Disorderly Conduct. Mary Feliz

      LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Copyright

      Lyrical Press books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2018 by Mary Feliz

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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      Kensington Publishing Corp.

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      Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

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      LYRICAL PRESS Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      First Electronic Edition: July 2018

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0526-7

      eISBN-10: 1-5161-0526-5

      First Print Edition: July 2018

      ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0529-8

      ISBN-10: 1-5161-0529-X

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      For the hardworking members of California Fish and Wildlife, who protect our natural resources with their hearts, souls, and lives. May we one day compensate you and outfit you in accordance with the work we ask of you.

      Acknowledgments

      Thanks, as always, to my editors, Martin Biro and Rebecca Cremonese. And to everyone at Kensington and Lyrical, including those I’ve not yet met, who have worked to put Maggie’s stories into the hands of readers. And to everyone in Sisters in Crime, a fantastic organization of women and men who get it. And to my husband, George, who, among all the many other wonders he brings to my life, holds everything together while I spend time with my imaginary friends in Orchard View.

      Chapter 1

      A crisis is a terrible time to develop an emergency plan. Be prepared.

      From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald

      Simplicity Itself Organizing Services

      Sunday, August 6, 8:00 a.m.

      I told the kids it was a drill. I told myself it was a drill. But I wasn’t fooling anyone, especially not the cats.

      Late summer in California is fire season, and the potential consequences had never been more apparent, nor closer to home. Air gray and thick with smoke and unburned particulates was so dry it hurt to breathe. My compulsive refreshing of the Cal Fire website throughout the night revealed that the cause was an illegal campfire abandoned on the coastal side of the Santa Cruz Mountains. Thirty-six hours later, it now encompassed miles of state- and county-owned hiking areas and threatened to jump the ridge and barrel down on the South Bay, Orchard View, and our family home.

      This morning, a dry wind originating in the Central Valley had driven the firestorm back across land it had already transformed to charred desert. Firefighters hoped it would burn itself out due to lack of fuel, but I knew anything could happen at any time, and I needed my family to be ready.

      Like everyone else in flammable California, we work year-round to keep vegetation from growing too close to our house. Wide stone and concrete verandas surround our hundred-year-old Craftsman house on three sides, while our paved driveway and parking area protect the east-facing walls. A plowed firebreak separates our barn and field from the summer-dry creek that borders our land.

      “Do you want these in the car, Mom?” Brian, now thirteen, would one day tower over me. For now, I pretended that perfecting my posture and straightening my spine would maximize my five-foot six-inches and preserve my position as the taller one. Brian held an empty cat carrier in each hand.

      “Leave them here in the kitchen for now. Leave the crate doors open.”

      “David,” I called to my fifteen-year-old, who was now unquestionably the tallest in the family. To the chagrin of my husband, Max, David had recently gained the few inches he required to realize that Max’s luxuriant walnut-colored curls were thinning. “Make sure to leave room on the back seat for the animals and two passengers.”

      “Two?” David entered the kitchen from the top of the basement stairs.

      “Ideally, we’ll take both cars. But I want to be prepared for anything.” I tilted my head toward the view outside the kitchen windows. A plume of smoke filled the sky on the far side of the ridge to the west. “If that blaze shifts direction and marches this way, we’ll need to clear out fast, no matter what. If one of the cars breaks down, I want us all to be able to jump into the other one.”

      “We could strap Brian to the roof.” David’s eyes twinkled as he nudged his younger brother.

      I rolled my eyes, but a smile escaped when I saw that both of my thrill-seeking boys were intrigued by the idea. I turned my attention back to packing up snacks, water, and our perishable food. Our initial plan, should we be forced to evacuate, was to camp out in the living room of my dearest friend, Tess Olmos, whose son, Teddy, was fourteen and a buddy of both Brian and David.

      Tess’s house was a great Plan A, but I’m a belt-and-suspenders kind of gal and I needed a backup strategy. We packed as though we might resort to Plan B and end up in a shelter for a day or two. As a professional organizer, it’s part of