Yellow swimsuit.
Red bucket.
Blue water.
A woman nearly sixty years old standing in somebody else's backyard behaving like neighborhood government had granted her diplomatic immunity.
Simone almost smiled.
That angered Brenda more.
“What's funny?”
“You.”
Brenda stepped forward.
“I decide whether this pool remains open under association rules.”
Simone moved closer.
“No, you don't.”
“You've been warned repeatedly.”
“Every warning you've sent has been dismissed.”
“Because you intimidate management.”
“I send photographs.”
“You bury people in paperwork.”
“I answer the accusations you create.”
Brenda lifted the bucket higher.
“Move.”
Simone did not.
Behind the sliding glass door, Ruiz remained invisible from Brenda's angle.
His camera recorded.
Simone said quietly:
“Dump it.”
Brenda blinked.
“What?”
“Go ahead.”
Simone pointed toward the water.
“Dump the bucket.”
Brenda's confidence flickered.
Simone continued.
“I want the camera to catch the exact moment your HOA title becomes evidence.”
Brenda's eyes moved upward.
She finally noticed the security camera.
Then she laughed.
“You think that scares me?”
“No.”
Simone folded her arms.
“I think it identifies you.”
Brenda stepped closer.
“You've turned this entire neighborhood into a battlefield because you cannot accept simple standards.”
Simone stared at her.
“Standards?”
“Yes.”
“You mean rules that only exist after I move in?”
“That isn't what happened.”
“You mean complaints nobody will document?”
“People are afraid of you.”
Simone almost smiled.
“People are afraid of me?”
“You're confrontational.”
“Because I ask you to prove things?”
“You challenge everything.”
“When it's wrong.”
“You think you're smarter than everyone.”
“No.”
Simone leaned slightly forward.
“I think you're used to people deciding you're not worth the trouble.”
That struck.
Brenda's face changed.
Not because the sentence was cruel.
Because it was accurate.
For years, Willow Creek residents had treated Brenda like weather.
Annoying.
Unavoidable.
Something to endure.
Most paid small fines rather than appeal.
Most corrected harmless things because argument required energy.
Brenda had confused exhaustion with agreement.
Simone continued:
“I don't get tired because you print something on association letterhead.”
Brenda's grip tightened around the bucket handle.
“You don't belong here.”
The words came too quickly.
Neither woman moved.
Simone's expression changed.
“What?”
Brenda's eyes flickered.
She knew.
Too late.
“I meant your attitude.”
“No.”
“You know exactly what I meant.”
“I meant people who refuse community cooperation.”
Simone's voice became colder.
“Then say that.”
Brenda looked away.
Simone continued.
“Don't say something ugly and then hide inside a different sentence.”
Brenda snapped:
“You've made every issue about yourself since you moved here.”
“I didn't climb your fence.”
“I didn't.”
“You opened my gate ten minutes ago.”
“With lawful HOA authority.”
“No.”
Brenda lifted the bucket toward the pool.
“Get out of my way.”
Simone did not move.
Brenda took one step.