Page 27 of Once Upon a Lie

Love, Alfred

Boyfriend, maybe? Friend? Someone involved with her father?

Before I can think too hard about it, the sound of footsteps sends me into action.

Shit.

I shove the note in my pocket and hop out of the dumpster before some neighbor can catch me and plaster that shit all over the HOA group chat.

That sure as hell wouldn’t help me get close to Valentina, now, would it?

But this note might.

Time to figure out who Alfred is.

8

Valentina

Wednesday, October 6

6:00 p.m.

The violation ticket is pink—violently pink—and taped to my mailbox like Rita Fortune wanted to shame me in a color visible from outer space.

I stare at it, reading each hostile word in disbelief.

Notice of Magnolia Condos Hoa Violation

Resident: Valentina Cordone, Unit 1707

Infraction: Negligent Waste Management

Fine: $50 (pay within 48 hours)

Note: Because of your incompetence with ensuring your trash bags were closed, unsealed garbage lured a family of raccoons into our maintenance room. Accountability is the cornerstone of community excellence.

Signed: R. Fortune, HOA President

Rita doesn’t just issue fines—she keeps records.

“Negligent waste management?” I mutter to myself. I’m never negligent with my waste! “I didn’t even do anything, and Rita’s acting like I hand-fed raccoons a buffet in the trash room!”

“Well, raccoons are opportunistic omnivores,” a voice says right beside me.

I nearly fling the ticket at the ceiling at the sight of my neighbor Stanley standing right there—so close to my mailbox you’d think he was legally married to it.

How the hell did he sneak up on me so quietly?

“Give raccoons even a whiff of carbs,” he adds, “and they’ll build a nest and start a family.”

Stanley is one of many of Magnolia Condos’ residents with . . . hobbies. Some people knit. Some people garden. Some people love to work out. For Stanley, it’s all about the mailboxes.

“I straightened that for you earlier.” He taps the violation in my hand. “The tape was crooked.”

“Well, we couldn’t have that, could we?” I say, forcing a smile.

“Nope.” Stanley rocks back on his heels as he slides his hands into his pockets. His eyes dance as they drift downward to my mailbox slot like he’s Gollum and it’s the Ring. “Looks like you’ve got a few envelopes in there . . .”