By the time Officer Daniel Reyes arrived at Hawthorne Ridge, the leaf blower had been turned off for nearly twenty minutes.
The machine sat silent on the rear patio of Unit 58, its orange plastic body resting heavily beside a pile of damp, autumn leaves. A woman wearing gardening gloves stood near the sliding glass door, one hand wrapped defensively around her opposite arm. Three distinct red marks crossed the pale skin just above her wrist.
Across the manicured lawn, another woman paced beside the community mailbox, speaking rapidly into her cell phone.
"She attacked me first," the pacing woman insisted into the receiver. "Not physically, but deliberately. There are rules here. Noise rules. She knows that."
Officer Reyes closed the heavy door of his patrol car. The sound echoed briefly in the quiet complex. His partner, Officer Lena Foster, immediately moved toward the woman with the injured arm on the patio, while Reyes approached the one pacing near the mailbox.
"Ma’am," Reyes called out, keeping his voice even.
She turned. She was in her late sixties, with silver-blond hair cut neatly at her jawline. A blue cardigan was buttoned sensibly over a crisp white blouse. Her shoes were clearly expensive, though currently ruined—soaked through from her march across the damp grass. She held herself rigidly, as though posture alone might establish her authority in the situation.
"You’re the police?" she asked.
"Yes. Officer Reyes. What’s your name?"
"Nancy Rosenberg."
"Mrs. Rosenberg, I need you to stay here with me while we figure out exactly what happened."
"I called you," Nancy stated, a hint of defiance in her tone.
"I understand."
"They were making that noise again."
"We’ll talk about it," Reyes said gently.
Nancy ignored him and began walking briskly toward Unit 56. Reyes stepped smoothly into her path, blocking her way.
"Ma’am, please stay with me."
"My husband is inside. I need to tell him—"
"You can tell him later," Reyes interrupted firmly. "Right now, I’m investigating a possible crime."
Nancy stopped dead in her tracks. The word seemed to hang in the crisp air. "A crime?"