For the first time since I had met Linda Prescott, she had nothing to say.

CHAPTER 6 — FOURTEEN DAYS LATER

I returned to Oak Creek on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

My flight landed at 2:15.

By 3:00, I was driving home.

I hadn't called Linda.

I hadn't contacted the HOA.

I hadn't spoken publicly about the investigation.

I wanted to see what happened with my own eyes.

When I turned onto my street, I immediately noticed something different.

The HOA clubhouse parking lot was full.

Several cars belonged to attorneys.

One belonged to the county inspector.

Another belonged to the police department.

I pulled into my driveway.

My garage door was still sealed.

The Mercedes was still inside.

And Linda was standing beside it.

She looked exhausted.

Her expensive blazer was wrinkled.

Her hair wasn't perfectly arranged anymore.

For once, she looked like an ordinary person who had made an extraordinary mistake.

She saw me.

“You.”

I got out of my truck.

“Linda.”

“You can't keep my car in there.”

“I didn't put it in there.”

“You welded the door shut.”

“You parked the car after I told you not to.”

“That doesn't give you the right to trap it.”

I looked at her.

“Interesting choice of words.”

She frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“You've called it ‘imprisonment’ several times.”

“I have.”

“You've also claimed I damaged it.”

“I did.”

“Your mechanic inspected it?”

She hesitated.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“No damage.”

I nodded.

“Good.”

She stared at me.

“Open the garage.”

“No.”

Her face reddened.

“Why?”

“Because Tom advised me not to alter anything until the investigation is complete.”

She looked toward the clubhouse.

“You know they're investigating me?”

“Yes.”

“You think you've won?”

“No.”

I glanced at the garage.

“I think you made a mistake.”

She stepped closer.

“You have no idea what you've done.”

I smiled slightly.

“Actually, I do.”

I pulled out my phone.

I opened the first photograph.

The Mercedes entering my garage.

Then the timestamp.

Then the email where I told her she didn't have permission.

Then her response.

Then the welding.

Then the security footage.

Then the recording of her discussing how to manufacture an HOA violation.

Linda's expression changed with every image.

Finally, I showed her the financial records.

Her voice became quiet.

“You weren't supposed to have those.”

“I didn't steal them.”

She stared at me.

“They're public HOA records.”

She said nothing.

I put my phone away.

“You should talk to your attorney.”

She looked toward the clubhouse.

Then back at me.

“You're enjoying this.”

“No.”

I shook my head.

“I wanted a quiet vacation.”

She stared at the welded garage.

“And I wanted my garage.”

She looked down.

“I'm sorry.”

That was the first time I had ever heard Linda Prescott say those words.

I nodded.

“Good.”

Then I walked past her.

Inside the garage, her Mercedes was untouched.

Except for one thing.

The battery was completely dead.

The dashboard was dark.