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Justine Poole sat at her desk in the middle of the big open office of Spengler-Nash Security and stared at her computer screen. The image was from a security camera on the corner of a house’s roof. It was in color and it was clear. The equipment was high-end and well-aimed, focused on the front gate. The house wasn’t visible from this angle, but it was obviously large, like the two houses partially visible across the street, and it had a high hedge that Justine guessed must keep it very private from the ground level. The gate was also high, flanked by brick stanchions with antique-looking lights mounted on the tops. This was during bright daylight, so the lights were off. The stanchion on the right had a keypad and intercom facing the driveway.

A young woman was pushing a baby carriage up the sidewalk outside the fence toward the house. Behind Justine, Rena Todar said, “LA Mother of the Year. That baby can’t be more than three months old, but Mom’s already wearing a crop top to show off her abs.”

“Yes,” Justine said. “I’m thankful that I have a lovely personality and don’t have to cheapen myself with exercise and