“What did she ask you to do?”
“Nothing.”
His phone began ringing.
The screen lit up.
MOM
No need for readable text in the scene; but in the story we can.
He grabbed it.
“Mom.”
He turned slightly away.
“Mom, there’s some lady here saying—”
He stopped.
Listened.
Then looked across the street toward the investigator.
His mother must have known who she was.
His face changed again.
“What?”
Longer pause.
“No, I didn’t—”
He looked at the feathers.
The investigator watched.
The son said quietly:
“I thought that’s what you wanted.”
Nobody spoke.
Not me.
Not the officer.
Not the investigator.
The son realized he had said it in front of all three of us.
His mother’s voice became loud enough that I could hear the tone, though not every word.
He pulled the phone farther from his ear.
Then said:
“You told me to make him understand.”
Another pause.
“You said embarrass him.”
The investigator removed a small notebook.
The son saw.
He abruptly ended the call.
The officer looked at him.
“That was your mother?”
“No.”
The investigator said:
“You called her Mom.”
He stared.
She did not smile.
That made it worse.
Ten minutes later, the HOA president arrived.
Orange pantsuit.
White blouse.
Pearl earrings.
Sunglasses pushed onto her head.
Her white SUV stopped halfway into my driveway.
The police officer immediately raised one hand.
“Ma’am, stay by your vehicle.”
She ignored him.
Her heels struck the concrete quickly.
“What is happening?”
Her eyes went to her son.
Then the investigator.
Then my car.
I watched her absorb the scene.
The feathers.
The glue.
The phone.
The officer.
And me.
Gray pajama pants.
House slippers.
Standing beside a damaged Lamborghini.
She chose me as the safest target.
“You.”
She pointed.
“What did you do to my son?”
I almost smiled.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been harassing him for months.”
“I’ve spoken to him twice.”
“He called me terrified.”
The son looked embarrassed.
“Mom.”
She kept going.
“You deliberately baited him.”
“With my car?”
“You’ve been provoking this community.”
The investigator stepped between us.
“Ma’am.”
The HOA president turned.
Her face changed instantly into professional concern.
“I’m sorry.”
“You must be the consultant.”
“Court-appointed investigator.”
“Yes, of course.”