Hadley had built her neighborhood reputation on certainty. She knew which fence was six inches too tall, which guest parked overnight, and which homeowner had not paid a late fee by the due date. Yet her association records repeatedly treated a disputed signature as if it carried more authority than a vehicle title or an owner's sworn denial. Holt wanted to know why.
He also wanted to know who had actually approved the inspections. The three men who visited my garage did not appear in the board's published appointment records, though invoices for "standards compliance services" had been paid to a subcontractor related to Whit's company. Two of the men had unrelated outstanding legal matters, which the sheriff's team handled separately. Their previous history did not establish that the garage inspections themselves were criminal, but it made the absence of proper oversight more troubling.
The next weeks were quieter than I expected. I went to work, answered budget questions, talked to citizens at a library event, and came home to an empty kitchen. Tate called from Athens after classes and told me he had joined an engineering study group. Sometimes he asked about the Mustang. Other nights he asked whether I had remembered to buy groceries.
One evening I told him I had met Adelaide Crisp. He wanted to know why a woman who had been treated so badly would ever trust another neighbor again. I said that trust could return in smaller pieces than the ones in which it disappeared. He considered that for a while, then told me there was a first-year student in his dorm who knew almost nothing about cars and wanted to learn how to change his oil.
"Maybe I could show him," Tate said.
"You absolutely could," I told him. "Just make sure he checks his owner's manual first."
I could hear him smiling through the phone. Then he became serious again and said he worried the Lockwoods would not stop until somebody was hurt. I told him Holt and the sheriff's office were taking the matter seriously, but that I could not promise what would happen next. He asked whether I had enough evidence.
"Enough to ask harder questions," I said. "Not yet enough to answer all of them."
Hadley, meanwhile, had apparently decided that quiet meant she was winning. She posted a neighborhood update warning that the association would pursue all outstanding compliance matters before year-end. The message referred to certain homeowners who had begun spreading misinformation about board procedures. It did not name me, but three people forwarded it to me with the same question: Was she talking about you?
I did not respond publicly. Ruth filed the civil appeal and requested a formal accounting from the board. Holt kept gathering evidence. I went to the garage on Sundays, polished the Mustang's chrome, and tried to remember that my wife had bought the car so Tate and I would have something joyful to work on, not so that the car would become the center of a legal file.