Park Granada ended at a T intersection with Parkway Calabasas and the ornate wrought-iron front gates of Vista Grande, which had two massive rocky fountains, one flanking the exit side and one on the entrance side, that spilled into large ponds. It could have been the entrance to one of the Las Vegas Strip’s hotel-casinos. All that was missing, Eve thought, was a volcano, dancing water, and a Frank Sinatra tune blaring from speakers hidden in the lush tropical landscaping.
The light turned green and she drove through the busy intersection into Vista Grande, where the entranceway forked into two lanes, one for community guests that passed by the window of the Spanish-Mediterranean-style guardhouse and one for residents who had decals on their windows. The resident’s lane was also used by vehicles from utilities like Edison, Spectrum Cable, and PacBell, from official state and local government, from law enforcement agencies and the fire department, as well as for regular deliveries from the post office, FedEx, Amazon, UPS, and, Eve believed, anybody with a car with a base sticker price over $75,000. She took the resident’s lane.
“I don’t see why they bother with the gates,” Eve said as she waved at the uniformed guard, a young man who waved back at them and hit the button that opened the rolling gate, proving her assumption. She hadn’t bothered to put a Vista Grande resident decal on the Rolls and hadn’t been stopped at the gate yet. “It’s a joke.”
“Maybe so, but they get a lot less crime in the gated communities than they do in the ones that are wide open,” Duncan said. “The cameras catch the license plates and faces of everyone who drives in and out. That’s a big deterrent.”
“Not to the home invaders we’re after.”
Eve drove up the steep hill. Both sides of the street were lined with mini-mansions in the same Spanish-Mediterranean style as the front gate guardhouse with red-tiled roofs, perfectly manicured landscaping, lots of German-made cars in the driveways, and hardly a security camera in sight. Or, she knew, even out of sight.
“The gates give the residents a false sense of security,” Eve said. “They have Ring doorbells, simple alarms they rarely turn on, and are too lazy to lock their doors and windows. They might as well have lighted signs on their front lawns that say ‘Come and get it.’”
“Maybe that’s what we need,” Duncan said. “Though I am in no hurry for this assignment to end.”
“It’s a bore,” Eve said.
She made the comment just as they pulled into the pressed-concrete faux-cobblestone driveway of their two-story house, which they’d told neighbors they were renting until they could build a new home in Malibu. It was on a corner lot and had a low stucco wall around the front perimeter for decorative purposes rather than for providing any privacy or security.
Eve got out and walked around to the other side of the Rolls to get the grocery bag and the walker out of the back seat. Duncan didn’t actually need the walker, but she wanted to play it safe. She didn’t know who might be watching. There were gardeners working next door. A pool man’s truck was parked across the street. An Amazon truck cruised up the hill. She opened his door and held the walker for him.
Duncan slipped his feet back into his shoes, got out of the car, and smiled. “I could stay here until my retirement party.”
“This is your retirement party.”
Eve walked past him to unlock the front door, which was mostly glass and ineffective from a security standpoint. Not only could the glass be broken, allowing easy access to the dead bolt and doorknob, but anybody walking up to the door could see the marble foyer, the grand staircase, and the two-story great room with its massive windows that looked out over a lagoon-style pool, waterfall, and the homes on the opposite ridge.
They went inside, and Eve typed the alarm code into the keypad on the wall. It deactivated the alarm and also alerted the sheriff’s deputy assigned to watch them at Lost Hills station that they’d arrived home. Eve and Duncan also waved at the camera in the entry hall, one of a dozen throughout the house that were being monitored by the deputy at his computer screen. As an extra precaution, Eve and Duncan each had a tiny key fob in their pocket that, if pressed, activated all the hidden microphones in the house and alerted the observing deputy that they were in danger. Armed backup would be there in five minutes or less.
Duncan left the walker in the hallway as they went to the enormous kitchen, which was larger than Eve’s Calabasas condo and had a marble island with a dozen barstools around it. They sat down at the island and started unpacking the grocery bag from Bristol Farms, though the wine would go untouched, along with all the other alcohol they’d bought over the last four days. They were on duty 24/7 during this assignment.
“I don’t know why you’re whining,” Duncan said as he unwrapped his sandwich. “Living in this big house has got to be better than your room at the Hilton Garden Inn.”
She’d been staying at the hotel while her condo was being gutted and renovated after the fatal shooting that had occurred there, though, as time went on, she wasn’t entirely sure that she could ever move back. Eve went to the giant subzero refrigerator, took out a Diet Coke for each of them, and used her hip to close the door.