X (Kinsey Millhone 24)

I waited only briefly before Mrs. Fremont, the administrative assistant, approached. She was a tall, big-boned woman in her seventies with a wiry topknot of gray curls and emphatic eyebrows that she’d penciled in herself two inches higher than one would expect. She wore heavy silver earrings and a pair of narrow glasses with black frames that rested low on her nose.

I leaned my elbows on the counter and said, “I’m hoping you can give me some help. I have an elderly couple living next door, Joseph and Edna Shallenbarger. Mrs. Shallenbarger’s concerned about their water bill being so high. Her husband’s disabled and neither one of them drives, so I said I’d see what I could find out. They moved here from Perdido in January and she’s been shocked at how expensive it is.”

“I don’t know why. The rates should be the same.”

“That’s what I said. I wondered if they might have a leak in their service lateral. Most of those old galvanized iron pipes are seventy years old. You get a break, it’s costly to locate and even worse to replace. Sewer or water lines break on a homeowner’s property, it’s up to the homeowner to remedy the problem.” I thought I did a creditable job of rendering the plumber’s point of view, and she must have thought so, too.

“Oh, don’t I know it. Comes as a shock to some. Give me that name and address and I’ll see what we’ve got.”

I gave her the information and watched her write it on a slip of paper that she took with her to the row of file cabinets on the far wall. She found the proper drawer and picked her way through the documents until she found what she was looking for. The fact that there was a file in the Shallenbargers’ name assured me that they’d applied for service, which would be happy news for Henry. She removed a slim file and returned to the counter. She opened the cover and leafed through several sheets of paper. The glasses worn low on her nose gave her an air of authority.

“You’re not on computer yet?” I asked.

“They’re threatening. I’d like to know what we’ll do if the power goes out.”

She pursed her lips while she read the information and then shook her head as though reluctant to contradict the elderly. “I’m not sure what she’s worried about. According to our records, water consumption has stayed about the same.”

“Really? Well, that’s good news. You’re comparing the same three months last year?”

“Yes, ma’am. They must be doing a good job of conservation.”

“I can’t argue with that,” I said.

What interested me was the printed form on top that Edna had filled out by hand and signed. Even upside down I could see it was labeled OCCUPANT COURTESY BILLING APPLICATION. I put my finger on it. “What’s that?”

She glanced down. “That would be the application they filled out when they initiated service.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

She put a quick hand out to restrain me, but I’d already turned the file around. She said, “It may not be appropriate for you to read the file.”

“I thought this was public information.”

“Well, yes, but some of it is personal.”

“I’m just looking at the top sheet.”

I turned the file so we were both looking at it from the same angle. “See there. The only personal information on the application is the service address, which I already know because I live right next door to them. They asked me to come down here and so there’s no breach of privacy.” I pointed to the lower portion of the form. “Who’s Calvin Sanchez?”

“The property owner. He’s required to sign the same form, agreeing to be jointly or severally responsible for any amounts due the Santa Teresa Water District if the occupant fails to pay.”

“I thought the Shallenbargers bought the place. Aren’t they the owners?”

She shook her head. “Tenants.”

“Really! I had no idea. You learn something new every day, don’t you?” I could have told her that “Calvin Sanchez” was most likely a figment of Edna’s imagination, but I thought I’d better check further before I mentioned it to anyone.

I relinquished my hold on the file, and Mrs. Fremont closed it, saying, “If your Mrs. Shallenbarger believes she’s been billed incorrectly, she can always call or stop by. We’ll be happy to talk to her.”

“I’ll let her know. Thanks so much for your time.”

When I left the water department, I realized all I’d done was to burden myself with another problem. In a curious way, I knew Henry would have a hard time staying worked up about the water theft. Initially, he might have been dismayed, perhaps genuinely angry, but I knew his conscience would kick in, undermining his good sense and overruling his belief in the virtues of honesty. He’d start to feel sorry for the pair—poor sweet old folks forced to resort to such measures. It would be one of those “there but for the grace of God” moments. He’d think about how fortunate he and his siblings were: able-bodied, mentally sharp, blessed with good health, and comfortable financially because they’d figured out all those years ago that saving for the future, while not always easy, would be prudent.