excerpt from Divided

Chapter 1

Even after the Uber's taillights disappeared into the night, Carli Winslow remained standing on the curb outside her bungalow. Her home held many memories, but the tragedy outweighed the happy moments. Streetlights were non-existent on this hill, but the moonlight spread across the brown grass and thistles that pockmarked the cliffs and fields around her house and her only neighbor's.

On this hot August evening, the salt-tinged air hung heavy over the small mountain town of Parma in the southern most part of California. With her backpack over her shoulders, she pulled her suitcase up the porch steps. Despite the pleasure of her summer overseas trip, jet lag tugged at her from the long flight from Europe and the connections to California. Using her cellphone’s flashlight, she unlocked the front door and flipped on the interior light. She gaped. Shock strummed through her. Her well-vetted renters had ransacked her home. Or had something more nefarious occurred?

She groaned, then swore. Her agonized screams would have roused her neighbors, but she only had one, and he was old and deaf. She gulped and shut the door behind her. The living room’s couch needed a good cleaning and the throw rugs looked unsalvageable. Most of her furniture was gone except the heavy glass coffee table, one large upholstered chair, her sofa and the old oak dining table minus its chairs. Scuff marks covered the once polished wood floors.

Like a sleepwalker, she ventured from room to room. The master bedroom mattress was filthy, as were the twin mattresses in the guest room. Both bathrooms needed scrubbing. The shelves in the linen closet were bare. Not a sheet, blanket, or towel remained. In the kitchen all the dishes, glassware, pots and pans were gone, and the pantry and fridge were empty. At least the built-in table and bench in the kitchen nook had not been torn out, but the detergents, bar soap, and cleaning supplies had vanished from the laundry room.

For some moments she stood stunned at the raw emptiness, then roused herself to call the Parma police. "I've just returned to my house after being away for several month and found it's been ransacked and stripped of everything but a few pieces of furniture." After giving the operator more information, she waited outside for the police.

While she sat on the porch steps, she noticed the pickup truck and motorcycle parked in her neighbor's driveway. Odd. In the six years she'd lived next door to elderly Victor Mantle he never had guests, and he drove a sedan.

A siren grew louder and soon a police car rolled up. Carli greeted young Officer Dana Carson. "I’m glad you were the one on duty." They'd become friends when emergency responders lectured at the high school where Carli taught English and French. “I hope I was coherent when I told the operator what happened to my house."

Dana put a reassuring hand on Carli’s forearm. "Anyone inside?"

"No. I rented the house for ten weeks while I was in Europe. I checked the couple’s references." She threw up her hands in exasperation. "Obviously, not well enough."

"We've had crimes like this all summer. Smugglers have been using rentals to house illegals and drugs they transport across the border." Dana asked Carli to stay outside while she went through the house. When she came back out, she said, "They didn’t leave anything behind. It's been their modus operandi. Dusting for fingerprints would be useless. Did the couple give you a contact number and photos of themselves?"

"Yes." Carli showed Dana the picture she'd downloaded to her cellphone.

Officer Carson nodded. "Same photo used in the other ransacked rentals. Those people in the picture don't exist. They're composites. You've been scammed. Big time. At least you got the rental money up front."

"It won’t cover the replacement costs of everything." Carli's shoulders sagged. "What can I do?"

"Come to the station tomorrow and fill out a report. We've opened an investigation into these crimes, but the DEA has taken the lead on the cases related to drug smuggling. ICE is also involved because of the illegal immigration side of the crimes. Both organizations are keeping us in the loop, but.…" Dana shrugged. "Our new detective is doing his best, but with the different agendas of the bureaus, it's an uphill battle."

"I just flew in from Europe. Is it safe to stay here tonight?"

"Since they already took everything, they have no reason to return. But change all the locks as soon as you can. I noticed your garage door has a padlock. Did you give them the key to that?"

"No. I left my car, clothes, and personal items in there."

"Let’s check to see if they got inside," Dana said.

Carli clicked on the backyard lights, and she and Dana went to the garage that was separate from the house. The heavy duty padlock remained untouched with all the contents and her old Chevy sedan untouched. When they walked down the driveway toward the street, her neighbor's outside lights came on.

A tall man strode across the lawn. "What’s going on?" he called out.

When Officer Carson shone her flashlight on him, he shielded his eyes and stopped. "I live next door, heard the siren, and saw the lights."

Carli eyed the man. "Where’s Victor?"

"The realtor told me he passed away. I bought the house the end of June and moved in four weeks ago."

"Oh, no," Carli muttered. Victor gone and now this stranger. Could he be trusted?

Officer Carson’s light played over the man's face. "Do you have identification?" she asked.

"Not on me. It's up at the house. Glad to get it for you. I’m Sam Kenwood."

Officer Carson nodded. "Under the circumstances, I'll check your ID after I've finished here."

"What’s happened?" Sam asked.

"Mrs. Winslow's house has been ransacked and probably used to house illegals. Did you hear or see anything suspicious?" Officer Carson asked.
"When I moved in, a couple lived in the house, but they kept to themselves. Although they had a lot of visitors, they never had loud parties. They left about a week ago. I've been busy repairing and fixing my place, so I haven't paid much attention." He glanced at Carli. "You're Mrs. Winslow? Glad to meet you."

She ignored his outstretched hand. Anger, frustration, and fatigue swept over her. All she could think about was the disaster confronting her and now
Victor's death.

Dana looked at Carli. "Perhaps you might feel more comfortable staying at a motel in town tonight."

Carli's eyes narrowed and she gritted her teeth as she looked at the surrounding empty terrain. "As you said, they've already taken everything and have no reason to return. I won't be scared out of my own house. For tonight, I can use my camping gear stored in the garage."

There wasn't much else to be said. Sam returned to his house with the Officer following him through the gate in the mutual fence between the properties. Later, Officer Carson drove off, apparently satisfied with Sam Kenwood's identification.

Carli walked through her once lovely bungalow feeling violated and debated where to sleep for the night. Sleeping on the filthy mattresses was out of the question, and besides the entire house felt dirty. She shuddered. In the garage, she rummaged through her camping equipment and pulled out a sleeping bag, an air mattress, a duffel bag, and a large flashlight. Despite her anxiety about the criminals returning, the front porch seemed her best option. As a precaution she strewed pebbles across the front walkway and steps, thinking she’d wake to the sound of anyone approaching. Perhaps it was a stupid thing to do, but it made her feel safer. As an extra deterrent, she placed a canister of mace next to her. During her entire European trip, she’d never felt threatened, but now her home no longer felt like a safe haven. She put on shorts and a t-shirt and collapsed into a deep sleep.

A loud racket broke through her sleep. She squinted. The sun had yet to broach the hills to the east. She glanced at her watch. Five-thirty! Her new neighbor used a table saw set up on his front lawn. She crawled out of her sleeping bag and from her porch yelled, "Do you know what time it is?"

Over the noise of the saw, he must not have heard her. Damn, what a thoughtless jerk. Grumbling to herself, she went to the wood-slate fence between their properties. When he clicked off the saw, she yelled again, " It's five-thirty for crying out loud. Can't you wait till seven to make a racket?"

He stared at her and tipped his right hand to his forehead in a salute. "Sorry." He walked over to the fence. "No one's lived in your house for some time, and I've been working early to avoid the heat." He didn’t leer, but his blue eyes flitted over her.

Only then did she realize her rumpled t-shirt and shorts might reveal too much. She refrained from tugging her shirt into place, thinking it would only make the situation worse. "Well, I'm home now, so please don't start before seven." She turned and stomped up her porch steps and went inside. Not only did she have filthy mattresses and rugs to throw out but an obnoxious neighbor. God, what a mess.

She cleaned the master bathroom as best she could without the help of any cleaning products. With her suitcase on the floor, she dug out a toothbrush, a bar of soap, and a small towel from her travel kit. She'd just finished dressing in capris, a blouse, and sneakers, when the doorbell rang. Now what?

She opened the door to find Sam holding a thermos. "Coffee. Black, sorry, no sugar or cream." In his other hand he had a bag of bagels. In a mellow baritone voice, he said, "From what Officer Carson told me, there wasn't anything to eat in your house. I thought you might want something to start your day."

"Thank you." She gestured to the two wrought iron chairs on the porch. "These were probably too heavy to steal. Please, join me."

"Thanks. I forgot mugs. Do you have any cups?"

"In my camping gear. Just a minute." She dug through the duffle bag and took out two tin cups.

He poured the coffee and set the bag of bagels on the small table. "By the way, I'm Sam Kenwood in case you don't remember."

Her eyes settled on him. "Carli Winslow. Sorry I was cranky last night, but I had overnight flights from Europe to New York to Los Angeles, got a shuttle bus to San Diego, and an Uber home."

"And you arrived to a mess. That's a tough way to start your homecoming."

She brushed a strand of auburn hair off her forehead, sipped her coffee, and ate a bagel filled with cream cheese and ham. "This was thoughtful of you."

"The least I could do after waking you." He took a bite of his bagel, then nodded toward her house. "How bad is it inside?"

"From a quick inventory, I'd say the mattresses aren’t worth salvaging, the throw rugs should go and the couch needs to be cleaned as does the entire house. They didn't leave one thing, no towels, linen, cleaning products, or food." She wrestled with the replacement expenses. "They won't be getting back their cleaning deposit." Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

Last night her impression of her neighbor was of a big, muscle-bound man. In the morning light she saw her assessment had been only slightly correct. He was tall, tan, and rugged-looking with stubble on his firm jaw. At his temple streaks of gray laced through his shaggy brown hair. His sparkling blue eyes held a hint of sorrow or hurt as if he'd seen too much or knew something others didn't. She found this unsettling. His olive-green t-shirt stretched tight across his broad chest, and a ragged scar marred the bicep on his left arm. At least he didn't have any visible tattoos. Those represented gangs to Carli. Tattoos were on her dislike list that also included motorcycles and pickup trucks. Judging from the vehicles parked in his driveway, her new neighbor had both.

She didn't want to be obligated to him but she was in a predicament. "Would you help me drag the mattresses and rugs out of the house? I'll call a trash company to pick them up."

He drank the least of his coffee and put down his cup. "Sure. I have to leave soon, so let's do it now." Once inside the house, he stared at the emptiness. "You didn't exaggerate. Not much left, is there?"

They hauled out the mattress sets and area rugs to her front yard. By the time they finished they were perspiring.
She dabbed away the beads of sweat on her upper lip with her fingers. "It would have been a major struggle to do this by myself. Thank you."

He shrugged off her thanks. "I know guys who take old stuff and refurbish it. They'd probably pick up all this for free."

"That would be fantastic." Her obnoxious neighbor might be a blessing after all. So much for quick assumptions. "I'm going into town to buy groceries. Is there anything I can get for you?"

He rubbed his whiskered chin. "I’ve got an appointment in San Diego, so I'd appreciate it if you’d pick up laundry detergent, flour, and yeast."

"Flour and yeast?"

He grinned. "Yeah. I like to bake."

That's a first, she thought. "Okay. Any special brand of detergent?"

"I'm not particular. See you later." Instead of leaving by the gate, he jumped the wood fence between their properties.
She wasn't sure what to make of him, but he seemed like a reasonable man she could accept as a neighbor.