Neighborhood Watch by Andrew Neiderman Read Free Book Online Page A

specially, but what of it, he should be treated specially. This development and just about everything in it was his baby.
    Whatever pleasure and security these residents enjoyed, they enjoyed because of him.
    The buzzer sounded and he tapped his intercom button. Philip didn’t have a plush office in his construction company. It was spartan, a workplace and not a showplace. He had a handsome enough dark oak desk and an orthopedically designed desk chair. There were bookcases, primarily for the building codes, books on house design and books on
    construction practices and materials.
    Directly behind him and above the desk was a portrait of his father, John Thomas Slater, from whom Philip had inherited his sharply chiseled features and his black onyx eyes. It was his mother from whom he had inherited his competitive drive, his ambition and
    determination, but all the pictures he had of her were small. She always let his father believe he was the head of the household, the power and authority, even though it was she who came up with the strategies that made them wealthy. It was actually his mother who had given Philip the idea to develop a picturesque, secure community around Emerald Lake. Too bad she never lived to see the dream become a reality.
    To the right of the desk was a drafting table upon which was a scaled model of Emerald Lakes. Sometimes Philip would stand over it and gaze down on the miniature homes,
    feeling like a god, gigantic. He was filled with a sense of power and control. Anytime he wanted, he could add a street here, change a street there, extend a fence, build a wall, turn lights on and off, plant grass on the common grounds or change the landscaping. Across his office on the far wall was a large aerial photograph of Emerald Lakes—the
    development, the lake, and the surrounding roads—which reinforced this deific feeling.
    Aside from that photo, some architectural plans on the cork board, and a few plaques he had been given by community organizations for his contributions and achievements, the walls were bare. Across from his desk were two nail-head brown leather chairs and a brown leather settee. There were no ashtrays. Philip forbid smoking in his presence.
    He leaned forward to speak into the intercom.
    “Yes, Lorraine?”
    “Mrs. Del Marco is here to see you. She says it’s urgent.”
    “Send her right in,” he said and put his documents down only a moment before Angela Del Marco thrust open his office door and marched in, her sharp, high heels clicking over the hardwood floor. The tall, dark-haired woman fixed her furious eyes on him. Her lips were pressed so firmly together, the corners of her mouth whitened. She was a bit taller than Marilyn, but stouter and far less graceful. Right now she looked like she might lunge over the desk at him and tackle him like a football defensive end.
    “What can I do for you, Angela?” he asked, twisting his lips into a tight smile.
    “You can do something about this,” she said and thrust the citation at him. It floated quickly down on his desk. Although he knew what it was, he picked it up and read it.
    “Actually,” he said, sitting back, “you’re the only one who can do anything about it now.
    Make out a check and get it over with.” He put the citation down as close to the edge of the desk as he could.
    “This is ridiculous. Who does Nikki Stanley think she is sending me a . . . a fine?”
    “It’s legal and correct, Angela, and it isn’t Nikki Stanley; it’s the Neighborhood Watch committee after a unanimous decision, I might add.”
    “But—”
    “As I understand it, and correct me if I’m wrong, Nikki did attempt to settle this with you beforehand.”
    “And I told her my children have a right to play at their own home.”
    “Of course they do, Angela, but that’s not the issue, is it? Just imagine for a moment, if everyone in the development dangled old cans and baskets from their house roofs. You’ve ridden along some of these