TWENTY-NINE
Rachel’s next act of business was to call Charles Amos, the president of the residents’ association for the condo. He picked up on the second ring.
“Charles, it’s Rachel,” she said after she heard his raspy voice. “I need to talk to you, so I hope this is a good time.”
“Do you want me to come down to your office?”
“Yes, that would be a good idea. This is important.”
“On my way now.” Charles hung up the phone.
Five minutes later, Charles walked into her office. He was a skinny man with a shock of white hair bushing out from his head, giving him a top-heavy appearance. His eyebrows were unusually bushy as well, and he sported an equally plush white mustache. He didn’t hesitate to sit in the guest chair across from Rachel.
“What’s so important?” he asked, crossing his lanky
