Later that afternoon I watched the recording once in my garage. Brenda's voice came through clearly, including her demand for free fuel and the statement that she was calling 911 because I refused. I saved a copy, made a dated note, and requested the public incident record when it became available. Then I put the file away and went back to the carburetor, hoping that would be the end of her theatrical relationship with emergency services.
I was wrong. Two mornings later an unmarked sedan stopped in front of my house. A man with a close haircut and a woman in a business suit climbed out and began photographing the driveway from several angles. They did not approach the front door or offer their names. One stepped onto the private side of the boundary and appeared to be measuring the distance between the tank and a neighboring fence.
I came outside carrying coffee in Sarah's old blue mug. "Morning. Can I help you?"
The woman looked up from a tablet. "Routine property assessment. We're checking insurance compliance."
"Which company are you with?"
"We're authorized to make an assessment," the man said. He wore sunglasses despite standing beneath the shade of a maple tree. "I'd suggest you go back inside and let us finish."
There are situations in which the easiest way to recognize somebody pretending to have authority is to ask a straightforward question and watch how hard they work to avoid answering it. I asked again for identification, the name of the insurer that commissioned them, and the basis for entering my property. The woman glanced at her colleague. Neither produced documentation.
"You're welcome to take photographs from places the public can lawfully stand," I told them. "You aren't welcome to conduct an undisclosed inspection inside my property. Please leave."
The man muttered something about uncooperative homeowners, but they returned to the sedan without incident. I recorded the license plate and the time and saved the relevant security video. I suspected Brenda, though suspicion remained all it was. My experience taught me not to confuse a good guess with proof.
Two hours later my phone rang from an unfamiliar number. The caller identified himself as Rick Santos of Apex Investigations. He asked whether he was speaking to Marcus Kellerman, and once I confirmed it, he said he had a professional disclosure to make. His tone was careful, more embarrassed than frightened.
"Mrs. Brenda Ashworth retained my firm to conduct a background investigation regarding a neighborhood dispute," he said. "During the initial review, we identified your current employment."
"I see."
"She apparently wasn't aware of it."
I leaned back at the garage workbench. "What exactly did she ask your firm to do?"
Rick explained that the initial request had gone far beyond verifying ownership or permits. Brenda had asked for anything criminal, embarrassing, or personally compromising that could help pressure me to leave Willowbrook. According to Rick, she had discussed an additional five-thousand-dollar payment if information resulted in an arrest or forced relocation. He said he had declined that arrangement and was ending the assignment because the requests were inconsistent with his firm's policies and potentially involved improper surveillance.