He glanced.
Probably a bird or delivery shadow.
Then another alert.
SIDE GATE OPENED.
His body went cold.
The detective saw his face.
“What?”
The homeowner turned the screen.
Live feed.
The HOA president.
Bright-blue tank top.
Matching shorts.
Black waist pouch.
Inside the gate.
The homeowner stared.
“How did she open it?”
Then remembered.
The landscaper.
The side gate had been unlocked briefly that morning because the lawn crew had accessed the yard.
He had relocked it.
Hadn't he?
Camera replay showed the answer.
A worker had pulled the gate closed without engaging the dead latch fully.
The HOA president tested it.
It opened.
The uniformed officer stood.
“Stay here.”
The homeowner looked at the pool camera.
The president was walking toward the water.
“What is she doing?”
The detective watched.
“She doesn't know we're inside?”
“She saw the cruiser.”
The homeowner looked toward the driveway.
Then realized something.
“She thinks you're here because of her complaint.”
The city investigator frowned.
“What?”
The president had recently emailed the board claiming she intended to “seek police assistance” enforcing the pool violation.
She had likely seen the marked SUV and assumed law enforcement had arrived to pressure him.
The detective looked at the live feed.
The HOA president opened the waist pouch.
The homeowner's heart started pounding.
“She has something.”
The officer moved toward the back door.
The detective raised one hand.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Camera.”
The homeowner understood immediately.
They needed to see what she did.
Not speculate afterward.
Not another accusation.
Not another he-said-she-said argument.
They watched.
The pink bottle appeared.
The homeowner whispered:
“You have got to be kidding me.”
The president looked around.
Twisted the cap.
Then poured.
The detective said one word.
“Now.”
The officer headed for the rear door.
The homeowner moved too.
The detective caught his arm.
“Wait.”
“That's my pool.”
“I know.”
“She's contaminating it.”
“And the officer is going out.”
The homeowner looked again at the feed.
The president tossed the bottle beside his towel.
Then kicked his sandals.
He stared.
“What is wrong with her?”
The detective did not answer.
The homeowner's anger overrode judgment.
He headed through another patio door.
By the time he reached the pool area, the officer had not yet come around the side of the house because he was taking the exterior route.
The HOA president saw the homeowner.
She startled.
“You were inside?”
He looked toward the pool.
Then at her.
“What did you pour in there?”
For one second she looked trapped.
Then something colder took over.
She lied.
Immediately.
“I found that bottle.”
He almost admired the speed.
“Found it?”
“Yes.”
“I just watched you.”
“You watched nothing.”
He pointed toward the camera.
Her eyes flicked upward.
The camera was visible.
She knew it.
Yet instead of stopping, she seemed to calculate.