Chapter 3: Assembling the Legion of Doom

Mrs. Higgins answered her door in a faded floral housecoat and curlers, clutching a cup of coffee that smelled strong enough to wake the dead. At seventy-three, she had the sharp eyes of a woman who'd spent decades watching the neighborhood from her front window perch, cataloging every delivery truck, teenage romance, and property dispute with the dedication of a Cold War spy.

"Alexandra Vance," she said, squinting through her screen door. "It's not even nine in the morning. This better be good."

"Mrs. Higgins, I need to talk to you about the Sullivans. And Mrs. Gable's son."

The older woman's expression shifted from irritation to interest, then to something approaching fury. She unlatched the screen door and stepped aside.

"Get in here. And don't drip on my carpet."

Mrs. Higgins' living room was a shrine to decades of careful collecting—doilies on every surface, family photos covering the mantle, and a front window that offered an unobstructed view of the Sullivan house. She gestured for Alex to sit on a plastic-covered sofa that crinkled with every movement.

"That boy," Mrs. Higgins spat, settling into her recliner with the air of someone preparing for battle. "Eleanor would be rolling in her grave if she knew what Richard was doing to that sweet family."

"You know about the price hike?"

"Honey, I know everything that happens on this street. Mark came over yesterday looking like someone had run over his dog. Told me the whole story." She leaned forward, her coffee cup forgotten. "Eighty thousand dollars more. Can you imagine? For a family with five children who've been nothing but respectful tenants for eight years."

Alex felt a flutter of excitement. This was even better than she'd hoped.

"Mrs. Higgins, what would you say if I told you there was a way to make sure the Sullivans get their house for the price Mrs. Gable promised?"

The older woman's eyes gleamed. "I'd say it's about time someone taught that boy a lesson about honoring his mother's word."

"It would involve... unconventional methods."

"Dear, I lived through the sixties. I know all about unconventional methods."

Twenty minutes later, Alex walked out of Mrs. Higgins' house with a co-conspirator and the promise of the world's most strategically located barbecue. The older woman had not only agreed to host a loud, smoky outdoor party during the open house, but had volunteered to invite every elderly relative and church friend she could muster.

"I'll tell them it's a prayer circle for Eleanor's memory," she'd said with a wicked grin. "They'll come in droves, and they'll all have opinions about property values and respectful young people. Loudly."

Alex's phone was buzzing before she reached her car. Big Dave again.

"Change of plans," his voice boomed. "The boys want to know if we can make this a charity ride. You know, officially. Makes it harder for anyone to complain about the noise if we're raising money for a good cause."

"What charity?"

"Local youth sports fund. Mrs. G used to donate to it every year. Figured it was fitting."

Alex grinned. "Dave, you're a genius. That's perfect."

"Gets better. My wife talked to her book club. Half of them knew Mrs. Gable from the library volunteer work. They want in."

"In how?"

"Bake sale. Right there on Maple Street. Saturday afternoon."

Alex blinked, trying to process this development. "A bake sale?"

"Think about it—dozen cars parked along the curb, tables set up on the sidewalk, kids running around with frosting on their faces. What house hunter wants to deal with that chaos?"

It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. What had started as a simple noise distraction was evolving into a full-scale community event. Alex made a mental note to kiss Dave's wife the next time she saw her.

Her next stop was the auto parts store where Tommy Chen worked during the week. She found him in the back, elbow-deep in the engine of a Honda that looked like it had survived at least three apocalypses.

"Alex!" He wiped his hands on a rag that might have been white once upon a time. "I've been thinking about Saturday. Got some ideas."

"I'm listening."

"So my cousin's got this food truck, right? Sells tacos and stuff. Real loud generator, lots of smoke from the grill. What if he just happened to break down right in front of the house? You know, mechanical trouble that requires a lot of revving and banging to fix?"

Alex stared at him. "Tommy, that's brilliant."

"Plus, my girlfriend's little brother is in a garage band. They've been looking for a place to practice. Something about their usual spot getting noise complaints."

"How loud are we talking?"

Tommy's grin was answer enough. "Let's just say they're not getting invited to any wedding receptions."

By noon, Alex's simple sabotage plan had snowballed into something resembling a small festival. Her phone hadn't stopped ringing as word spread through the interconnected web of local relationships that made small communities both wonderful and impossible to keep secrets in.

The rugby club was bringing their charity ride. The car club was staging a breakdown. Mrs. Higgins was hosting a barbecue prayer circle. The book club was running a bake sale. And now there was going to be a garage band providing a soundtrack to the chaos.

But Alex wasn't done. She had one more crucial phone call to make.

"Blackwater Elementary, this is Principal Martinez."

"Hi, Mr. Martinez. This is Alex Vance from The Crow's Nest. I wanted to talk to you about Saturday's charity event on Maple Street."

There was a pause. "What charity event?"

Alex explained the rugby club's fundraiser for youth sports, carefully omitting certain details about timing and motivation. Martinez listened with growing interest.

"That's wonderful, Ms. Vance. The Gable family has been generous supporters of our programs over the years. I'm sure Eleanor would be touched."

"Actually, that's why I'm calling. I was wondering if any of the kids might want to participate. Maybe the soccer team could do a car wash? I know they're always fundraising."

"The soccer team..." Martinez was clearly thinking. "You know what? That's a great idea. The kids have been looking for a way to honor Mrs. Gable's memory. She used to come to all their games."

Twenty minutes later, Alex had secured the enthusiastic participation of thirty elementary school soccer players, their parents, and enough car washing equipment to flood a small parking lot.

She was starting to feel like a conductor orchestrating a symphony of beautiful chaos.

Her phone rang again. Chloe.

"Alex, what the hell is going on? Mrs. Henderson just called to complain about Saturday's 'noise ordinance violations,' and I have no idea what she's talking about."

"Mrs. Henderson?"

"You know, the one with the perfect lawn who calls the city about everything. She says there's going to be motorcycles and loud music and food trucks, and she wants to know if we're responsible."

Alex's blood chilled. Mrs. Henderson was exactly the type of neighbor who would call the police at the first sign of trouble. Worse, she might tip off Richard Gable about what was really happening.

"Don't worry about Mrs. Henderson," Alex said, her mind already working on damage control. "I'll handle her."

"Alex—"

"Trust me. Just focus on getting ready for Saturday. We're going to need the house to look its absolute worst on the inside."

"About that..." Chloe's voice dropped to a whisper. "Mark thinks we're crazy. He keeps asking what happens if we get caught, what happens if this backfires, what happens if we make things worse."

Alex understood Mark's hesitation. He was a good man, the kind who followed rules and trusted systems. The kind who'd never had to learn that sometimes the only way to fight unfairness was with creative chaos.

"Chloe, look out your front window."

"What?"

"Just do it."

There was a pause, then a sharp intake of breath. "Oh my God. There are already cars slowing down to look at the house. Two different couples just walked by and pointed at the For Sale sign."

"Exactly. The vultures are already circling. By Saturday, if we don't do something, one of them is going to make an offer Richard can't refuse. And then what happens to your family?"

The line was quiet for a long moment. When Chloe spoke again, her voice was steady.

"What do you need us to do?"

"I need you to make the inside of that house look like a college dorm room decorated by someone with no taste and a lot of cats."

"We don't have cats."

"You will by Saturday. Mrs. Peterson from the animal shelter owes me a favor."

By the time Alex finally made it back to The Crow's Nest to open for the lunch crowd, her phone was dead and her head was spinning with logistics. But the foundation was laid. Saturday's open house was going to be an event that local real estate folklore would remember for decades.

She plugged in her phone and watched the messages flood in. Confirmations, questions, offers of additional help, and one angry voicemail from someone who was definitely Mrs. Henderson.

The last message made her smile. It was from Big Dave: "Wife says to tell you that Eleanor Gable would be proud. Also, we're bringing the fog machine from the church's Easter pageant. Figured it might add to the atmosphere."

Alex laughed out loud, startling a customer who was trying to order a sandwich. A fog machine. At this point, why not?

She had assembled her legion of chaos. Now it was time to prepare for war.

Richard Gable had no idea what was about to hit him.