“Police don't usually enforce HOA covenants.”
“Then enforce safety.”
“The documents he showed me indicate the county already inspected it.”
“That doesn't eliminate HOA authority.”
“No.”
Cole's patience remained intact.
“It also doesn't create police authority.”
Cynthia stepped toward him.
She waved the notice.
“Officer, this is an official violation.”
Cole looked at the page.
Then at her.
“Official from the HOA.”
“Yes.”
“Not the city.”
“That does not make it meaningless.”
“I didn't say it was meaningless.”
“Then act.”
Daniel saw Cole’s expression change.
Only a little.
The officer had spent twelve minutes carefully separating issues.
Cynthia interpreted patience as eventual agreement.
Now she was issuing orders.
Cole said:
“Ma'am, I'm going to verify what I can verify.”
She opened her mouth.
He continued.
“Then I'll tell both of you what police can and cannot do.”
Cynthia stopped.
Cole walked toward his cruiser.
Daniel leaned against the pickup.
Cynthia stared at him.
“You're enjoying this.”
“No.”
“You think embarrassing me changes the rule.”
“I think a vote changes the rule.”
She stepped closer.
“Do you know how difficult it is to keep this neighborhood from becoming a mess?”
Daniel sighed.
“We're doing this now?”
“You challenge everything.”
“I challenge things that aren't authorized.”
“You challenged fence standards.”
“Because you measured from the wrong property line.”
“You challenged commercial vehicle restrictions.”
“My truck isn't commercial.”
“It weighs—”
“The covenant defined commercial by registration.”
“You challenged landscaping.”
“You cited a plant species not listed in the guidelines.”
Cynthia laughed bitterly.
“Exactly.”
“What?”
“You hide behind technicalities.”
Daniel stared at her.
“Rules are technicalities?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No.”
“You refuse the spirit of community standards.”
Daniel looked toward the houses lining Hawthorne Ridge Drive.
Trim lawns.
Clean sidewalks.
Matching mailboxes.
Almost identical roof palettes.
Then back.
“The spirit?”
“Yes.”
“What is the spirit?”
“Consistency.”
“Then enforce what exists consistently.”
Cynthia's lips tightened.
“People like you make administration impossible.”
“People like me?”
“People who demand paperwork for everything.”
Daniel looked at the permit folder in his hand.
“Paperwork is literally what administration is.”
She looked away.
Officer Cole sat in his cruiser.
Tablet open.
He searched.
Daniel could see him typing.
Then calling someone.
Cynthia noticed.
Her confidence remained.
Mostly.
A neighbor appeared across the street.
Mrs. Elaine Porter.
Seventy-four.
Blue gardening gloves.
She pretended to check her mailbox despite having collected mail the evening before.
Daniel knew because he saw her.
Cynthia noticed too.
“Elaine.”
Elaine looked up with theatrical surprise.
“Oh.”
Cynthia gestured.
“This is private.”
Elaine looked at the police cruiser.
“Seems public.”
Then she continued toward her mailbox.