Desperate Homeowners

Andi Stevenson now knew why dogs marked their territory. This was her home—all hers and no one else could step foot on it without her permission. Standing in front of the two-story condominium building in Friendly Acres, she clutched the shiny, gold key in one hand and the signed mortgage in the other. No more apartment leases for her. No more drunken college student stealing her assigned parking spot and puking on her grass. No more landlord with a passkey sneaking in to swipe her lingerie and high-heels for his transvestite nightclub act. And no more sixty-year-old Viagra King on the other side of a thin wall screaming, “Spank me, mommy,” to his librarian wife. The moving van she’d rented sat parked next to the curb. Not yet ready to unpack, she basked in the glow of homeownership while admiring the view. Symmetrically cut lantana pointed to a recent sculpting from the landscapers. Fuchsia petals fluttered on the bougainvillea draped over the brick wall next to her front door. The cool spring breeze playing through her thick hair reminded her how lucky she’d been to close the deal before summer. The hot Arizona sun would soon scorch the Phoenix Metropolitan area, aptly named The Valley of the Sun. “You having a stroke?” The familiar voice belonged to her older sister. “What?” Andi turned to find Jessie carrying a box too big for her to lift alone safely. “You have that vacant, I’m-heading-for-the-nursing-home look.” “Sorry. Daydreaming. Let me help you with that.” She stepped forward to assist, but her sister kept right on going. “I got it. Just grab the door.” Their parents claimed Jessie popped out of the womb declaring her independence and self-sufficiency. When they agreed to live in the condo together, Miss I-Can-Do-It-Myself told everyone she was doing Andi a favor. Not because she carried a badge and a gun, but because she could fix anything attached to a house or plugged in to one?except toasters. Their trips to Home Depot had been enlightening. Andi learned power saws weren’t vibrators for men. Andi rushed to open the door for her sister. Once inside, Jessie bent forward and dropped the box next to the wall with a resounding thump. “Hope you didn’t like that china pattern.” “You are joking, right?” Jessie stretched and grinned. “I dropped the china before we left the apartment.” “I hope I don’t accidentally drop your collection of antique lava lamps.” “Bite me,” Jessie teased. “Bite me harder.” She chuckled and followed her sister out for another load. Forty minutes later, Andi’s shoulders ached from the strain. She wasn’t one of those buff women who lifted weights in the gym. In fact, she made it a rule not to lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk and a bottle of chocolate syrup. “Let’s take a break.” She snatched two empty Styrofoam cups and three empty water bottles off the kitchen counter. Her sister tugged open a box labeled Essentials. “I’ll find the coffee pot. You throw out the trash.” Strolling towards the Dumpster, Andi used her forearm to push a strand of hair out her eyes. If they returned the van to the apartment by noon, her father and uncles could have the furniture unloaded before sunset. The floral sleeper-sofa would go great against the east wall, right across from the television. She pictured herself stretched out on the sofa, wearing her hot-pink pajamas with matching bunny slippers, while watching game shows and yelling out answers between bites of chocolate-mint ice cream. Life couldn’t get any better. With her hands full, she used her pinky to flip up the latch on the gate surrounding the Dumpster, then pulled it open with her foot. Tossing the garbage into the container, she noticed an adorable wooden dollhouse resting on top. “Why would anyone throw away . . .?” Next to the dollhouse, a red and white sock stuck straight up in the air. “What?” She stepped closer to get a better look. Am I seeing a foot in that sock? Skin. “Ohmigod.” Screams erupted from Andi’s throat. She couldn’t stop. Each shriek sounded longer and louder than the one before. The wind kicked up loose papers, sending them out of the Dumpster and scurrying along the pavement. But what if it wasn’t the wind that made the papers move? Memories of zombie movies flooded her mind. More screaming. Please don’t climb out of the Dumpster if you’re dead. The words remained trapped in her terror-stricken mind. She backed away, her hands pressed against her mouth. Jessie sprinted to her side, then grabbed her by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?” Andi nodded towards the Dumpster. Still holding onto her with one hand, her sister glanced inside. “Great house-warming gift.” She reached for the body. “No! Don’t touch it.” “Calm down. I have to know if she’s alive.” “It’s Bernice,” a male voice sounded from overhead. “She’s dead alright. Her face is fat and gray.” “Her face is always fat,” an elderly female voice floated from behind Andi. “Well now it’s gray.” The teenaged boy, sporting blond spikes, leaned out of an open window, above and to one side of the Dumpster coffin. A crowd closed in around Andi. She had no idea where everyone came from and frankly, she didn’t care. People on all sides of her started talking at once. Their murmured remarks barely registered in her consciousness. “A dead body?” “Who is it?” “Bernice. She must have fallen out of her window.” “Where did the dollhouse come from?” “It’s part of her Wizard of Oz collection. Her guest room is a miniature replica of the movie set. That’s the house that fell on the wicked witch.” “Another case of life imitating art.” “Maybe she lifted the house, lost her balance, and fell into the Dumpster.” “I was about to throw my trash out. I could have found the body.” “I wish I’d found her. What a story!” The elderly woman blew cigarette smoke into the crowd. “Pretty ironic if you think about it.” Andi studied the amused expression on the stranger’s wrinkled face. Coughing first to find her voice again, she asked, “What’s ironic about this poor woman’s death?” “Bernice was a nasty gossip. As president of the homeowner’s board, she knew everything about everyone, and she used it to her advantage. This here is the most exciting thing to happen in our complex, and she’s not alive to spread the news.” With that said, the woman lifted the cigarette to her dry lips. “Speaking of The Board…” An attractive woman, wearing violet-colored scrubs and a hospital badge indicating she was a nurse, stepped into the crowd. “You’re going to get a warning for parking in a fire lane.” She gestured toward the van. “I’m moving in,” Andi answered in disbelief. “Doesn’t matter.” She pointed down the road. “You have to park in guest parking and unpack from there.” Andi glanced at the area indicated. “That’s a block away.” “The Board doesn’t care if it’s a mile away. The rules—” “Are the rules,” the crowd finished in unison. The teen shook his head with obvious disgust. “But the wicked witch is dead!” “Her flying monkeys are still alive,” the nurse answered, “and they’ll send a report to the property manager.” The crowd murmured their agreement. It was too much for Andi to take in at once. She waited for her sister to snap her cell phone shut before asking, “Do you think she fell out of the window?” Jessie shrugged. “Won’t know ‘til after the investigation.” This woman’s death had to be an accident. If it wasn’t, that left—murder.