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“You reported me?”
“I reported your dog destroying my flowers.”
“You could’ve talked to me first.”
“I did. Twice.”
Her jaw tightened.
“You didn’t need to involve the HOA.”
“I wouldn’t have if the problem had stopped.”
She stared at me for a few seconds before walking back inside her house.
After that, everything changed.
Denise never admitted doing anything, but strange little incidents started happening.
My trash cans began falling over on collection day.
Almost every Thursday, I would place them neatly at the curb before leaving for work.
By the time I came home, at least one would be lying on its side.
Sometimes garbage was scattered across the street.
Sometimes the lid ended up underneath a parked car.
Once, I found coffee grounds all over my driveway.
I started tying my trash bags more securely.
It didn’t help.
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