Zoe saw the paint from her bedroom window. She came downstairs in silence, picked up a rag, and asked whether she could help clean it. I looked at the red letters, then at my daughter. "We'll document it first," I said. "After that, we'll get it off."
"What does snitch mean to him?" she asked.
"Probably someone who tells the truth when he doesn't want it told."
She thought about that. Then she said, "That's a stupid thing to be ashamed of."
I smiled. "Agreed."
The following morning, every tire on my work truck was flat. When I crouched beside the first wheel, I saw damage that couldn't have come from a nail in the road. The remaining tires were in similar condition. The truck was my livelihood. Without it, I couldn't carry tools or reach job sites. I stood in the driveway with my hands at my sides, breathing slowly because I knew how close I was to losing my temper.
The camera recordings showed a figure moving around the truck during the night and leaving in a vehicle consistent with Trevor's. The damage and images warranted a renewed police investigation. Martinez came back, examined the truck, and took another report. She was more direct this time.
"Mr. Rodriguez, keep giving us the unaltered files. Don't confront him, don't follow him, and don't try to arrange for him to do something. We'll handle the criminal investigation."
"What about getting to work?" I asked.
She glanced at the tires. "Your insurance or a repair shop can help with that part. I know it doesn't make the inconvenience any smaller."
I rented a utility truck for two days and paid for replacement tires. I kept the receipts. At the end of that week, I had spent more replacing rubber and lost work time than the first several HOA fines combined. Yet the problem wasn't merely financial. Every time I turned onto Maple Street, I wondered what new damage would be waiting.
Elena picked up Zoe that Friday. Before leaving, my daughter hugged me longer than usual. "Text me when you're home from work," she said.
"I will."
"And don't argue with him if he comes back."
I tried to smile. "I sound like I'm getting parenting advice from my own kid."
"Somebody has to keep you from being dramatic."
She waved from her mother's car as they drove away. I stood in the driveway beside the replacement tires and watched until the taillights disappeared. When I went inside, Gerald was still sitting beside the walkway, untouched by the vandals. I almost felt grateful to the ridiculous little gnome. At least something in the front yard remained cheerful.
That night, Phil called. The first meaningful tranche of financial records had finally arrived through the association's records process. He wanted us to meet the next afternoon, because, as he put it, the numbers were starting to tell a story that Vivian's newsletters never had.
Phil Mercer arrived at my house the next day with an ordinary brown briefcase, a portable scanner, and a pencil sharpened to a point so fine I doubted it would survive contact with the paper. Janet came with a legal pad. Bernard brought his laptop and a box of index cards. Dolores contributed tamales wrapped in foil and informed everybody that an investigation conducted on an empty stomach was a waste of good intelligence. It was the first time the five of us had gathered around my dining table, and I felt a sudden, reluctant affection for the sight.