Nate finally spoke.
“That sounds like moved.”
Denise snapped around.
“Nobody asked you.”
Nate nodded.
“Right.”
She turned back to Marcus.
“The previous property line made no aesthetic sense.”
Marcus paused.
Property lines generally did not care about aesthetics.
He decided not to say that yet.
Instead he asked,
“Do you have a survey?”
A smile returned to Denise’s face.
“Of course I do.”
She looked at Nate.
“Because unlike some people, I understand documentation.”
Then she turned and marched toward the house.
Nate watched her go.
Marcus asked quietly,
“How bad has this been?”
Nate looked toward the cruiser.
“You got another call after this?”
“Probably.”
“Then I’m sorry.”
Marcus almost smiled.
“What happened before I got here?”
Nate explained.
He had arrived shortly after six thirty.
Used the utility map on his tablet.
Entered through the side service gate.
Set his ladder near the pole.
Denise came out yelling before he climbed three rungs.
“She demanded my name.”
“Did you give it?”
“Yes.”
“Company ID?”
“Showed her.”
“She still objected?”
“She told me anybody could order a uniform online.”
Marcus looked toward the enormous utility truck.
“I asked about that.”
“What’d she say?”
“Anybody can buy a truck.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“Of course.”
Nate continued.
“I showed her the easement map. She said digital maps were not legally binding because ‘the HOA does not recognize them.’”
Marcus looked at him.
“She said that?”
“Exact words.”
“And then?”
“She told me the HOA prohibits contractors from entering private yards before eight a.m.”
“Does it?”
“I have no idea.”
Nate pointed at the pole.
“But electrical faults don’t check HOA quiet hours.”
Marcus nodded.
“Then she pulled my ladder away.”
“While you were on it?”
“No. I’d already climbed down.”
“Good.”
“She said she was placing it under HOA seizure until police arrived.”
Marcus stared.
“HOA seizure?”
“Her words.”
Marcus glanced at the fiberglass ladder lying in the grass.
Nate continued.
“She also told me I owed a two-hundred-fifty-dollar violation fine for commercial activity without prior board approval.”
That time Marcus did laugh once.
He stopped when Denise returned.
She was carrying a thick three-ring binder.
Not a folder.
A binder.
Tabs stuck out from every side.
Marcus recognized the kind of person who organized conflict in advance.
Denise dropped it onto the hood of his cruiser.
“Here.”
She opened the first section.
“Property deed.”
Another tab.
“HOA covenant.”
Another.
“Architectural approval for the fence.”
Another.
“Landscaping plan.”
Then she looked at Nate.
“And here is the section clearly prohibiting unauthorized contractors from crossing private lots.”
Nate leaned slightly toward the page.
“That’s about homeowners hiring roofers.”
“It says contractors.”
“I work for the utility company.”
“You’re a contractor.”
“I’m an employee.”
“You’re splitting hairs.”
Marcus interrupted.
“Where’s the survey?”
Denise flipped several pages.
“This.”
Marcus examined it.
The document appeared to be a legitimate property survey.
But then he saw the date.
He looked up.
“This is seventeen years older than the fence.”
“The property didn’t change.”
Nate said,
“Maybe the fence did.”
Denise’s eyes sharpened.
“You seem determined to make yourself part of this conversation.”
Nate shrugged.
“I’m the trespasser, apparently.”
Marcus held up a hand again.
“Enough.”
He turned to Denise.
“When the new fence went in, did the contractor locate the corners?”
“Obviously.”
“Were stakes placed?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”