“Still not helping.”
“Beautiful though.”
The homeowner looked again.
That part was true.
The car’s green finish seemed almost black where shade from the oak tree covered it, then brightened into deep emerald where sunlight hit the body.
“You park that at the sheriff’s office?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“My deputies would never let me live.”
The homeowner smiled.
“Smart.”
They went inside.
The meeting was supposed to last thirty minutes.
It became an hour.
Maps spread across the kitchen table.
Coffee cooled.
The sheriff pointed to an easement boundary.
The homeowner showed him an older plat recorded decades before the subdivision was developed.
At 8:52, the doorbell rang.
The homeowner looked toward the front.
The sheriff gathered the maps.
“Expecting someone?”
“No.”
The homeowner opened the door.
The HOA president stood on the porch in a white pantsuit.
Forest-green folder under one arm.
Black sunglasses covering half her face.
Her lips already compressed into displeasure.
She did not say good morning.
“What is that car doing there?”
The homeowner looked toward the Rolls-Royce.
Then toward her.
“Existing.”
Her mouth tightened.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“Whose is it?”
He hesitated.
Not because the answer was secret.
Because her tone made him unwilling to reward the question.
“Why?”
She opened the green folder.
“Because community guidelines require notification for unusual long-term curbside parking.”
“It arrived less than an hour ago.”
“That isn’t relevant.”
“It seems very relevant to the phrase long-term.”
She stared.
The sheriff remained inside the kitchen, out of sight.
The homeowner had not told him who was at the door.
The HOA president pulled out a sheet.
“Section twelve, subsection four.”
The homeowner took it.
Read.
Then looked at her.
“This applies to commercial vehicles, trailers, recreational vehicles, and abandoned automobiles.”
She pointed toward the Rolls-Royce.
“That qualifies as visually disruptive.”
He stared.
“It is a Rolls-Royce.”
“Exactly.”
He laughed once.
Not mockingly.
Disbelief.
She did not appreciate it.
“Luxury vehicles can be disruptive too.”
“How?”
“It attracts attention.”
“So does your outfit.”
Her mouth opened.
He immediately raised one hand.
“That was unnecessary.”
“Yes, it was.”
“I apologize.”
That made her angrier.
She wanted a fight.
He gave her self-correction.
She pointed toward the car.
“Move it.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“It isn’t mine.”
She looked toward the driveway.
A black SUV belonging to the homeowner sat near the garage.
Then toward the green Rolls-Royce.
Then back.
“You expect me to believe someone else parked a vehicle like that in front of your house?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Someone visiting.”
“Then tell them.”
“I will.”
“Now.”
The homeowner looked at her.
“No.”
She stared.
He explained.
“I’ll tell them you complained.”