The gate on Margaret’s side opened.
She walked out as calmly as if Ethan had invited her over.
She looked at the garbage.
Then at him.
“It’s just trash.”
Ethan could hardly believe her.
“It’s your trash on my property.”
She folded her arms.
“Then clean it up.”
“What?”
“You’re already doing yard work.”
Ethan laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
“You’ve been throwing garbage over this fence for weeks.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I have you on camera.”
Margaret’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
Then she shrugged.
“If a bag accidentally crossed the fence, that doesn’t make it a federal case.”
“This one hit me.”
“You shouldn’t mow so close to the fence.”
Ethan stepped forward.
“Do not throw anything into my yard again.”
Margaret’s mouth tightened.
“You’re making a ridiculous scene over garbage.”
“You are dumping on my property.”
“You’re always throwing things away anyway.”
That sentence caught him.
“What?”
Margaret looked toward the trash.
“Every Saturday. You fill your bins.”
“So?”
“So put it in one.”
Ethan stared at her.
That was when another voice interrupted.
“Ethan.”
Carlos Bennett entered through Ethan’s side gate.
Carlos lived two houses down.
He was forty-seven, worked as a city bus mechanic, and seemed incapable of walking anywhere without his phone in his hand.
Now he was holding it differently.
Camera facing forward.
“Don’t touch that bag.”
Margaret’s smile disappeared.
Ethan looked at him.
“What?”
Carlos pointed toward the garbage scattered beside the mower.
“I saw her throw this one.”
Margaret snapped, “Mind your own business.”
Carlos ignored her.
“I was taking my recycling out.”
He held up the phone.
“I recorded the end of it.”
Ethan looked down.
Food scraps.
Paper.
A broken lamp shade.
Plastic grocery bags.
Several envelopes.
Then Carlos pointed toward something beneath a flattened cereal box.
“That.”
Ethan crouched.
Margaret moved immediately.
“Leave it alone.”
Ethan looked up.
Until that moment, Margaret had treated the entire pile as meaningless.
Now there was fear in her voice.
Ethan pulled a torn envelope from beneath the trash.
The paper was stained but readable.
A name appeared across the front.
MIRIAM CALDER
Below it was an address on Aspen Court.
Not Margaret’s.
Not Ethan’s.
Ethan knew the street.
Aspen Court was less than half a mile away.
Margaret took another step.
“Give me that.”
Ethan stood.
“Why?”
“It isn’t yours.”
He almost laughed.
“You threw it into my yard.”
“It was mixed into household trash.”
“Whose household?”
Margaret reached toward the envelope.
Carlos stepped between them.
“Don’t.”
She glared at him.
“You have no right to interfere.”
Carlos held the phone higher.
“I’m recording.”
Margaret looked toward Ethan.
“That envelope means nothing.”
“Then why do you want it?”
“It has someone’s private information.”
“You suddenly care about privacy?”
Margaret’s face reddened.
Ethan looked at the torn envelope again.