I glanced toward the irrigation controller mounted near the house.
“I need to stop the water.”
Camila looked at the broken head.
“Can you do that without approaching the other person?”
“Yes. The controller is on the wall beside the patio.”
She nodded.
“Go ahead. I'll observe.”
I stepped toward the controller and used its ordinary shutoff function. The water pressure gradually dropped, and the spray became a weak stream before stopping completely. Patricia watched with a strange expression, as though she'd expected the damage to continue until she was ready to declare herself the only person capable of fixing it.
I turned toward the detective.
“Thank you.”
Camila nodded.
Then she looked toward the house.
“Mr. Brooks, would you like a moment to get dressed?”
For the first time, I remembered I was standing outside in a bath towel.
I almost laughed.
“Yes, Detective. I would.”
Patricia made a contemptuous sound.
“Finally.”
Camila turned toward her.
“Ms. Voss, I need you to stop addressing him.”
The president looked offended.
But she fell silent.
I walked into the house, found a clean navy-blue polo shirt and dark jeans, and dressed quickly. Then I called my sister, Renee, who lived fifteen minutes away and helped with Lena whenever my work became overwhelming.
She answered immediately.
“Daniel?”
“Hey.”
Something in my voice must have concerned her.
“What happened?”
I looked toward the backyard.
“Patricia came through the gate and smashed the sprinkler by Nadia's garden.”
There was silence.
Then Renee said, “What?”
“I caught her doing it. A detective's here.”
My sister took a sharp breath.
“Is Lena home?”
“No. She's at her friend's birthday party.”
“Thank God.”
I closed my eyes.
Renee continued, “Are you okay?”
“I'm not hurt.”
“That wasn't my question.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
For several seconds, I couldn't answer.
Then I whispered, “I'm so angry I can barely think.”