Hide and Snoop (The Odelia Grey Mysteries) by Sue Ann Jaffarian

noise from the wide, busy street on the other side. When driving down Jamboree, you could see such sound-reduction measures coupled with the wall that encircled the entire development.
    The stubby street was quiet, with only a few cars in evidence. A new Toyota Sienna was parked in the driveway next to Erica’s house, but there was no sign of neighborly life and none on the other side of Erica’s either. Could be everyone was at work or the rain was keeping them inside, or both. The home on the right was a two-story, the other a single-story structure like Erica’s. The properties were divided from each other by chest-high hedges trimmed to razor sharpness. Erica’s house was a cheerful sage-green stucco with white trim and an attached two-car garage. In her driveway was a white Ford Focus—not new, but well maintained. I knew Erica drove a silver Lexus sports coupe. There was no sign of it, unless it was in the closed garage.
    I drove my car around the curve of the cul-de-sac and parked just past the house, with the nose of my car pointing towards the opening of the street. Getting out of the car, I smoothed my slacks and adjusted my jacket, thankful it had stopped raining. As I walked up the drive to the front door, my rubber-soled shoes squeaked on the wet concrete.
    I had to ring the doorbell twice before anyone answered. On either side of the front door were narrow opaque windows. I tried to see through them but couldn’t. I was about to ring a persistent third time when the door was opened by a young, shapely woman in jeans and a long-sleeved, form-fitting tee shirt with the sleeves pushed up almost to the elbows. She appeared to be in her early twenties, and if I had to venture a guess, I’d say she was Filipino.
    “May I help you?” she asked, looking me full in the face with sharp almond eyes that dared me to be selling something or campaigning for a political cause. If I had been, I would have lied, because it was easy to see this woman was having none of that. Not today, not ever.
    “Um, maybe I have the wrong house,” I stammered. “I was looking for the Mayfield residence.” When she offered nothing, I prodded, “Does Erica Mayfield live here?”
    “Yes, she does. May I ask what is your business?” The question was direct and confident. I wondered if maybe my assumption about Mark and Erica being romantically involved was wrong. Maybe Erica pitched for the other team and this sassy and pretty lass was her main squeeze. She certainly acted like the lady of the house.
    Shaking off hesitation, I started on the fabricated reason for my visit. “I’m Odelia Grey. I work at Ms. Mayfield’s firm.”
    “And?”
    Apparently my law-firm credentials weren’t good enough. “I need to speak to Racel,” I added, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
    She crossed her arms in front of her in a challenging stance. “I’m Racel.”
    The young woman standing in front of me did not look or act like any cleaning lady I’d ever met. My housekeeper, Cruz, was a short, squat grandmother in her sixties. Racel looked more like a university coed with a prominent ’tude. I went headlong into the next portion of my story.
    “I’m looking after Lily Holt, and she’s asking for a doll or something like that. I think Erica forgot to pack it.” Lily wasn’t asking for anything outside of her mother, but I figured a kid in distress might get my foot in the door a lot easier than simply firing away with questions.
    Racel stuck her chin out. “Wouldn’t surprise me, the way she handled that kid.”
    “May I come in and look for it?” I suggested, hoping she wouldn’t simply disappear and return with something soft and fuzzy and send me packing. From the tone of her voice, it didn’t sound like Racel was any more pleased with the way Lily was treated than I was. If so, she just might spill some information I could use. After a bit of hesitation, Racel opened the door for me to enter.
    Erica’s home was