"Put it down."
"No."
She raised the bat again.
I stepped backward.
Then a marked county sheriff's SUV appeared at the end of the street.
Celeste didn't see it.
She was too focused on the Rolls-Royce.
The sheriff's vehicle rolled closer.
Celeste lifted the bat.
"Last warning."
I looked at her.
"For what?"
"Move the vehicle."
"I told you I can't."
"Then I'll move it myself."
She pulled the bat backward.
A voice came from behind her.
"Ma'am."
Celeste froze.
She turned.
A tall sheriff in his late fifties stood at the edge of my driveway.
Silver-gray hair.
Dark sunglasses.
Uniform pressed perfectly.
Two deputies remained beside the patrol SUV.
The sheriff looked at the bat.
Then at the shattered windows.
Then at me.
Then back at Celeste.
"What are you doing?"
Celeste's confidence disappeared for exactly one second.
Then she straightened.
"Sheriff, this is an HOA enforcement matter."
He looked at the Rolls-Royce.
"Is it?"
"Yes."
He pointed toward the vehicle.
"Did you break those windows?"
Celeste hesitated.
"I took corrective action."
The sheriff removed his sunglasses.
"Did you break them?"
She swallowed.
"I did what was necessary."
The sheriff reached into his uniform pocket.
And pulled out a black-and-silver key fob.
He pressed the button.
The damaged Rolls-Royce flashed its headlights.
Once.
Twice.
Silence filled the driveway.
Celeste stared at the key fob.
Then at the vehicle.
Then at the sheriff.
The sheriff looked directly at her.
"That's my car."
The baseball bat suddenly looked very small in her hands.
Celeste's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
The sheriff held the key fob between two fingers.
"You damaged my vehicle."
She finally found her voice.
"I thought it belonged to him."