I knelt down in front of the red hydrant. Up close, in the moonlight, the details were wrong. There was no condensation on the metal, despite the humid night air. And when I reached out to touch the side, the surface didn't feel cold like solid iron. It felt oddly warm.
I reached down to the heavy hexagonal bolts at the base. I pressed my thumb against one of them and pushed.
The bolt bent. It was made of painted rubber.
Suddenly, a blinding beam of light hit my face.
"Get away from there!"
I gasped, throwing my hands up to shield my eyes. Patty was standing on her porch, holding a massive, high-powered tactical flashlight. The beam pinned me in the dark like a prisoner trying to escape over a wall.
She didn't just walk toward me; she marched, her heavy boots crunching on the pavement.
"What are you doing on my property?" Patty demanded, her voice an ugly, low growl that carried through the silent street.
"I dropped my keys," I lied, my voice shaking as I struggled to stand up. The sudden movement sent a sharp pain through my round ligaments.
"You're a liar," Patty stepped onto the curb, standing between me and my house. She pointed the blinding flashlight directly into my eyes. "You think because your husband wears a uniform, you can disrespect the rules of this community. I saw you looking at it."
"Looking at what?" I asked, my heart pounding against my ribs. "A fire hydrant?"
Patty leaned in. I could smell stale coffee and peppermint on her breath. "I built this neighborhood. I control this street. You are a fat, lazy interloper who thinks she can do whatever she wants. If you ever come near this curb again, I won't just fine you. I will make sure your husband loses his job, and I will make your life a living hell."
I backed away, terrified by the sheer, irrational hatred in her eyes. I didn't say another word. I turned and practically ran back into my house, locking the deadbolt and sliding the chain into place.
I sat on the kitchen floor, trying to calm my racing heart. I was convinced Patty was hiding something dangerous inside that shell. I just didn't have the proof.
The next morning, I woke up late, my body exhausted from the adrenaline. I walked to the kitchen window to make my coffee.
I looked out at the driveway.
My car was gone.
CHAPTER 3
Panic seized me instantly. I ran to the front door and threw it open. My driveway was completely empty. I looked up and down Elmwood Drive, thinking maybe I had parked it somewhere else in my sleep-deprived state.
Nothing. My sedan had vanished.
But parked exactly where I had stopped two days earlier—directly in front of the strange red fire hydrant—was Patty’s silver luxury SUV.
It was street-sweeping day. Every other car on the block had been moved to the opposite side of the road. But Patty’s car sat comfortably, illegally, directly against the red curb, blocking the supposed fire access.
I grabbed my phone and called Mark at the station.
"My car is gone," I said, my voice trembling so hard I could barely speak. "Mark, it's just gone. It was in the driveway."
"Whoa, slow down, Chloe," Mark said, his voice instantly dropping into his calm, professional register. "Are you sure? Did someone steal it?"
"It's Patty," I sobbed. "I know it’s her. She threatened me last night."
Mark went silent for two seconds. "I'm calling the police. Lock the doors. Don't go outside."