On my fourth morning, I was replacing a rotten fence post when a white SUV slowed on the county road. It stopped beside my driveway. The driver’s door opened, and a woman stepped out. She looked to be in her early fifties, wearing perfectly styled blond hair, a white blouse, dark slacks, large sunglasses, and holding a clipboard.
She walked toward me without introducing herself. Her eyes went first to my muddy boots. Then my old Ford pickup. Then the farmhouse.
“Are you the caretaker?” she asked.
I looked up from the level in my hand. “No.”
She waited. “The contractor?”
“No.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Then who authorized you to work here?”
“Nobody.”
That answer made her smile. Not warmly. Triumphantly. “That’s what I thought.”
I set the level on the fence rail. “Nobody authorized me because nobody needs to.”
Her smile faded slightly. “I’m Cynthia Vale. President of the Cedar Ridge Homeowners Association.”
“Daniel Mercer.”
She waited again. I think she expected recognition. When she didn’t get it, she gestured toward the fence post. “You can’t make exterior structural changes without architectural approval.”
“This property isn’t part of Cedar Ridge.”
“Everything inside our development boundary is subject to community standards.”
“Show me the boundary.”
Her expression changed. “Excuse me?”
“You said I’m inside your development boundary. Show me.”
She laughed. “I don’t carry subdivision plats around in my vehicle.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Mr. Mercer, I don’t have time to educate you on property law.”
That line nearly got me. I had spent twenty-seven years practicing law before becoming a judge. But Cynthia didn’t know that. And I wasn’t interested in winning an argument by handing her my résumé. So I picked up my level. “Have a good morning.”
She remained where she was. “I’m not finished.”
“I am.”
“You cannot simply dismiss the president of the HOA.”
I looked at her. “On my land, I can stop a conversation whenever I want.”
Her face hardened. “This is exactly the kind of attitude we’ve been concerned about. I’ll have management verify the status of this property. And until then, I suggest you stop making changes.”
“I suggest you check the county records,” I replied.
She turned and walked back to her SUV. Before getting inside, she looked at the farmhouse again. There was something in that look I didn’t understand at the time. Not confusion. Not irritation. Calculation.
The next morning, I understood a little more. An orange notice had been stapled to my gate.
CEDAR RIDGE HOMEOWNERS ASSOCIATION NOTICE OF UNAUTHORIZED OCCUPANCY
According to the notice, an unidentified individual had taken possession of a vacant structure within the Cedar Ridge development area without HOA authorization. I read it twice. Then I looked at my house. “Unidentified,” I muttered. I had given Cynthia my name.