As they quickened their pace toward the clubhouse, Rex felt proud of Viv's indignation. She didn't just let things slide. Plus her sensitivity to the safety of babies and young children came naturally; she'd been a doula for most of her adult life.
Originally he wanted to attend the HOA meeting just to be with her. He planned on making comments about the upkeep of the Desert Tortoise Estates landscape. A safe and common topic for that kind of gathering.
But he had to admit that the artificial turf, scattered with planters of living greenery, looked very tidy and well kept. As was the outside of the community clubhouse where the HOA meetings were held.
Solar lights lined the pathway to the front entrance of the clubhouse. As for the main building, clay roofing contrasted nicely with the tan stucco outer walls. The artificial turf, trimmed to fit against a secondary sand border, added to the effect. No weeds in sight, Rex thought. Plus the Joshua trees, planted sparingly, made the fake turf look real.
"They remind me of Dr. Seuss illustrations." Vivienne nodded toward the trees. "They aren't trees exactly, but they are so much more than bushes."
"It took some getting used to, when I moved here. But now I'm growing quite fond of the scraggly little fellows," Rex admitted.
Once they stood in front of the clubhouse, he nodded to a sign taped on the glass door. "HOA meeting in the conference room," he read aloud. "This is the place." Rex opened the door to let her go first.
He immediately noticed the three oversized sofas. They'd been arranged for conversation in a horseshoe shape, with an enormous coffee table in the middle. The one side, left open toward the main window, overlooked the Desert Tortoise Golf Course.
Attention to the detail of a room was a habit of Rex's. Once he took in the furniture he'd consider the next step. He called it reading the room. Using his intuition and senses, he determined, Lots of parties have gone on here. Right underneath the facade there's a weird odor. Decay or deceit. Can't tell which.
One glance at the bar in the corner confirmed his impression. Deals are made in this room. Along with liberal amounts of booze. He turned to Viv. "They're not meeting here. Let's walk down the hall and have a look." He took her hand.
Closed doors lined each side of the hallway, reminding him of a hotel. At the end of the hall a sign taped to a door read “HOA meeting in session.” He hesitated, but only briefly. Without knocking, he reached for the handle.
One glance told him they were in the right place. A group of twenty or so folding chairs had been placed in the center of the room, all facing the same direction. A couple of feet in front of the chairs, men were seated around a conference table. Rex made a quick observation. All of them caucasian. Hair mostly shades of gray. Dressed in shirts with logos.
They stopped talking to look up.
If we sit in the back row it looks like we're afraid of the board. If we sit in the middle row, we aren't committed and we look wishy-washy. That's it. Front row for us.
Rex gestured toward the front row, where Viv sat demurely, hands folded in her lap. He sat next to her, leaning his body closer. She's like a magnet for me. Feeling the warmth of her skin, he concluded, Viv runs very warm when she's anxious. One of her tells.
Aware that his own nerves tingled, Rex narrowed his eyes. The heightened sense of excitement was a clue for him to pay attention. That something was coming next. Often the feeling was followed by images. He'd once tried to explain to Sutton how that worked, right before he hired her as his personal assistant.
"So you're not psychic," she'd said, skepticism in her voice.
"I'm just a guy with a committee in his head," Rex explained. "And I have pictures too. It may be because I've worked so many casinos, but images roll right behind my eyes like a slot machine, only no fruit. It's not like three lemons or anything. I never lose or win. I just see pictures and I have to decide what's important."
Sutton didn't ask any more questions after that.
Viv leaned over to whisper in his ear. "We seem to be the only people attending besides the group of six wearing pastel polo shirts."
She's got that right. I've never seen so many pastel polo shirts around a table at the same meeting. I wonder who's in charge? He blinked.
The image of a king-sized bed flashed briefly on his inner screen. Then a down comforter, followed by an unopened package of crisp, neatly folded white sheets. The label read: Embroidered Pinzon 400 thread count Egyptian cotton satin hotel stitch sheet set. Chic and elegant, soft and durable.
He blinked again. This time he saw fluffy pillows propped up against a quilted headboard. The images kept rolling. He blinked again, aware of a spark of excitement trickling down his spine.
Viv nudged him with her elbow. "Are you okay?" she whispered. "You have a funny look on your face."
Rex smiled, his nerves and images merging into a new sense of excitement. "I'm amazing, thank you." He took her hand in his, giving it a quick squeeze. Now that's what I call insight.
The images could only mean one thing. It didn't take a mentalist to figure that out. Viv and I are heading to her house right after this meeting. All those fancy sheets and fluffy pillows. I only have one thing to say. Yowzah!