She didn't want to disclose details of an inquiry that hadn't been fully established.
Instead, she explained that information received from the towing company suggested someone had described the vehicle as available for an organized event.
Isaiah stared.
For a moment, he couldn't speak.
Then asked.
"Without asking me?"
Rivera nodded.
"That's one of the questions we're examining."
Isaiah looked toward the Mustang.
He thought about his father's hands working under the hood.
The years of restoration.
And the thousands of hours they'd spent together.
Then he felt anger rising.
Not the quick anger of being insulted.
Something deeper.
Someone had been treating his father's car as though it were a business opportunity they could claim by making enough official-sounding demands.
He took a slow breath.
Then answered.
"Whatever they promised, I never gave them permission."
Rivera nodded.
"That's important information."
After the police left, Isaiah stood in the garage for a long time.
The neighborhood had returned to its ordinary Saturday rhythm.
A lawn mower hummed in the distance.
Children rode bicycles along the sidewalk.
A delivery truck stopped near the house across the street, and somewhere beyond the backyard fences, a dog began barking at a passing cyclist. Everything looked exactly as it had before the police arrived. But Isaiah Reed knew something important had changed.
For months, he'd been trying to convince himself that Pamela Whitcomb was simply an overzealous HOA president who enjoyed making unreasonable demands. Now he had reason to believe she and her son had been attempting to use the association's authority to gain possession of his father's Mustang. Worse, the officers had mentioned another homeowner whose truck had already been removed under questionable circumstances.
Isaiah walked slowly toward the yellow Fastback and rested one hand on its polished roof. The black racing stripes reflected the garage lights, and the chrome mirror showed a distorted image of his face. He remembered how his father had spent years protecting the car from rust, neglect, and mechanical failure, never imagining that someone would eventually try to take it through paperwork and intimidation.
His phone rang.
It was his mother.
"Baby, are you all right?"
Isaiah frowned. "I'm fine, Mom. Why?"
"Your sister called. She said the police were at your house."
He sighed. "Pamela called them because I wouldn't give her son the Mustang."
There was a long silence.
Then Anita said, "She wanted you to give him your father's car?"
"Apparently."
His mother exhaled sharply.