Then she asked, "Where's your daughter?"
"Inside."
I glanced toward the house.
The question made my stomach tighten.
Our daughter had been excited about the pool party for weeks.
I'd promised her that everything would be ready.
And now I was going to have to explain why the swimming pool was suddenly off-limits.
My wife arrived home before the officers.
She entered through the garage carrying grocery bags and a small paper package from the bakery. I met her in the kitchen.
She looked surprised to see my expression.
"What happened?"
I took a breath.
"Somebody dumped garbage into the pool."
She stared.
"What?"
I explained.
The former president.
The bags.
The gray trash bin.
The new HOA president appearing from behind the fence.
The recording.
And the eighteen-thousand-dollar cleanup notice.
My wife listened without interrupting.
Then she walked toward the sliding glass doors.
When she saw the pool, she stopped.
For several seconds, she didn't speak.
Then she whispered, "Oh, my God."
I moved beside her.
The two black garbage bags floated in water that had been perfectly clear only an hour earlier. Loose debris had gathered near the steps, and the patio looked like someone had emptied the contents of a neglected trash container across the stone.
My wife covered her mouth.
"Our daughter's party."
I nodded.
"I know."
She looked toward me.
"Tomorrow."
"I know."
Her eyes filled.
I reached for her hand.
"We'll figure something out."
She shook her head.
"Why would anyone do this?"
I looked toward the gate.
"I think she wanted to create a cleanup bill."
My wife stared.
"What?"
I explained the vendor schedule.
The same amount.
The work order submitted before the garbage was dumped.
Her expression changed from shock to anger.
"She planned this?"
"That's what the records suggest. It still needs to be investigated."
My wife looked toward the water.
Then she said something that hurt more than I expected.
"She knew children used this pool."
I nodded.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then we heard footsteps behind us.
Our daughter stood near the kitchen doorway.
She was wearing a pale-yellow T-shirt and shorts, and she'd been carrying a small bag of blue decorations.
She looked from her mother to me.
Then toward the pool.
Her smile disappeared.
"Daddy?"
I turned.
"Sweetheart."
She approached the glass.
Then she stopped.
Her eyes widened.
"Why is there trash in the water?"
I knelt beside her.
For several seconds, I struggled to answer.