CHAPTER FOUR – WHAT CAROL HAD BEEN PROMISED
By evening, a licensed pest specialist had inspected Daniel’s living room.
Her name was Priya Nair, and she had spent an hour checking the floor rug, baseboards, and furniture with a bright hand lens.
She confirmed that the insects inside the collected cup were bedbugs.
She found no signs that an established infestation had developed in Daniel’s house, though follow-up monitoring was prudent.
The cup had been sealed tightly enough that none appeared to have escaped.
“Someone went to considerable trouble to deliver a problem that wasn’t here,” Priya said.
Daniel showed her a photograph of the yellow tags at Maple Court.
“Can a contractor declare all of this contaminated just by walking around?”
“Not responsibly,” she said.
“A proper assessment has to identify actual evidence and distinguish treatment needs from disposal decisions.
”
She refused to speculate about Maple Court without inspecting it herself.
Ortiz called just after six.
The cup’s unusual label had yielded a small lead.
A wholesaler sold similar specimen containers to legitimate pest-control training facilities.
The handwritten number did not identify a customer, but the detectives wanted to speak to anyone who had handled such supplies recently.
They also wanted Daniel to stay away from Carol’s house.
He promised he would.
Then, while taking the empty recycling bin toward his garage, he noticed Carol sitting alone on her back steps.
Her porch light illuminated a stack of white envelopes on the railing.
She looked older without her customary fury.
“They’ll blame me for all of it,” she said when she saw him.
Daniel stopped beyond the fence.
“Who will?”
Carol tightened her cardigan.
“You think you know what you’re looking at.”
“I know you put live insects inside my living room.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt anybody.”
“You brought them to my house.”
She looked at her hands.
“It was supposed to be a demonstration.”
“What kind of demonstration?”
“They said the building needed a warning before somebody carried those coats inside.”
Daniel did not move closer.
“Who said that?”
Carol’s gaze flicked toward the street.
“You have your police friends.”
“They’re investigating something you chose to do.”
“I had bills,” Carol whispered.
For the first time in their six years as neighbors, Daniel heard fear rather than indignation in her voice.
“Bills don’t make this an accident,” he answered.
Carol stood abruptly.
“I don’t owe you my life story.”
She closed her door before he could reply.
Daniel immediately called Ortiz and described the exchange.
He did not mention that, for one brief moment, he had almost asked Carol whether she needed help.
The truth was that he was angry enough to frighten himself.
He wanted an explanation, but he did not want to become the person who supplied Carol with a convenient excuse.
Later that evening Nina called from Maple Court.
The regional office had posted a notice announcing that some residents would need temporary accommodation during a remediation program.
The notice gave them less than twelve hours to move personal items marked for removal.
“They’ve arranged a bus,” Nina said.
“A bus to where?”
“The Fairview Motor Lodge.”
“For how long?”
“It doesn’t say.”
Daniel heard her son asking whether he could take his school project.
“They told us to leave anything yellow-tagged behind,” she said.
“Some people have entire bedrooms tagged.”
Daniel watched rain streak the garage window.
A single plastic cup had been pushed into his living room, but the plan behind it was moving an entire building before breakfast.
