She twisted the peach free.
Then, deliberately maintaining eye contact, she dropped it into her handbag.
I stared at her.
"You're doing that right in front of me?"
She lifted her chin.
"I'm the HOA president. I know what belongs to this community."
I nodded slowly.
"That's an interesting statement."
"Excuse me?"
"Because that's exactly what I was hoping you'd say."
She frowned.
I reached into my pocket and removed my phone.
The security-camera screen showed her standing beside the wall.
Pink blouse.
White pants.
Small handbag.
One peach already inside.
Another still hanging above her shoulder.
A red warning tag was attached to the branch.
She followed my gaze.
"What is that?"
"A warning."
She leaned closer.
The tag read:
HOT PEPPER GARDEN TREATMENT β DO NOT PICK OR EAT UNTIL WASHED.
She scoffed.
"You can't scare me with some ridiculous sign."
"I'm not trying to scare you."
I glanced toward the peach in her hand.
"I'm telling you there's food-safe pepper seasoning on some of the fruit because I've been testing a garden treatment."
Her expression hardened.
"You think you can tell me what to eat?"
"No."
I put the phone down.
"I'm telling you what I put on my own fruit. You should leave it alone."
She gave me a mocking smile.
Then she raised the peach.
And took a large bite.
For approximately two seconds, nothing happened.
Then her expression changed.
Her eyes widened.
She stopped chewing.
Her cheeks reddened.
A sharp cough escaped her throat.
She spat the bite onto the grass.
"Whatβ"
She coughed again.
"What did you DO?"
I remained beside the tree.
"I warned you."
Her face twisted.
She threw the remaining peach toward my lawn.
"You poisoned me!"
"No. That's food-grade chili seasoning, and I told you not to eat it."
She reached into her handbag, searching frantically for a tissue.
Then she pointed toward me.