I pulled out of the lot with a quick look at my watch. It was just after nine and the county offices would be open. I returned to my office and left the car in the driveway, then hiked the five blocks to the courthouse. I went up the stairs to the county clerk’s office, where I sat at a small computer in the reception area and typed in the Shallenbargers’ street address. I don’t consider myself computer literate, but this was a simple machine with a limited number of functions, more like a typewriter with a quiet keyboard and no carriage return.
From the street address, I was able to pick up the assessor’s parcel number, which in turn provided me the name of the owners of the property: Dale and Trish Adelson. Edna had given Henry the impression they’d bought the property, but I don’t know that she’d come right out and said so. The Shallenbargers were apparently renting the house, which clarified one point. Then I wondered if they were sticking Henry for their entire water bill or just the portion they were using for irrigation. I thought he’d be interested in the answer as well if he was calculating his losses.
The Santa Teresa Water District has offices in City Hall, some five blocks away. It was by then 9:30 and I’d caught them in a lull between customers. Both clerks were on the telephone, but one acknowledged my presence. There were four or five desks with the usual stacks of paperwork, gray metal file cabinets, upright files, fluorescent lights overhead, and a few personal items on the desktops, but in the main the atmosphere was one of industry and efficiency.
I waited only briefly before Mrs. Fremont, the administrative assistant, approached. She was a tall, big-boned woman in her seventies with a wiry topknot of gray curls and emphatic eyebrows that she’d penciled in herself two inches higher than one would expect. She wore heavy silver earrings and a pair of narrow glasses with black frames that rested low on her nose.
I leaned my elbows on the counter and said, “I’m hoping you can give me some help. I have an elderly couple living next door, Joseph and Edna Shallenbarger. Mrs. Shallenbarger’s concerned about their water bill being so high. Her husband’s disabled and neither one of them drives, so I said I’d see what I could find out. They moved here from Perdido in January and she’s been shocked at how expensive it is.”
“I don’t know why. The rates should be the same.”
“That’s what I said. I wondered if they might have a leak in their service lateral. Most of those old galvanized iron pipes are seventy years old. You get a break, it’s costly to locate and even worse to replace. Sewer or water lines break on a homeowner’s property, it’s up to the homeowner to remedy the problem.” I thought I did a creditable job of rendering the plumber’s point of view, and she must have thought so, too.
“Oh, don’t I know it. Comes as a shock to some. Give me that name and address and I’ll see what we’ve got.”
I gave her the information and watched her write it on a slip of paper that she took with her to the row of file cabinets on the far wall. She found the proper drawer and picked her way through the documents until she found what she was looking for. The fact that there was a file in the Shallenbargers’ name assured me that they’d applied for service, which would be happy news for Henry. She removed a slim file and returned to the counter. She opened the cover and leafed through several sheets of paper. The glasses worn low on her nose gave her an air of authority.
“You’re not on computer yet?” I asked.
“They’re threatening. I’d like to know what we’ll do if the power goes out.”
She pursed her lips while she read the information and then shook her head as though reluctant to contradict the elderly. “I’m not sure what she’s worried about. According to our records, water consumption has stayed about the same.”
“Really? Well, that’s good news. You’re comparing the same three months last year?”
“Yes, ma’am. They must be doing a good job of conservation.”
“I can’t argue with that,” I said.
What interested me was the printed form on top that Edna had filled out by hand and signed. Even upside down I could see it was labeled OCCUPANT COURTESY BILLING APPLICATION. I put my finger on it. “What’s that?”
She glanced down. “That would be the application they filled out when they initiated service.”
“Mind if I take a look?”
She put a quick hand out to restrain me, but I’d already turned the file around. She said, “It may not be appropriate for you to read the file.”
“I thought this was public information.”
“Well, yes, but some of it is personal.”
“I’m just looking at the top sheet.”
I turned the file so we were both looking at it from the same angle. “See there. The only personal information on the application is the service address, which I already know because I live right next door to them. They asked me to come down here and so there’s no breach of privacy.” I pointed to the lower portion of the form. “Who’s Calvin Sanchez?”
“The property owner. He’s required to sign the same form, agreeing to be jointly or severally responsible for any amounts due the Santa Teresa Water District if the occupant fails to pay.”
“I thought the Shallenbargers bought the place. Aren’t they the owners?”