“Your registered maintenance vehicles consumed two hundred nineteen gallons during the same period.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Those are your vehicle logs.”
“You don’t have our vehicle logs.”
“I have the meter records from the vehicles that fuel here.”
Her lips tightened.
“Some fuel is transferred.”
“To what?”
She said nothing.
“Your snow contractor?”
“No.”
“Generator?”
Silence.
“Clubhouse?”
Her eyes flickered.
There.
Again.
The station owner folded the sheet.
“I froze the card because the volumes don’t make sense.”
“You will reactivate it.”
“No.”
The HOA president stepped forward and snatched the fuel nozzle from his hand.
The metal handle struck the side of the pump.
He looked down.
Then at her.
“Put that back.”
She did not.
Instead, she threw it onto the rubber mat beside the pump.
The hose slapped across wet pavement.
A teenage clerk inside the store looked through the window.
The station owner raised one hand toward him.
Stay inside.
The HOA president pointed at the owner’s chest.
“Turn that account back on, or I’ll have this station investigated before sunset.”
His expression remained almost irritatingly calm.
“For what?”
“Environmental violations.”
The station owner looked past her toward the road.
“Interesting choice.”
“You think I’m bluffing?”
“No.”
“I know people at the county.”
“I’m sure.”
“I can have inspectors here today.”
The station owner glanced toward the entrance.
A white county enforcement vehicle had just turned off the highway.
The HOA president could not see it from her angle.
He almost smiled.
“That might save you a phone call.”
She frowned.
“What?”
The county vehicle entered the lot.
She turned.
Her confidence returned immediately.
She thought she had won.
The SUV stopped.
A county environmental investigator in a winter jacket stepped out holding a thick case folder.
The HOA president smiled triumphantly.
“Perfect.”
The station owner said nothing.
The investigator crossed the pavement.
Walked past him.
Walked past the pump.
Stopped directly in front of the HOA president.
Her smile disappeared.
The investigator opened the folder.
“Ma’am, I’ve been trying to reach the association since yesterday.”
The HOA president looked confused.
“Why?”
The investigator glanced toward the fuel card in her hand.
Then toward the station owner.
“He reported an unregistered underground fuel system behind your clubhouse.”
Silence.
The station owner picked up the nozzle.
The investigator continued: