"Six other pools were vandalized in this neighborhood."
Her expression changed.
I continued.
"You just gave the sheriff another recorded incident to investigate."
For the first time since I met her, Patricia Holloway appeared genuinely frightened.
She looked from the deputies to the camera.
Then toward the floating fertilizer bag.
"That's ridiculous."
The older deputy spoke calmly.
"Ma'am, we're investigating a reported trespass and property damage incident. We need you to remain here while we establish what happened."
Patricia lifted her chin.
"I'm the president of the homeowners association."
The deputy nodded.
"That doesn't give you permission to climb a locked private fence."
She stared.
Then she pointed at me.
"He's been violating neighborhood rules!"
The younger deputy looked toward my pool.
"Did you bring that bag onto the property?"
Patricia hesitated.
I watched her eyes.
For the first time, she seemed to understand that the title she used to intimidate neighbors meant nothing to the two men standing in front of her.
She tried another tactic.
"I was performing an emergency maintenance inspection."
The older deputy glanced toward the empty fertilizer bag floating in the water.
"By putting lawn fertilizer into a swimming pool?"
Her lips parted.
Nothing came out.
I almost smiled.
Then the younger deputy looked toward his phone.
His expression changed.
He turned the screen slightly.
"Sergeant, you need to see this."
The older deputy stepped closer.
For several seconds, they watched something.
Patricia stared.
"What?"
Neither answered immediately.
Then the older deputy looked toward her.
"Mrs. Holloway, did you contact an emergency pool-cleaning contractor before coming here today?"
The color drained from her face.
I felt my stomach tighten.
That wasn't a question I expected.
The deputy continued.
"Because we have a time-stamped work order for your address, describing chemical contamination at this property."
He looked toward the water.
"And it was created before you climbed the fence."
Patricia's lips trembled.
For the first time, I understood that the investigators had found something much larger than the bag of fertilizer.
Someone had arranged to charge me for a cleanup before the damage even existed.
And the trail led straight back to the woman standing on my patio.
Six months earlier, I hadn't known Patricia Holloway was capable of anything worse than being rude.
When I bought my house in Cedar Ridge Estates, the real estate agent described the neighborhood as quiet, well maintained, and family friendly.
She wasn't wrong about the houses.
They were beautiful.
Large stucco homes in pale beige and sand-colored tones stood along curved streets lined with desert landscaping. Palm trees rose above walled courtyards, and the mountains to the northeast glowed purple during sunset.
Most properties had spacious garages.
Many had pools.
Some backed onto narrow greenbelts.
The association maintained common landscaping, entry monuments, walking paths, and several small neighborhood facilities.
I liked the place immediately.
After years of living in apartments and smaller houses, I wanted room.
Room for my tools.
Room for my family to visit.
Room to work without hearing my neighbor's television through the wall.