Duncan gave Eve a glance. One more warrant to write up.
Eve asked, “Are there many pregnant women in the community?”
“There’s Tara Bowers on Park Naples. Naomi Eng on Park Umbria. And the Schnitzers’ daughter Claire on Park Positano,” Ruthie said. “Claire and her husband are living at home while they go to graduate school for their MBAs.”
“Could we have their addresses and phone numbers, please?”
Ruthie thought about that for a minute. “I suppose that’s okay. But if any residents raise a stink, you didn’t get the information from me.”
“Deal,” Eve said and Ruthie started writing down the information on a sheet of paper. “What about home care workers, like housekeepers and nurses? Are any of them pregnant?”
Ruthie answered while continuing to write. “Most of the maids arrive in the morning, at the bus stop over there, and walk up.” She pointed her pen to a bench at the corner. “And they are usually gone before I arrive so they can catch the bus home before their kids return from school, so I really don’t know any of them.”
Duncan looked at the bus stop, then up at the hill behind them, and shook his head. “I can’t imagine a homeowner who’d make a pregnant woman schlep up that hill to their house.”
“You’d be surprised, though a few will meet their maid down here with their car.” Ruthie tore the sheet of paper from her pad and handed it to Eve. “Nobody takes them downhill.”
“Thanks,” Eve said, pocketing the list. “Would the coming and going of the maids be in the log?”
“Honestly, no, the walkins get waved through. The morning guard knows them by their faces. He sees them every day.”
“And what about the maids and nurses who drive in?”
“They get waved in, too, but the camera will catch their license plates.” Ruthie narrowed her eyes at them. “Why are you so interested in all the pregnant women in Oakdale?”
“Can’t say,” Duncan said. “Thanks for your help, Ruthie. I owe you a baker’s dozen.”
“If you buy a dozen,” Ruthie said, “it’ll be a half dozen by the time you get the box here.”
He smiled at her. “You know me too well.”
Eve and Duncan got back into the Explorer and she started the engine.
“I’d like to visit the Bowers, Engs, and Schnitzers and see if all is well,” Eve said.
“You do that,” Duncan said. “I’ll go back to the station and get the warrant for the visitor logs and videos.”
Eve pulled out and made a U-turn around the guardhouse, and Ruthie opened the gate for them.
“Okay, but please sweet-talk the captain first.” Eve sped up the hill. “I won’t leave Oakdale until a deputy is stationed at the house, even if it means I’m the one who has to spend the night.”
“I admire your tenacity,” Duncan said. “But I’m afraid it’s going to kill you.”
Eve visited the women on Ruthie’s list and they were all fine. She asked each woman if they knew Anna McCaig but none of them did. The steep hills in the neighborhood, she was told, prevented a lot of walking and that cut down on kids playing in the street or the parents socializing.
After visiting the women, Eve parked in front of the McCaig house in her Subaru, rolled down the windows for the fresh air, and noticed half a dozen landscapers mowing and blowing at the home across the street. A box van and pickup truck emblazoned with the words GREEN’S GREENERY were parked out front. She was familiar with the trucks. They worked all the gated communities in Calabasas.
Eve got out of the car and crossed the street. As she did, one of the landscapers set down his Weedwacker, peeled away from the group, and met her, a smile on his face. He was lanky, with a day’s growth of beard on his ruddy face, his khaki shirt stained with sweat and dirt.
“I saw you a few times at Vista Grande,” he said. “But you looked very different.”
“Better car,” she said. “And more cleavage.”
He snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “That’s it. I’m Michael Green. I own this landscaping company.”
“Eve Ronin.” She showed him her badge. “Since you’re so observant, I wonder if you’ve noticed anything unusual at the house across the street over the last two days.”
“You mean besides all the cop cars, forensic vans, and morgue wagons today? No, I haven’t, but we weren’t here yesterday. Was somebody murdered?”