Canyon Lake Estates had no right to my private line. It owned no shares in that lateral, held no assigned turnout number through it, and had submitted no transfer order for that water. The HOA could buy supplemental water from a willing rights holder if the relevant approvals were obtained. It could not install a new pipe behind the cottonwoods and call the result a purchase.
"Who ordered this work?" Mara asked.
Before I could answer, Denise walked up the service path holding a folder so tightly its edges bent.
"I assume someone has told you the wrong story," she said. "We have authorization."
"Then let's look at it," Mara replied.
Denise handed over a photocopy. Across the top, in official-looking capital letters, it read TEMPORARY IRRIGATION TRANSFER AUTHORIZATION. Beneath it were the name Pierce Orchard, our parcel number, and a description of the water delivery window. The document supposedly permitted Canyon Lake Estates to divert up to forty percent of my scheduled irrigation flow for fourteen days while the ornamental lake was stabilized. Near the bottom, a sentence said I had received twelve thousand dollars in advance.
Below that sentence was my signature.
It looked like my signature at first glance. The capital R had the same hurried loop, and the final stroke came up at the same angle I used when signing delivery receipts. But I could see something wrong immediately. The name had the exact shape of a signature I remembered writing on a different form, including a tiny gap near the last letter where an old scanner had failed to catch the ink.
"I didn't sign this," I said.
Denise gave me a patient smile. "Your signature is right there."
"That isn't evidence of my consent. It is evidence that somebody put my name on a page."
"Richard, surely we can discuss this without turning it into an accusation."
"You put a pipe into my water line and handed a contractor a document saying I had agreed to it. I am asking you plainly: did you ever talk to me about buying this water?"
She looked toward Mara. "We discussed it through the appropriate channels."
"Which channels?" Mara asked. "What's the district approval number?"
Denise shifted the folder under one arm. "The technical paperwork was handled by our contractor."
"His name?"
"Shane Whitaker. He does our landscape and excavation work."
Mara wrote it down, then used her phone to call the district office. She asked them to place an immediate hold on any proposed transfer using my account while the documents were checked. She photographed the signature, the page, the pipe, and the excavation. Finally, she attached a red district notice to the branch connection stating it was not an approved turnout and must not be operated.
"Keep your lock on the branch," she told me. "We'll follow up with the contractor and our records office. This line stays shut."
Denise looked from the notice to the lowering stream at the lake and appeared, for the first time, genuinely alarmed.
"You are going to ruin the shoreline before the tour," she said.