Chapter 31
Rhett
Made arrangements to get my furniture collection out of storage and brought to Palm Springs.
-From Rhett’s Most Important Things notebook, September 9th
Devon: I’m going to Calle Vista in a little bit. Do you want to come with?
To someone else, the text may seem indifferent, but I know that’s Devon for ‘please come support me.’ The homeowners haven’t returned her calls, and she needs to find out when the project will be back up and running. She’s nervous that they won’t want to keep her on, which is ridiculous, but that won’t stop me from showing up for her.
Me: You at your office? I can be there in an hour to pick you up.
Devon: Works for me, but meet me at Turbine instead.
Devon: Thanks for coming with me.
Me: Of course.
“Hi, McCoy,” Allie says, using my family name to greet me. In that moment I realize that in time, all of Devon’s friends will probably pick it up from her and do the same. “Quit your job yet?”
“No,” I laugh. “Not going to either.” I sit at the barstool next to Devon, wrapping my arm around to squeeze her shoulder. “Boss says I don’t have to.”
Allie’s mouth drops open in surprise. “He doesn’t?”
“Of course not,” Devon answers, turning her body into my hold. “It was absurd of you to tell him he should.”
Allie pauses pouring cold brew into a cup so she can prop her hands on her hips. “It absolutely was not absurd. You’ve been all hot and bothered about never dating anyone from work ever since professor What’s-his-ass.”
“Rhett is not him,” Devon answers, her tone more defensive than I’ve ever heard her use with one of her friends. “I’m not worried about it anymore.”
“Oh my god,” Allie gasps. She looks back and forth between Devon and me. “You—” her words drop off, and an entire conversation I can’t follow passes between these two best friends with only their eyes. “Well then,” Allie says, like something has been decided. “I’ll get your drinks ready so you can be on your way.”
When Allie turns around, I try to get Devon to explain, but she just shrugs and pretends she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
Drinks in hand, we make our way out to my truck that fortunately hasn’t ha d enough time to heat up in the desert sun.
“Do they know we’re coming?” I ask as I back out of the parking lot.
Devon flips down the visor to adjust her already perfect hair in the mirror. “Yeah, I finally heard back this morning. They actually apologized for taking so long to return my calls. They’ve been busy with their insurance company and the plumber, but they’re read to meet today.”
“Do they know I’m coming?” I ask.
“Yeah, they have updates for you too.”
It’s been a month since their house flooded, and I haven’t been back either since they haven’t had clearance to start work again.
“You ready?” I ask, shifting my truck into park.
“Yes, I am,” she says, back straight with confidence.
Mrs. Sandro greets us each with a warm smile, inviting us to sit down. She and Devon catch up for almost half an hour, barely mentioning a word about the project. I realize I’ve never seen her in this mode, but she’s completely in her element, connecting with her client and making her feel heard and cared about.
Eventually, Mrs. Sandro is the one who shifts the conversation. “I guess it’s time we get on to this nasty business with the plumbing. What’s the latest you heard?”
Devon shifts in her seat, the tiniest hint of nerves as she gives a quick rundown of what she knows. My hand twitches with the desire to reach out and hold hers, but I resist.
“Well, a lot more has happened since then. Follow me,” Mrs. Sandro says, standing up and moving toward down the hall. “Originally, we thought it was old plumbing, but they couldn’t find a crack anywhere. It turns out the water was coming from a couple of extremely loose fittings.”
Devon and I exchange a look. That’s odd. I’m no plumber, but even I know fittings don’t generally come loose on their own.
“The plumber assured us that he had double checked each one himself a week before the flood.” She looks over her shoulder at us as she pushes open a bathroom door. Inside, there’s a wall that’s been cut open to reveal the plumbing. “Do you know him? David? We haven’t worked with him before, but our neighbors have. He seems quite trustworthy.”
“I haven’t met him,” I answer.
Devon is quick to defend him. “I have only ever had great experiences with David. We’ve worked on at least a dozen projects together. I would be stunned if he were being dishonest.”
“That’s a relief to hear,” Mrs. Sandro says. “I thought so too, but this is all so bizarre. I don’t know what to think.” She points to the piping. “This wall was already open because of the remodel, and the flooding starting with that pipe. David and the person they sent out from the insurance company both think someone loosened them on purpose. But we can’t figure out who or why. I was hoping you’d have some ideas.”
A name comes to mind, although I don’t have any legitimate reason to suspect him. I keep my thoughts to myself and let Devon answer.
“I don’t want to accuse anyone,” she says.
“Of course not. Honestly, the insurance wants us to open a police investigation, so I’m sure it’ll all come out that way.”
Devon steps into the tub, inspecting the pipes, although I don’t know what she could be looking for. “Have you already talked to the rest of the crew?” she asks.
“No, we wanted to start with you. Honestly, we like you best.” I can’t stop my proud smile at her praise of Devon. “Thought you might know since it was mentioned in that garbage gossip blog.”
Whatever Devon feels about that, she doesn’t show it. “I’m working on figuring out why that blog happened, and who wanted to try to hurt my business.” She sighs. “I hate to think these two things are related, but it’s seeming like it might be, isn’t it?”
“You know we don’t blame you. We know this isn’t your fault. No offense, but I’ve never seen you hold a tool. I doubt you’d even know how to loosen a fitting.” Devon doesn’t hold tools because it isn’t her job.
Devon considers her words before continuing. “I may have some information that could help you, but I have to do some more digging first. I’ll reach out to you as soon as I have something.” Mrs. Sandro pushes for details, but Devon’s careful and says she’s not going to incriminate anyone without proof.
As soon as Devon and I are back in my truck, she says, “I think it was Alex.”
“That’s what I was thinking too. What the fuck is that guy’s problem?”
“I still haven’t found proof that he was working with Trina to try to tank Friday West, but I’m close. I think she must have been paying him or something. Although, the idea that he would stoop this low surprises me.”
“Not me,” I say, pulling out of the Sandros’ neighborhood.
“Just because someone calls me a bitch doesn’t mean they’re going to be willing to intentionally flood someone’s house.”
Anger at the memories tightens my jaw. “That’s enough reason for me to believe it.”
She scoffs, and from the corner of my eye I see her scrolling rapidly on her phone. “He called me from the house really early on the day of the flood. At the time, I thought he was the one who discovered it,” she says, continuing to scroll. “Ah! There it is. He called me at five-fifty-six from the jobsite. Have you ever known him to show up to work before seven-thirty?”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “He usually shows up later to work than any GC I’ve ever known.”
“I’m adding this to my little pile of evidence. Haven’t figured out quite what to do with all of it yet, but I’m done letting this fly.” During the rest of the ride to her office, she fills me in on everything else her and Bea have discovered.
When we get there, a woman I recognize from Trina’s place is waiting inside with Bea.
“I’m so glad you decided to come,” Devon greets her.
“It’s about time someone did something about this,” the woman responds.