Because he had armed the perimeter earlier that morning, the system had automatically notified the monitoring service.
The screen displayed:
Security response initiated.
The HOA president read his expression.
“What?”
He looked toward her.
“The system called.”
Her face changed.
“Who?”
“Security.”
Her eyes widened.
He continued.
“They call police if forced entry isn’t canceled.”
“Cancel it.”
“No.”
“You are going to turn an HOA compliance inspection into a police matter?”
“You did that when you broke the lock.”
The president looked toward the gate.
Then the fence.
Then the pool.
Panic began replacing anger.
She reached for the bucket.
The homeowner said:
“Don’t touch it.”
She ignored him.
She lifted the bucket.
Dirty water remained at the bottom.
The homeowner raised the phone.
“You’re still being recorded.”
She froze.
The sound of a distant siren became audible.
The HOA president dropped the bucket.
Then began walking toward the gate.
The homeowner did not stop her.
The gate would not open normally.
The locking mechanism had jammed when she forced it.
She pulled.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
She turned.
“Open this.”
“No.”
Her eyes widened.
“You can’t keep me here.”
“I’m not.”
“You locked the gate.”
“You broke it.”
“Open it.”
“I’m not going near you while you’re behaving like this.”
She looked toward the fence.
Six feet.
She had forced her way through the gate rather than climb it, but getting out now required either waiting for police or trying the fence.
She pointed.
“You’re imprisoning me.”
The homeowner almost laughed again.
“You’re standing in the yard you illegally entered.”
The siren grew louder.
Her breathing quickened.
Then she did something that confirmed the homeowner’s worst suspicion.
She reached into the bucket.
Not into the water.
Under the remaining leaves.
And pulled out a short length of flexible tubing.
Black.
Wet.
With a small metal fitting on one end.
The homeowner stared.
“What is that?”
She shoved it into the landscaping bed.
He saw.
The camera saw.
She knew both.
The homeowner’s stomach tightened.
The title of the nightmare changed again.
This had not been a woman filling a random bucket somewhere.
The tubing suggested pumping.
Transfer.
A source.
The president began climbing the fence.
“Stop!”
Not because he cared if she escaped.
Because she still wore contaminated gloves.
She ignored him.
The first police cruiser arrived as her right leg reached the top.