“You ever come onto my land?”
His eyes moved away.
“Sometimes we work near fence.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
I didn’t push.
Miguel was not Denise.
He was a worker trying to keep accounts.
I knew what that felt like.
“Listen,” I said. “I’m not looking to make your life difficult. But you need to stop crossing my fence.”
He nodded once.
“You understand?”
Another nod.
I drove away.
The following morning, the hose was attached again.
Whether Denise ordered him or threatened his contract, I didn’t know.
But now I had evidence.
So I documented everything.
Dates.
Times.
Pump activity.
Video.
Broken locks.
Photographs.
I put each damaged piece of hardware into a labeled plastic bag.
Twenty-eight years in construction teaches you another lesson.
The person with the best records usually wins the argument that happens six months later.
Denise responded with paperwork of her own.
The first county inspector arrived on a Tuesday.
He stepped out of a white pickup wearing a reflective vest and carrying a clipboard.
“You Jake Harden?”
“Yes.”
“Environmental health.”
I already knew.
“Complaint about your septic system.”
“Let me guess. Possible groundwater contamination?”
He looked at the page.
“Pretty much.”
“Come on.”
We inspected everything.
He found nothing improper.
At the end, he closed his clipboard.
“System looks better than most I see.”
“Anything I need to fix?”
“No.”
“Can I get that in writing?”
He smiled.
“You expecting trouble?”
“I think trouble lives next door.”
He gave me a copy of the inspection report.
A week later came another complaint.
Fence safety.
Dismissed.
Then another.
Unlicensed commercial activity because I occasionally had an old plumbing van beside my shop.
County zoning looked at it.
Nothing.
Then a certified letter arrived.
Attorney letterhead.
Gerald Nicks.
The letter used impressive language to argue that Silver Creek had acquired some kind of right to continued access because of longstanding beneficial use.
I read it twice.
Then called Henry De La Cruz.
Henry had represented me for years.
Contract disputes.
A lien issue.
My uncle’s estate.
He had the calmest voice of anybody I knew, which probably explained why people paid him to talk while they were angry.
I read him the letter.
Silence.
Then Henry said, “How long has she been secretly taking the water?”
“Don’t know exactly.”
“And she hid the connection?”