“Yes.”
“Dylan is nineteen.”
“I know.”
“He could lose school.”
“Scholarships.”
“Everything.”
I answered carefully.
“That doesn’t change what Grace saw.”
Gwen started crying harder.
“I’m not asking her to change facts.”
Dana said:
“It sounds like you are.”
That ended the conversation.
Before leaving, Gwen told Grace:
“Think about whether you’re absolutely sure.”
Grace answered:
“I already have.”
From that day forward, Gwen changed.
At first, the things that happened around our house seemed too small to matter.
A trash cart disappeared from beside the garage and turned up behind a retention pond.
I assumed teenagers.
Three days later, two sprinkler heads were broken along the side yard.
Landscaper probably.
Then someone pulled several solar lights from Dana’s garden and left them lying in the grass.
Wind?
Maybe.
Our mailbox was bent backward one morning.
Probably a car.
Then Owen’s basketball was found behind Gwen’s shed.
Kids lose things.
Our side gate started appearing open even though I was certain I had closed it.
One afternoon, Dana found the cover removed from our outdoor furniture and stuffed behind a hedge.
“What is happening lately?”
She asked.
I shrugged.
“Spring.”
That was my explanation.
Spring apparently caused people’s belongings to move around.
Then Grace found a note under her windshield wiper.
No name.
Just:
You don’t know what you saw.
That changed things.
We gave it to police.
Gwen denied writing it.
Dylan’s attorney denied knowing anything about it.
No fingerprints useful enough to matter.
Grace became nervous.
I installed two more cameras.
That was what eventually saved us from misunderstanding the pattern.
The first useful recording came from April 6.
At 6:12 in the morning, Gwen entered our side yard.
She picked up one of Dana’s solar lights.
Moved it.
Then another.
At first, I thought I was seeing the explanation for the earlier missing lights.
But she did something strange afterward.
She took out her phone.
Photographed them.
Then left.
Why would someone move our lights and then photograph them?
April 10.
Gwen came near our mailbox.
The camera did not show exactly what she touched.
But later that morning, the mailbox was bent.
She returned at 8:30.
Took another photograph.
April 14.
She walked beside the property line while we were at Grace’s track meet.
One of our trash bins was later found tipped near the street.
Again:
Photograph.
April 19.
Side gate open.
Gwen outside.
Photograph.
The pattern was not damage alone.
It was documentation.
I only discovered this after the shed incident because before then I had no reason to search through hours of clips.
Once I did, it became obvious.
She was creating the problem.
Then recording the result.
Dana sat beside me while we reviewed the footage.
“What is she taking pictures for?”
“I don’t know.”
Grace stood behind us.
Then said:
“Her attorney.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Maybe she’s trying to make us look crazy.”
That sounded strange.
Until the next day.
Officer Megan Foster handled our property-damage report.
She took the shed incident seriously because Gwen had essentially admitted what she had done.
The cameras supported it.
But Megan also told me something important.
“Mr. Merritt, Ms. Pritchard has made reports involving your household.”
I stared at her.
“What reports?”
“I can’t summarize everything from memory.”