The third was shorter.
You have until 5:00 PM to reopen the garage.
Then came another.
Failure to comply may result in fines.
I smiled.
Not because I enjoyed seeing her angry.
Because every message was evidence.
I forwarded everything to Tom.
He replied almost immediately.
Good. Don't answer.
I put my phone away.
For the first time in months, I felt completely free of Oak Creek.
The next morning, I was standing on a charter boat with the Gulf of Mexico stretching endlessly around me.
For six hours, I didn't think about Linda Prescott.
Not once.
Then my phone buzzed.
Tom.
I answered.
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing yet,” he said.
“That sounds reassuring.”
“It isn't.”
I heard papers moving on his end.
“Linda has filed an emergency complaint with the HOA board.”
“About my garage?”
“About your garage, your welding, your alleged intimidation, and something she calls ‘retaliatory property confinement.’”
I laughed.
“Property confinement?”
“Her words.”
“Is my garage considered a hostage?”
“Apparently.”
I looked out over the water.
“What does she want?”
“Access to her car.”
“She put it in my garage.”
“I know.”
“She was told not to.”
“I know.”
“She ignored me.”
“I know.”
“And now she wants the HOA to force me to open it?”
“That appears to be the strategy.”
I leaned against the railing.
“Does the HOA have authority to do that?”
“No.”
“Then what's the problem?”
Tom paused.
“The problem is that Linda is the HOA president.”
That was the part I hadn't considered.
Linda didn't simply sit on the board.
She controlled it.
For six years, she had treated the neighborhood association like a private government.
She approved landscaping exceptions for her friends.
She issued fines for minor violations.
She had once threatened a homeowner because his mailbox was three inches outside the approved boundary.
And now she had parked a $70,000 Mercedes in my garage without permission.
Because she believed the rules applied to everyone except her.
Tom continued.
“She has called an emergency board meeting for tomorrow.”
“While I'm in Florida?”
“Yes.”
I looked at the ocean again.
“Can they fine me without me being there?”
“They can try.”
“And?”
“And that's exactly why I'm telling you not to come back.”
I smiled.
“I wasn't planning to.”
“Good.”
He lowered his voice.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“She told the board you damaged her vehicle.”
My smile disappeared.
“What?”
“She claims your welding caused excessive heat exposure that may have damaged the Mercedes.”
I stared at the water.
“That's impossible.”
“I know.”
“The vehicle was already inside when I welded the exterior frame.”
“I know.”
“I didn't touch the car.”
“I know.”
“Then why would she say that?”
Tom answered calmly.
“Because she's trying to create a reason for the HOA to authorize immediate access to your garage.”
I was silent.
Then Tom said something that made me sit up straight.
“She also claims you intentionally disabled the garage ventilation system.”
I looked toward the horizon.
“That system hasn't been turned on in three years.”
“Exactly.”
I suddenly understood.
Linda wasn't trying to get her car back.
She was trying to build a story.
And she was doing it in writing.
I told Tom to preserve every email.
Then I went back to fishing.
Because I had fourteen days.
And Linda had no idea what I had already documented.