Unlike me, Angela had no sentimental attachment to the neighborhood peace.
“You want legal?”
“Not yet.”
“Security?”
“No.”
“Field lockout on unauthorized contractors?”
“Standard procedure only.”
“You’re being too patient.”
“Probably.”
“What do you want?”
“Crews ready.”
“For what?”
“I think Cynthia may try something stupid.”
Angela exhaled.
“That narrows nothing.”
“I want her to show exactly what she intends to do.”
“That sentence is why you should not be trusted with quiet retirement.”
“I’m not retired.”
“Unfortunately.”
I smiled.
Then my voice changed.
“If anybody approaches energized Ridgeline equipment without authorization, we respond immediately.”
“Obviously.”
“And check Delores Finch’s account.”
Angela paused.
“Medical priority?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll confirm.”
“Backup status too.”
“Ethan.”
“What?”
“You’re worried.”
“Yes.”
That was the truth.
Not about my house.
About Delores.
I made sure her medical-priority record was current.
I checked her backup system personally.
She complained the entire time.
“If you fuss over me any more, I’m charging rent.”
“Send Ridgeline an invoice.”
“I’ll send Cynthia one.”
For several weeks, nothing happened.
Then on a bright Thursday morning, an unfamiliar white utility-style truck turned into Hawthorne Court.
I was in my garage.
I heard the diesel before I saw the vehicle.
APEX LINE SERVICES.
The name meant nothing to me.
That immediately concerned me.
Two men got out.
Orange safety vests.
Hard hats.
Tool bags.
One was Hector Salas.
The other was Dale Mercer.
Neither wore Ridgeline identification.
Neither vehicle displayed any utility contractor number associated with our system.
Then Cynthia came walking up the street.
Red blazer.
Coffee cup.
Phone already recording.
She stopped near my driveway and aimed the camera at herself.
“Today,” she announced loudly, “the Pine Ridge Estates Association is enforcing long-overdue compliance against a resident who has repeatedly refused lawful community standards.”
I stepped out of the garage.
“Hector?”
The older contractor looked surprised I knew the name from his shirt patch.
“Yes?”
“Who hired you?”
He looked toward Cynthia.
“The association.”
“To do what?”
“Remove an unauthorized service modification.”
“On whose authority?”
He held out a work order.
Cynthia Langford.
Pine Ridge Estates HOA President.
The document looked official from ten feet away.
Up close, it was meaningless.
No utility authorization.
No applicable permit information.
No Ridgeline work order.
No release.
No engineering reference.
I asked Hector three questions.
“Do you have written authorization from Ridgeline to work on this equipment?”
He hesitated.
“No.”
“Do you have a utility work permit for this job?”
Another hesitation.
“HOA said we didn’t need one.”
“And who confirmed the equipment was de-energized?”
Hector looked at Dale.
Then at Cynthia.
I felt my stomach tighten.
“That equipment is utility property,” I said. “You need to stop.”
Cynthia walked over.
“Do not listen to him.”
Hector pointed toward the meter.