“No.”
“Is he stealing anything?”
“No.”
“Damaging property?”
“No.”
The dispatcher paused.
“What is he doing now?”
Eleanor glanced over her shoulder.
Marcus had reopened his book.
“He’s sitting by the pool.”
Another pause.
“What makes you believe there is an emergency?”
“He refuses to tell me where he lives.”
“Are you employed by security?”
“No.”
“I’m on the community advisory board.”
“Are you authorized to verify residents?”
Eleanor hesitated.
“Not exactly.”
The dispatcher’s voice remained professional.
“Ma’am, if you believe someone is trespassing, you should contact your private security office. Because you have called 911, an officer may be sent to confirm there is no immediate threat, but please keep your distance and do not confront the individual.”
The call ended.
Eleanor returned to the pool.
Marcus closed his book again.
“You actually called the police.”
“I reported possible trespassing.”
He nodded.
“You have the right to call.”
That answer surprised her.
Then he added:
“And I have the right to continue sitting here.”
“Until the police arrive?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Marcus reached for the briefcase.
“Because I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Before Eleanor could respond, a child’s voice came from behind her.
“Dad?”
Marcus’s entire expression changed.
A girl around nine years old stood beside the clubhouse doors wearing a yellow swimsuit and carrying a pink towel around her shoulders. Her wet hair clung to her cheeks.
She walked toward him.
“Are we leaving?”
“In a little while.”
The girl looked at Eleanor.
“Who’s she?”
Marcus hesitated.
“She thought I wasn’t supposed to be here.”
The girl frowned.
“But you are.”
“It's complicated.”
Eleanor stared at Marcus.
“You told me you lived here.”
“No.”
“You implied—”
“I told you that your not recognizing me didn’t mean I had no right to be here.”
Those were not the same statements.
Eleanor realized she had supplied the rest herself.
The girl reached for Marcus’s hand.
“Are we still going to Grandma Bell’s?”
Eleanor heard the name.
“Bell?”
Marcus looked toward her.
Before he could answer, Daniel Cross approached from the clubhouse.
Eleanor felt immediate relief.
“Daniel. Thank goodness.”
Daniel slowed.
His eyes moved from Eleanor to Marcus.
“What happened?”
“I found this man using the pool.”
Daniel looked genuinely confused.
“You found Mr. Reed?”
Eleanor’s expression shifted.
“You know him?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't you tell me he lived here?”
“He doesn’t.”
Eleanor stared.
Marcus looked toward Daniel.
Daniel continued carefully.
“Mr. Reed is authorized to be here.”
“For what?”
“He has a meeting.”
“With whom?”
Daniel hesitated.
Marcus nodded.
“Go ahead.”
“With Harold Vance.”
Eleanor’s stomach tightened.
Harold had served as Bellwood’s HOA president for twelve years.
“What meeting?”
Marcus checked his watch.
“Five o’clock.”
It was 4:37.
Eleanor pointed toward the pool.
“Then why are you swimming?”
“I arrived early.”
“That still doesn’t explain—”
Marcus stood.
He slipped the paperback into his briefcase.
“I’m here regarding Bellwood property records.”
Eleanor froze.
“Property records?”
“Yes.”
“What property?”
Marcus put on his gray T-shirt.
“Bellwood.”
There was something in the way he said the word that unsettled her.
Not threatening.
Certain.
Ava took his hand.
They headed inside.
Eleanor remained by the pool.