Page 62 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind

“No,” I say in a strangled whisper, letting my hand fall back to my side. “None for now.”

“Then shall we call Mr. Riggs?” he prompts.

“Yes,” I say quickly. “Yes. Pull up his number. I screenshotted it. What should we say to him?”

“Any thoughts?” he says.

“I think we should explain who we are and then tell him what Elsie said and ask if he received many complaints from Carmina—or about her,” I say.

“Sounds good to me.”

He swipes around on his phone a few times, and I pull my own phone from my pocket. “Read it to me when you’ve got it,” I say.

He reads me the number a second later, and I dial. I listen as it rings once, twice, and then three times before someone answers.

“Hello?”

It’s a curt voice, deep, with an air of irritation. Like we’ve inconvenienced him by daring to call.

“Hi,” I say, ignoring the bad vibes this guy is sending down the line. “Is this Mr. Riggs?”

“This is he,” Stanley Riggs says. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“Of course,” I say quickly. “My name is Heidi. Several days ago a woman named Carmina Hildegarde died in my bookshop.”

There’s silence for a second, and then Stanley says, “I heard about that, yes.”

I nod. “I spoke to the family of the deceased, and they indicated that she had some problems with her neighbor, or maybe others in the neighborhood. I thought since you’re the head of the homeowner’s association, you might be aware of any conflicts that were going on.”

“Her family said she was struggling with a neighbor?”

“They did, yes.”

“That’s correct,” Stanley says. His voice is still clipped, still impatient, but that’s not going to stop me.

“Would you be willing to elaborate on that?” I say, praying he doesn’t ask me why I want to know. I’m not sure how I would answer.

Thankfully, he doesn’t mention it. He just says, “Not much to elaborate on, really. Carmina Hildegarde reported someone for having a dog off leash. I think there was something about the dog going to the bathroom in undesignated areas as well, and maybe some noise complaints. The walls are thinner than some of our residents prefer. But I can’t remember all the details, and frankly I don’t have time to look it up right now.”

“And the person she reported was her neighbor?” I say.

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information,” Stanley says.

“All right,” I say, thinking hard. “One last question, then. What are the consequences if someone is found to be guilty of things like having a dog off the leash or letting a dog do its business in undesignated areas?”

“Depending on the severity, perpetrators will be fined up to five hundred dollars per offense.”

“Wow,” I say faintly. “Uh, okay. I understand. Thank you so much for your time—”

But he hangs up before I’ve even finished speaking.

“Well,” Soren says from in front of me as I lower the phone from my ear, staring at it. “He seems like a pleasant fellow.”

I snort. “He acted like I was the single obstacle to all his earthly desires. Good grief.”

“I heard,” Soren says. “Your phone is pretty loud. But he confirmed it, right?”

“More or less,” I say, biting my lip. “He said Carmina filed several complaints against someone in the neighborhood about their dog. He wouldn’t say who, but coupled with what Elsie said, I think we can safely assume it’s Mr. Foster. Did you hear him mentioning the noise complaints?”

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