"Marsh?"
"Yeah."
"She owned it too."
Dale looked toward my house.
Something unpleasant had begun assembling itself behind his eyes.
I asked:
"How many people have remotes?"
He rubbed his chin.
"I've got one."
"Bev's got one."
"The Okafors."
"I think the Pitts family."
"Trish."
"Probably Martin from maintenance."
"Maybe eight."
"Nine."
"Everybody?"
"Not everybody."
He looked embarrassed.
"Enough."
"For how long?"
"Three years."
I waited.
He corrected himself.
"Maybe a little more."
"And every owner during that time just let you use the garage?"
Dale stared into his coffee.
"Trish handled it."
That phrase would appear again and again.
Trish handled it.
Storage problem?
Trish handled it.
Parking?
Trish handled it.
Police complaint?
Trish handled it.
Neighborhood event?
Trish handled it.
If authority is exercised consistently enough, people eventually stop asking where it came from.
Dale looked at me.
"I'm sorry, Thomas."
"I honestly thought the association owned the house."
"I know."
"How could you not know somebody lived there?"
"People came and went."
He shrugged.
"Trish said renters."
"House sitters."
"Relatives."
"Temporary people."
"Nobody stayed."
That final sentence mattered.
Nobody stayed.
On Saturday morning, I emptied the garage.
I started at nine.
Full daylight.
Door completely open.
No secrecy.
No drama.
If someone wanted to watch, they were welcome to.
I rolled the refrigerator onto the driveway with a dolly.
Unplugged it.
Carried out the storage tubs one by one.
Christmas lights.
Extension cords.
Folding chairs.
Table.
Pool equipment.
Pressure washer.
I arranged everything along the edge of the driveway in neat groups.
Then I taped a notice to the refrigerator.
PROPERTY REMOVED FROM PRIVATE GARAGE.
OWNERS MAY COLLECT.
THOMAS HALE
HOMEOWNER, 14 LARKS LANE
The golf cart was gone.
According to the calendar, it was "Thursday cart Dale" even though it was Saturday.
The schedule apparently had not been maintained well during my arrival.
Eleven minutes after I finished, Deputy Salas returned.
Same cruiser.
Same tired expression.
He parked at the curb.
No lights.
Patricia stood on her porch, arms folded.
This time she was not filming.
Salas walked toward me.
"Morning, Mr. Hale."
"Deputy."
"We received a complaint that you were dumping association property in the street."