for noises in the night. Not even an air conditioner hummed.

      She couldn’t go to bed before eight at night despite being physically exhausted. Instead, she folded her arms and stared at the ceiling, noting a tiny cobweb in the corner. She breathed out and stared at the cat, who slept soundly. Tomorrow she would buy a book to read. Tonight she would think about what she would do first in the morning. Breakfast. Jog. Move a few plants from the front garden to the edge of the veranda facing the tennis court. The sun didn’t reach that area until the late afternoon. Then she had miles of brown plastic piping to cut and fit for the new dripper system.

      She dropped her chin onto her chest, thinking. Then, with her jaw forward, she stood, kicked off her shoes, pushed up the sleeves of her sweater, and grabbed a white chair from the dining area. In the darkness of the night, she could peer over the neighbor’s fence—just to make sure they didn’t nurture a marijuana plantation or run a meth lab.

      After switching off the light, she carried the chair to the side fence. Listened. Nothing. She took a step up onto the seat. The street lamps gave her a clear but gray view into the neighbor’s property. Immediately under her nose stood the overflowing smelly bin and a brick path leading to the back door. She hadn’t made herself into a snoop to watch her neighbors but to put her mind to rest about their illegal activities. Or so her mind insisted.

      The property had the same back boundary as the judge’s. The house ended where the judge’s main house started. The backyard resembled the front garden, weedy and speckled with feral trees. Calli had no view through to the garage, but she knew a large area of land lurked between the house and the outbuilding. This meant the marijuana plantation would be out of sight, if the gangster grew marijuana. The meth lab would be in the crumbling garage, which would be a good disguise for a meth lab.

      The yellow light from the windows of the main house lent menace to the shadows. Without any sort of warning, while she was peering through the weeds, the back door of the house creaked open. She had time to see a rangy man in dirty jeans open his eyes wide with surprise when he saw her. “Killer,” he shouted wildly.

      Terrified, she immediately ducked down, huddling on the chair while clutching at the fence post. Was he yelling for someone to kill her? Surely they wouldn’t. Neighbors spied on each other all the time. In some areas, neighbor watching was considered to be an essential sport.

      Her heart thudded in her chest, and she thought about calling out that she hadn’t seen a thing. She cleared her throat, and his back door slammed. The thump of footsteps. A bump against the fence, which rocked. Moving, she whacked her knee, and the chair tilted. She grabbed hold of the fence post, but too late. The chair tipped over, and she fell onto the upturned seat, the heels of her palms and her knees planting into the dirt. She quickly arose, only to be thrown onto her belly.

      A heavy shape landed on top of her. “Got you, you little varmint.”

      The neckline of her top jerked up under her chin, almost choking her. She froze. Her heartbeat went into overdrive, and her pulse pounded in her ears. She tried to turn but the man put his elbow around her neck. The weight of him held her down.

      “Isn’t it time you went home?” he asked in a silky voice.

      Her body tightened into defense mode, stiff and ready to fight back. “Not your business,” she managed to say in husky, breathless voice. “Get off me!”

      His weight lifted off her, but he had a grip on her top. As he stood, he dragged her up with him. “Explain why you are still lurking around,” he said in a terse voice.

      Almost crippled by the tackle, she turned to face him, tangled in her skewed top.

      He examined her, his hand tightly gripping her shoulder. Then, he blinked and stiffened into a visible double take. While she stood frozen to the spot, her blouse settling back into place, he morphed into the dangerously handsome Mr. Neighborhood Watch. The palm that had flattened on her shoulder shifted to his hip, his whole stance expressing surprise. “You.”

      Her heart dropped. She hadn’t expected him to recognize her face when he had only seen her in sunglasses and a hat. “Instead of worrying about what I’m doing, you should be concentrating on the gangsters next door,” she said through clenched teeth, bravely taking a step back.

      “The gangsters next door?” His expression relaxed into the sort of amusement that would cause the elastic in women’s undies to melt.

      Her shoulders eased. “And their meth lab.”

      “Meth lab?”

      She folded her arms. “Or marijuana plantation.”

      “Marijuana plantation?” His eyebrows lifted slightly.

      “I already know you have mentioned to one of these people that they might be happier living elsewhere. I heard you this morning. I can certainly report suspicious activity. The gangsters in there are probably making a fortune while you’re running around at night scaring poor innocent residents.”

      He re-angled his stance. “You’re a resident?”

      She flicked her head toward the darkened cottage. “That’s how I can hear what’s going on next door.”

      “Noisy, are they?”

      “No. Suspiciously quiet. Well, except for last night. They played loud music and laughed and broke bottles. I expect they were having an orgy after counting the millions they extorted from people during the day.” She straightened the neckline of her top.

      He pressed a loosely curled fist to his mouth while he examined her face. “I think this neighborhood deserves further discussion. Tomorrow night over a meal, perhaps?”

      “I think you should back off the property before I call the police.” She took a step back to the door, clenching her bare toes onto the lawn.

      “What’s going on over there?” said a voice from behind the fence.

      “I’ve had complaints about you,” Mr. Neighborhood Watch called back.

      “Me?” the voice said in indignant squeak.

      “And СКАЧАТЬ