The driver’s door opened.
A woman stepped out.
Mid-forties.
Black slacks.
Navy field jacket.
Hair pulled into a low bun.
She carried a tablet and a hard plastic evidence case.
Brenda frowned.
“Who is that?”
Marcus’s voice became almost gentle.
“The person who was coming to inspect the dumping complaint.”
Brenda turned back slowly.
“What dumping complaint?”
Marcus nodded toward the garbage at her feet.
“That one.”
Her face lost a little color.
The woman from the SUV crossed the sidewalk.
She did not hurry.
Her eyes moved from the open gate to the overturned bin, then across the trash scattered beside Marcus’s porch.
Finally she looked at Brenda.
“Good afternoon.”
No one answered.
She held up identification.
“County Environmental Compliance. Nadia Alvarez.”
Brenda visibly relaxed.
It lasted perhaps two seconds.
Then Nadia looked at the open trash bin.
“Which one of you placed this material here?”
Brenda pointed toward Marcus.
“He did.”
Marcus stared at her.
Nadia did not.
Instead she looked above the porch.
At the camera.
Then at the garage camera.
Then at the side gate.
“Mr. Reed?”
“Yes.”
“Do your cameras record continuously?”
“Yes.”
“Audio?”
“Front porch does.”
Brenda crossed her arms.
“This is absurd.”
Nadia looked at her.
“Ma’am, I need your name.”
“You don't need my name.”
“I do if you are involved in the complaint.”
“I’m HOA president.”
Nadia waited.
Brenda seemed to believe that answered the question.
It did not.
“Name?”
“Brenda Whitmore.”
Nadia entered it into her tablet.
“Address?”
Brenda stared.
“Why?”
“Because this appears to contain residential waste, and several items have identifying labels.”
Marcus almost admired how professionally Nadia avoided saying your name is literally on the garbage.
Brenda gave her address.
Nadia continued.
“Did you transport any portion of this waste here?”
“No.”
Marcus looked toward his camera.
Nadia saw.
Brenda saw Nadia see.
The moment stretched.
Marcus said quietly:
“I'd like to preserve the video before anyone makes more statements.”
Nadia nodded.
“Good idea.”
Brenda spun toward him.
“You planned this.”
“No.”
“You knew she was coming.”
“I scheduled an inspection yesterday.”
“For what?”
Marcus looked at the garbage.
“Because someone has been leaving bags beside the storm drain behind my property every Tuesday night for six weeks.”
Brenda’s expression became blank.
Too blank.
Nadia noticed.
Marcus noticed Nadia noticing.
“What does that have to do with me?”
Brenda demanded.
Marcus shrugged.
“I didn’t say it did.”
Nadia walked toward the pile.
She crouched without touching anything.
One torn bag contained paper napkins, food containers, shampoo bottles and several strips of shredded paper.
Nadia’s expression changed.
She reached into her evidence case and took out gloves.
Brenda stepped forward.
“That’s private household garbage.”
Nadia looked up.
“You just said it wasn't yours.”
Brenda stopped.
Marcus lowered his eyes for a second because if he smiled, he knew it would make the situation worse.
Nadia used a clean tool to lift one strip of shredded paper.
Printed on the edge was a familiar green logo.
CEDAR RIDGE ESTATES HOMEOWNERS ASSOCIATION.
Brenda saw it.
This time her reaction was unmistakable.
She moved.