And Evelyn had no idea how badly she was about to miscalculate.
CHAPTER 2 — WELCOME TO BRIARWOOD
My name is Daniel Morgan.
I was fifty when Claire and I bought our house in Briarwood Estates.
Claire had spent more than twenty years in law enforcement. She had worked patrol, investigations, internal affairs, and eventually command. At home, however, she preferred gardening to talking about police work.
We chose Briarwood because it was quiet.
At least, it looked quiet.
The neighborhood association controlled everything from mailbox designs to exterior paint.
At our first homeowners' meeting, Evelyn Price welcomed us with a smile that never quite reached her eyes.
“You'll find that Briarwood has standards,” she said.
Claire smiled politely.
“We appreciate standards.”
Evelyn's gaze lingered on Claire's work boots and gardening gloves.
“Some residents take longer to adjust.”
I noticed.
Claire did too.
But she said nothing.
Two weeks later, we received our first notice.
Our mailbox was supposedly the wrong shade of blue.
We corrected it.
Then came another notice.
Our garden had “excessive natural growth.”
We trimmed it.
Then another.
A delivery box had remained beside our garage for forty minutes.
Then another.
Claire's car had been parked three inches too close to the sidewalk.
Each violation was small.
Together, they formed a pattern.