The easement Amber had invoked as an established fact was not in the records where it ought to have been. That did not conclusively prove no one could claim a right through some other legal theory, but it meant her demand was nowhere near as straightforward as she pretended. I needed to know why that hadn't troubled her before she sent the letter.
I found Gerald Anderson's number through the closing paperwork and a forwarding contact. When I called, a man answered on the fifth ring with a faint television playing behind him. His voice sounded tired but warm, like someone who had run out of patience for nonsense without running out of patience for people.
"Mr. Anderson? Alexander Meyers. I bought your cabin on the lake."
He was quiet, then said, "How's the porch holding up? The railing by the steps always needs a little persuasion after a wet winter."
"It's fine," I said. "The place is beautiful. I'm calling about the road. Pine Ridge Estates says it has an easement across the drive and that I owe the HOA eight hundred and fifty dollars."
A dry laugh came through the line. It was the laugh of someone recognizing a bad habit in an old acquaintance. "They finally found somebody who asks questions," Gerald said. "Well, I'll be."
"Did you grant them access?" I asked.
"I built that road myself in 2005. Hired a man with a grader, hauled in the gravel, paid every bill. They came along after, put up their houses, and started driving across it when somebody connected their street to my drive. Nobody asked me to sign anything."
"Did you ever tell them they could?"
"Not once. I didn't tell them they couldn't, either, which is a different thing. My wife Evelyn was sick for years. If a neighbor crossed the road to save ten minutes getting home, I didn't have the heart or energy to chase them. But I never handed them the property, and I never promised them permanent use."
I made notes while he spoke. He remembered the sound of the graders when the development was built and the first morning he saw tire marks continuing beyond the edge of his road. He remembered asking one of the workers what was happening and being told that it was a convenient connection for the subdivision. He had meant to call somebody about it, he said, but that afternoon Evelyn was taken back to the hospital, and afterward there was always something more urgent.
"They've maintained it, at least that's what their president claims," I said.
"A few loads of gravel here and there," Gerald replied. "Maybe they filled a pothole after a hard rain. I did more than my share of filling those, too. No one ever offered to reimburse me."
"Would you be willing to explain this to an attorney if it comes to that?"
"Son, I'd be glad to. Just don't let that woman turn you against the folks in those houses. Most of them probably never knew there was a question."