“Only him?”
The homeowner said:
“As far as I’ve ever seen.”
The president glared.
The deputy looked toward her.
“Did the board vote to designate this driveway for community parking?”
She said nothing.
The deputy waited.
Finally:
“The board delegated enforcement discretion to me.”
“That was not my question.”
Her face hardened.
“No formal vote was necessary.”
The deputy looked toward the homeowner.
Then toward the tow operator.
The operator quietly resumed tightening the car’s rear straps.
The president heard the ratchet.
She spun.
“Stop!”
The deputy stepped between her and the truck.
“Ma’am.”
She froze.
His tone had changed.
Still controlled.
More final.
“The vehicle is being lawfully towed based on the documentation presented.”
“If you dispute that, there are civil procedures.”
“You do not interfere with the tow operator.”
The son rubbed both hands over his face.
“How much is this going to cost?”
The tow operator answered:
“Initial tow plus storage.”
The son swore quietly.
The president pointed toward the homeowner.
“He pays.”
The deputy looked toward her.
“No.”
She stared.
The deputy continued.
“The registered owner retrieves the vehicle according to the tow company’s process.”
The son looked at his mother.
“You said he’d have to pay.”
She did not answer.
The tow operator completed the securement.
Then climbed into the truck.
The red coupe began moving away.
The son watched it disappear down the street.
The HOA president remained completely still.
The deputy looked toward her.
“We’re not finished.”
She turned.
“What now?”
“I need a statement regarding the repeated parking and your claimed association authorization.”
“This is absurd.”
“Then it should be easy to explain.”
She looked toward the homeowner.
He lowered his phone.
The president’s face twisted.
“You planned this.”
“No.”
“You had a deputy waiting.”
“Yes.”
“That is planning.”
“I asked for a neutral witness because you threatened me in writing.”
The deputy looked toward the president.
She had forgotten that message.
He had not.
The homeowner continued.
“I didn’t know you would arrive.”
“You knew my son would call me.”
“No.”
Her son suddenly spoke.
“I didn’t call her.”
Everyone looked toward him.
The president froze.
The homeowner asked:
“What?”
The son looked toward his mother.
“I didn’t call you.”
She said nothing.
He continued.
“How did you know?”
The homeowner felt a chill.
The deputy’s expression sharpened.
The HOA president folded her arms.
“I drove past.”
The son stared.
“When?”
“This morning.”
“You were watching?”
“No.”
“I was conducting neighborhood rounds.”
The homeowner looked toward his security camera above the garage.
Then toward the deputy.
The deputy noticed.