"The calendar."
"All of it."
I felt cold despite the sun.
"Did you photograph it?"
Linda laughed again.
"My husband made me."
"He said nobody would believe us."
"I'll send them."
Twenty minutes later, twenty-three photographs arrived.
I closed my chamber door.
Placed my phone on the desk.
Opened them one by one.
Photo one.
My driveway, three years younger.
Same motor home.
Same angle.
Photo two.
Garage interior.
Same tubs.
Different labels on some.
Photo three.
Same refrigerator.
Photo four.
Calendar.
Different month.
Same blue ink.
Photo five.
Golf cart.
Photo six.
A folding table during what appeared to be a neighborhood picnic.
Then came the backyard.
Pool coping stones stacked beside my fence.
Pallets of blue-green tile.
Portable cement mixer.
Construction tarps.
A wheelbarrow.
I looked through my chamber window at the county parking lot.
Then back at the photograph.
Patricia's house had a swimming pool.
I had seen the tile through her fence.
Same blue-green pattern.
The twenty-third photograph was the one that changed my understanding.
Linda had taken it through her kitchen window.
Slightly blurred.
Bright weekday morning.
Patricia stood in the far corner of Linda's backyard beside a contractor wearing an orange vest.
She was pointing at the ground.
Not toward her own property.
Into Linda's yard.
Like a homeowner showing a contractor where material should be placed.
That photograph contained no secrecy.
That was the important part.
Patricia was not sneaking.
She did not behave like a woman temporarily borrowing another person's space.
She behaved like ownership was a matter of use.
The house belonged to whoever exercised control over it.
By that definition, she had been the owner for years.
The people with deeds were temporary interruptions.
I called Linda again.
"Do you still have the HOA notices?"
"Some."
"Where?"
"I left a folder."
"In the house?"
"Kitchen junk drawer."
I looked toward the cabinets when I got home.
Behind the menus was a manila folder.
Linda Marsh had left a warning in the archaeology.
Inside were notices spanning multiple owners.
Twenty-two documents.
Linda Marsh.
Daniel and Rebecca Kowalski.
Another surname.
Then the Bakers.
Different dates.
Same cream paper.
Same laurel logo.
Same section.
4.2.
Obstruction of Common Area.
Same blue signature.
Patricia Voss.
Clipped to the back was a subdivision map.
Lots numbered.
Roads labeled.
True common property shaded pale green.
Pool.
Clubhouse.
Entry median.