Jack and I had barely set foot in our new home when the doorbell rang. Boxes still cluttered the hallway, the scent of fresh paint lingered in the air, and our coffee maker—our lifeline—was still packed away somewhere in the chaos. Yet, our new neighborhood had wasted no time in making its presence known.
I stole a glance through the peephole. “Looks like we’ve got a welcome committee,” I murmured.
Jack groaned. “Tell me they’re not holding cookies.”
They were.
A woman stood on our doorstep, her entire ensemble—capri pants, headband, and cardigan—coordinated in shades of pastel pink. In her hands, a tray of picture-perfect chocolate chip cookies, so symmetrical they could have been cut with a stencil.
“Hi there!” she chirped, her smile as bright as her diamond earrings. “I’m Lindsey. I live just across the street. Just wanted to stop by and welcome you two!”
We thanked her. Jack gave a halfhearted nod, but Lindsey’s attention had already drifted past us, her eyes darting around our entryway as if searching for something… unsavory.
“Settling in okay?” she asked, stepping forward ever so slightly.
“We moved in yesterday,” I replied, subtly shifting to block her view.
She nodded, the kind of nod that carried an unspoken “but.” “It’s a wonderful neighborhood. Very… orderly.”
Here it comes.
“Just so you know,” she continued, her voice dripping with faux sweetness, “the HOA has a strict policy—only one car per driveway. No exceptions. Keeps the streets looking neat.”
I frowned. “Even if both cars fit perfectly?”
She blinked. “One house. One driveway. One car.”
Jack exhaled sharply. “We’re only here temporarily for work.”
Her smile tightened. “Rules are rules.”
We shut the door before either of us could say what we were really thinking.
Three days later, the sound of metal chains clanking against pavement jolted us awake.
Jack and I scrambled out of bed, barely throwing on shoes before rushing to the door. Outside, in the pale morning light, two tow trucks sat in our driveway. Both our cars were already halfway lifted off the ground.
“What the hell is going on?” I demanded.
One of the drivers barely glanced at me. “HOA violation. Order came in this morning.”
No warning. No fine. Just straight to towing.
And then we saw her.
Lindsey.
She stood on her perfectly manicured lawn, wrapped in a lavender bathrobe, sipping from a coffee mug like she was admiring a scenic sunrise. When she noticed us looking, she gave the smallest, most smug little wave.
Jack muttered a curse under his breath. But me? I smiled. Because Lindsey had just made a very expensive mistake.
I strolled toward her, my steps slow, deliberate. “Wow, Lindsey,” I said lightly. “You really went through with it, huh?”
She tilted her head. “Rules are rules.”
Jack crossed his arms, nodding toward the small, almost unnoticeable decal in the corner of our car’s rear windshield.
Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”
I let my smile grow just a little. “A mark that just cost you twenty-five grand.”
For the first time, her smug expression faltered.
We turned and walked away, ignoring her calls for an explanation. We didn’t slam the door behind us. We just… closed it.
That evening, as dusk settled over the neighborhood, I made a short, calm phone call.
“Civilian interference. Unauthorized property removal. Might want to send someone over in the morning.”
“Understood,” came the reply.
Jack, lounging on the couch, smirked. “You think she’s ready for this?”
“Oh, she will be.”
At sunrise, a sleek black SUV rolled up to Lindsey’s house, the kind that looked like it belonged in a government sting operation. A man in a dark suit stepped out, his movements deliberate, his sunglasses reflecting the morning light.
He nodded at me before walking up her driveway.
Lindsey answered the door in the same lavender bathrobe, though it looked a little less pristine now—wrinkled, disheveled. The coffee mug she clutched had “Live, Laugh, Love” scrawled across it in flowery script.
The agent pulled out a badge.
“Ma’am,” he began, his tone cool and professional, “due to your actions yesterday, you are now under investigation for interfering with an active federal operation.”
Her face drained of color.
“You ordered the towing of two marked government vehicles,” he continued. “As a result, you delayed and compromised an ongoing investigation. Estimated damages: twenty-five thousand dollars.”
The mug slipped from her fingers, shattering on the porch.
Jack took a step forward, hands in his pockets. “Maybe next time, don’t play sheriff of suburbia.”
The agent handed her a card. “Our office will be in touch. Do not leave the area, and do not attempt to contact any involved parties.”
And just like that, he was gone.
I gave Lindsey one last look, tilting my head. “Maybe just stick to baking cookies next time.”
We walked back home in silence.
Her front door remained ajar for a long time after that.
Her blinds stayed shut.
And those pristine rose bushes she had bragged about on day one?
They started wilting not long after.
Funny thing about karma. It’s got a green thumb, too.
