Then Judith rebuilt it.
“Oh.”
Her gaze moved from Franklin to Denise.
“You’re the new owners?”
“Yes.”
Denise smiled politely.
“We closed two weeks ago.”
Judith looked toward the house.
“I wasn’t informed.”
Franklin shrugged slightly.
“The realtor handled the sale.”
Judith straightened.
“I’m Judith Pennington. President of the Crestwood Manor Homeowners Association.”
“Franklin Ferris.”
“Denise.”
Judith looked at Bruno.
“And that animal?”
“Bruno,” Denise said.
“He’s three.”
“Breed?”
“German Shepherd.”
Judith’s eyes sharpened.
“I’m not certain German Shepherds are permitted.”
Denise glanced at Franklin.
“We reviewed the recorded covenants before closing.”
“There are community standards beyond the recorded covenants.”
Franklin answered calmly.
“We’re happy to complete normal registration forms.”
“Good.”
Judith looked at the boxes.
“But there are several other matters we need to address before you continue.”
Franklin paused.
“What matters?”
“New resident approval.”
He looked at her.
“Approval?”
Judith nodded.
“Background screening, financial documentation, community orientation, pet registration, occupancy review.”
“We already own the house.”
“That does not eliminate community procedure.”
Franklin studied her face.
Denise still thought this was a misunderstanding.
“Could you send us the forms?”
Judith folded her arms.
“I can.”
“Great.”
“We’ll take care of them after we unload.”
Judith did not move.
Franklin waited.
Finally, he stepped around her.
“Excuse us.”
He carried the box inside.
Judith watched him unlock the front door.
The key turned.
The door opened.
He disappeared into the house.
That should have resolved any question about whether Franklin had legitimate access.
Instead, Judith took out her phone.
At 9:31 a.m., members of the Crestwood Manor neighborhood group received a message.
Unknown individuals currently entering 14 Maple Ridge. New ownership not cleared through association procedures. Please remain alert until residency status can be verified.
She did not write black couple.
She did not need to.
Within minutes, curtains moved.
Doors opened.
Phones appeared.
At 9:46, Ed Cranston walked onto his porch.
At 9:51, Marilyn Weller crossed to her mailbox even though mail delivery had not yet arrived.
At 9:57, Grace Sullivan opened her kitchen blinds and watched Denise carry dishes from the car.
People were not staring openly.
Crestwood Manor residents were too practiced for that.
They lingered.
They checked imaginary mail.
They watered already wet flowers.
They walked dogs that normally slept until noon.
Denise noticed first.
“Franklin.”
He was dragging a wrapped bookshelf toward the front steps.
“What?”
She lowered her voice.
“Everybody is watching us.”
Franklin looked around.
A man across the street immediately turned away.
A woman near the corner bent over a flower bed she had not touched.
Franklin let out a slow breath.
“I see.”
“Did we do something?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because we’ve been here forty minutes.”
Denise said nothing.
Franklin smiled faintly.
“Come on. Kitchen first.”
They continued.
At ten-thirty, Judith returned.
This time she carried a manila folder.
She walked directly to the porch.
“I need to speak with both of you.”