She was right, and I hated it. So, I upgraded the lock again.
Chapter 3: A Foolish Plan
For three blissful weeks, nothing happened. Then, one Tuesday morning, I stepped outside with my coffee and found wet footprints tracking across the patio.
It wasn't just one set. There were several. They began beside the shallow end, crossed deliberately toward the gate, and disappeared into the grass. The gate was closed, but the new lock had fresh scratches near the keyhole.
I immediately checked the camera app, only to discover the recording had stopped the previous afternoon. I had forgotten to replace a corrupted memory card. Perfect timing.
I stood beside the pool, staring at those evaporating footprints until my simmering irritation boiled over into genuine anger.
I wish I could tell you that what I did next was smart, measured, or mature. It wasn’t. I decided it was time to teach Karen Whitmore a lesson.
The idea stemmed from something harmless I had seen at a local pool-supply store: a temporary, highly pigmented color product used by professionals for demonstrations and leak tracing. It wasn't intended to hurt anyone or damage equipment. It was simply designed to make the water dramatically change color for a short period before dissipating.
I vividly imagined the scenario: Karen sneaking into our pool, the water suddenly turning a shocking, bright neon red around her, and the ensuing panic. I would step outside, catch her red-handed, and she would finally understand that I was always watching.
Was it juvenile? Absolutely. Was it immensely satisfying in my imagination? Also absolutely.
Laura did not know about this plan. That detail matters. If I had told her, she would have instantly shut it down. That matters, too.