And the smaller camera covering the pool deck had a clear view of the patio and side entrance.
I didn't want to spend my life monitoring security footage.
But the president had already entered without permission twice, and the written trespass warning made it important to preserve an accurate record if she returned.
I also moved a small outdoor chair that partially blocked the camera's view of the gate.
Then I went inside.
My attorney had advised me not to engage in another direct argument if the president appeared.
I should tell her to leave.
Avoid physical confrontation.
And contact the appropriate authorities if necessary.
I agreed.
The last thing I wanted was a shouting match that could place me or someone else in danger.
I made sure the grill was clean.
Marinated the burgers.
Prepared the vegetables.
And set the outdoor table for four guests plus myself.
Then I went to bed.
For the first time in weeks, I slept reasonably well.
I woke on Saturday morning thinking about lunch.
Not the HOA.
That peace lasted until early afternoon.
At eleven-thirty, I checked the swimming pool.
The water was clear.
The equipment was functioning properly.
And the patio was clean.
I opened the umbrella, placed towels on the chairs, and carried a tray of food outside.
My sister called to say she'd be arriving around one-thirty because the children were finishing an activity at the recreation center.
I told her that was fine.
Then I changed into my bright-red swimming trunks.
The afternoon was hot.
I planned to swim before lunch.
I stepped into the pool, completed several easy laps, and climbed out feeling better than I had in days.
The water cooled my shoulders.
The quiet backyard felt like my own again.
I dried my hands, opened the grill, and began preparing the burgers.
There was no music.
No shouting.
No crowd.
The only sounds were birds in the trees, distant traffic, and the steady hiss of meat cooking.
I had just turned the second burger when I heard someone shouting beyond the fence.
"YOU THINK YOU CAN IGNORE ME?"
I closed my eyes.
I knew the voice.
The latch on the side gate rattled.
Then a sharp metallic sound came from the lock.
I turned.
The gate swung inward.
And the HOA president marched into my backyard wearing a light-blue satin pajama set.
Her silver-blonde hair was slightly disheveled.
She looked as though she'd been watching my property from her house and rushed over without bothering to change.