The gate swung inward.
Marjorie Vale entered wearing lime green.
Not green.
Lime green.
Blazer.
Matching trousers.
A pale-blue blouse underneath.
Black heels completely unsuited for mulch or driveway gravel.
Her red hair was swept tightly away from her face.
Gold earrings.
Small black leather bag.
And a white sheet of paper held between two fingers as though it were a court order.
Naomi stared.
“You heard me tell you not to come in.”
Marjorie closed the gate behind herself.
“I heard you refusing to cooperate.”
“That isn't the same sentence.”
“You have been operating prohibited equipment.”
“No.”
Marjorie walked toward her.
Naomi stayed beside the garage.
“You were using a leaf blower.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
Naomi waited.
Marjorie held up the paper.
“Effective immediately, amplified lawn equipment producing excessive mechanical noise is prohibited during weekend quiet periods.”
Naomi looked at the sheet.
Then at Marjorie.
“What quiet period?”
“Saturday morning.”
“Since when?”
“Since the new policy.”
“What new policy?”
Marjorie's eyes narrowed.
“Do not play games with me.”
“I’m asking what policy.”
“The board discussed this Tuesday.”
Naomi almost smiled.
“Discussed.”
“Yes.”
“Did it pass?”
Marjorie's jaw tightened.
“That is not the issue.”
“That is exactly the issue.”
Naomi held out her hand.
“Give me the notice.”
Marjorie hesitated.
Then placed it into Naomi’s palm with enough force to make the paper slap against her glove.
Naomi read.
WILLOW GLEN HOMEOWNERS ASSOCIATION.
IMMEDIATE NOISE COMPLIANCE NOTICE.
Violation:
Use of motorized exterior maintenance equipment during restricted weekend hours.
Authority:
Community Standard 11.4-C.
Naomi stopped.
She knew 11.4.
She had read it when a neighbor asked whether Sunday mowing was permitted.
11.4 covered amplified music and prolonged construction noise.
No C.
At least not in the published version.
Naomi looked up.
“Where did 11.4-C come from?”
“Policy update.”
“When was it approved?”
“Tuesday.”
“No.”
Marjorie’s mouth tightened.
“You were not at the board meeting.”
“No.”
“So you don't know.”
“I read the minutes yesterday.”
The confidence in Marjorie's face changed.
Only slightly.
Naomi noticed.
“The board discussed a proposal.”
“It was accepted.”
“The minutes say referred back to committee.”
“Draft minutes.”
“Then show me final approval.”
Marjorie stepped closer.
“You are not the HOA secretary.”
“No.”
“You are not board counsel.”
“No.”
“Then stop interpreting administrative language.”
Naomi folded the paper.
“I don't need a law degree to understand ‘referred back to committee.’”
Marjorie pointed toward the leaf blower.
“You will not use that again until this matter is resolved.”
Naomi looked at the machine.
Then back.
“I’m going to finish my driveway.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I am placing you on notice.”
“You already did.”
“Then comply.”
“No.”
There it was again.
No.
Marjorie's face reddened.
“You have had an attitude since you moved here.”
Naomi blinked.
“What attitude?”
“You challenge every communication.”
“I asked you to correct my mailbox violation because the photo was of somebody else's house.”
“That was a clerical error.”
“You told me my patio planter was three inches too tall.”
“It was.”
“You measured the pot including the plant.”
“The overall visual height mattered.”