Wade nodded once.
Pamela continued quickly.
“The vehicle was illegally stored overnight, and Mr. Holloway refused direct instructions to remove it.”
Wade reached into his right trouser pocket.
Pamela watched.
Marcus knew.
He almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
Wade pulled out a black key fob.
Rolls-Royce emblem.
He pressed the unlock button.
The battered Cullinan chirped.
Its lights flashed.
Once.
Twice.
Silence swallowed the driveway.
Pamela stared at the SUV.
Then at the key.
Then Wade.
Marcus heard Tom whisper from across the street:
“Oh, no.”
Wade held the fob between two fingers.
“Ma’am.”
Pamela’s mouth opened.
No sound came.
Wade continued:
“Step away from my vehicle.”
Everything in Pamela's face collapsed simultaneously.
Confidence.
Authority.
Certainty.
The little smile.
Gone.
“Your…”
Wade did not answer.
Pamela looked toward Marcus.
Then back.
“That car belongs to you?”
“Yes.”
“I was told—”
“Nobody told you anything.”
She glanced at Marcus.
“He let me believe it was his.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“I told you repeatedly it wasn't.”
Pamela looked trapped.
So she tried anger.
“You parked it on his property.”
“Yes.”
“Overnight.”
“Yes.”
“And the HOA has broad—”
Wade interrupted.
“Does your HOA authorize baseball bats?”
Pamela stopped.
“Not in those words.”
A deputy coughed.
Maybe hiding a laugh.
Wade looked at him.
The deputy straightened.
Wade returned his attention to Pamela.
“You smashed my vehicle because you believed it belonged to him.”
Pamela’s eyes moved between Wade and Marcus.
“That is not an accurate characterization.”
Marcus raised his phone.
“I have twenty-two minutes of accurate characterization.”
Pamela stared at him.
Wade looked toward the phone.
“Full recording?”
“Yes.”
“Backed up?”
“Uploading.”
“Good.”
Pamela’s face reddened.
“This is absurd.”
Wade slowly removed his sunglasses.
Marcus wished he hadn't.
Wade looked angrier without them.
Pamela saw it too.
She softened her voice.
“Sheriff, if I had known the vehicle was yours—”
Wade raised one hand.
Marcus closed his eyes briefly.
There.
The sentence.
The worst possible sentence.
Wade repeated it.
“If you had known it was mine?”
Pamela realized.
Too late.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It sounded clear.”
“I meant if I had known the ownership circumstances—”
“You thought it belonged to Marcus.”
“I had reason.”
“What reason?”
“It was in his driveway.”
Wade looked around.
Then back.
“Cars in driveways generally have permission to be there.”