She grinned as our vehicles were hauled away, absolutely convinced she had won some sort of suburban showdown. But by the next morning, she was standing frozen on her porch, reeling from a $25,000 mistake she’d never forget.
Jack and I had only spent a single night in the house. It was a modest, one-story rental tucked into a sleepy neighborhood. Tan brickwork. Faded green shutters. A lawn that clearly hadn’t seen a sprinkler since springtime.
We weren’t planning to stay long. Just a temporary work assignment. Nothing permanent. Nothing noteworthy.
We hadn’t even finished unpacking the coffee maker when the doorbell rang.
Jack groaned. “Seriously? We haven’t even hung curtains.”
I peeked through the peephole. “Looks like the neighborhood welcome wagon.”
He looked too. “Uh-oh. She’s holding cookies.”
I opened the door.
Standing there was a woman in a pale pink cardigan with a matching headband, crisp white capris, and an overly cheerful smile. But behind her eyes? A kind of restless curiosity that didn’t match the baked goods in her hand.
“Hi, there!” she chirped, voice high and overly bright. “I’m Lindsey—I live right across the street. Just wanted to stop by and say hello!”
She held out a tray of chocolate chip cookies. Neatly arranged. Not a single one out of line.
“Well, thank you,” I said, taking the tray. “That’s very thoughtful.”
Jack gave her a polite nod. “Appreciate it.”
Her grin never wavered, but her eyes scanned beyond us—over my shoulder, past Jack. Like she was trying to see into every corner of our home.
She subtly leaned to one side, angling for a better view.
I shifted my position to block her line of sight. Still, her gaze darted down the hallway, into the living room.
“You getting settled okay?” she asked, blinking quickly.
“Yeah,” I answered cautiously. “We moved in yesterday.”
“Such a lovely community,” she said, her eyes still flicking toward our entryway. “Very peaceful. Very… well-kept.”
Jack crossed his arms. “We’re just here for work. Won’t be any trouble.”
“Oh, of course!” she replied, her voice taking on a rehearsed tone. “Just one quick thing…”
Here it came. That moment when the sugary small talk gives way to a grievance.
“Our HOA—they’re very friendly, but strict—only allows one car in the driveway per home.”
“One car?” I echoed.
“Yes,” she said, tone sharpening. “It’s about keeping the neighborhood orderly and attractive.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “We’re not parking on the street. Our driveway fits both cars easily.”
“I know,” she said, tilting her head like she was explaining rules to a toddler. “But it’s still two vehicles. One house. One driveway. One car.”
“We’re not permanent residents,” I explained. “This is temporary.”
Her smile widened. “Rules apply to everyone. That’s what keeps things fair.”
Jack offered a curt nod. “Well, thanks for the cookies.”
“Enjoy!” she sang. “I’m sure you’ll settle in just fine.”
We shut the door.
“That was a lot,” Jack muttered.
“She looked at me like she expected to see contraband on the counter,” I said, setting the untouched cookies on the kitchen counter.
“She’s definitely memorized our license plates.”
“Let her. We haven’t broken any rules. She just needs a hobby.”
Jack sniffed the tray. “Cookies do smell decent, though.”
Three days later, I was startled awake by a strange sound. Early. The sky was still that cold pre-dawn gray.
Clank. Clank. Whirrr.
Jack sat up, bleary-eyed. “What’s that noise?”
I pulled the curtain back—and froze. “Jack. Now. Outside. Now.”
We rushed to the front door—barefoot, disheveled—and flung it open.
Two tow trucks. Both in our driveway. Both of our cars mid-lift.
“Hey!” I shouted. “What do you think you’re doing?”
One of the tow operators didn’t even glance at me. “HOA violation. Only one car per household. Orders came through this morning.”
“From who?” Jack demanded. “There’s been no warning. No notice!”
And that’s when we saw her—Lindsey. Standing smugly across the street in a lavender bathrobe, coffee cup in hand, with that same gloating grin.
“Wow,” I said loud enough for her to hear. “You really went through with it.”
Her smirk faltered, just a bit. “What’s so funny?” she shot back.
I walked toward her slowly, calm as ever.
“Nothing,” I said. “Except that you’ve just cost yourself twenty-five thousand dollars.”
She blinked. “What are you talking about?”
Jack stepped up beside me, hands in his hoodie pocket. I motioned toward the tiny sticker on my car’s back windshield—barely noticeable unless you knew what it meant.
She squinted. “What is that?”
I didn’t answer. Just smiled and turned back toward our house. Jack followed.
From behind, we heard her voice, louder and rattled. “Hey! What’s that sticker? I asked you something!”
We closed the door—quietly, deliberately.
Jack collapsed onto the couch. “She’s going to obsess over that sticker.”
I grinned. “She should.”
The cookies? Still untouched. They sat stale on the counter, forgotten and meaningless.
Later that night, after sunset, I made a brief call.
“We’ve got interference,” I said. “Tampering. Civilian. Might want to send someone by in the morning.”
The voice on the other end was calm. “Understood.”
Click.
Jack looked over. “They’re coming?”
I nodded. “First thing.”
“Perfect,” he said. “I want her fully conscious when it hits.”
Just after dawn, we stepped outside.
Right on cue, a sleek black SUV cruised around the corner and parked in front of Lindsey’s place.
A man stepped out, sharp in a tailored suit, white shirt, black sunglasses—despite the early light. His shoes barely made a sound as he approached.
He gave me a subtle nod. I returned it.
Together, we walked across the street and rang Lindsey’s doorbell.
She opened the door, still in her fluffy robe, hair in a messy knot, coffee mug clutched between her hands. “Um… hello?”
The man didn’t smile. He calmly reached into his blazer and revealed his badge.
“Ma’am,” he said evenly, “due to your actions yesterday, you are under investigation for obstructing an active federal operation.”
Her face drained of color. “I—I don’t understand.”
“You ordered the removal of two marked government vehicles, disrupting an undercover investigation and compromising two agents.”
“I didn’t know!” she gasped. “I was just enforcing HOA guidelines!”
“You failed to confirm the status of those vehicles. Because of that, you caused delays and incurred damages totaling twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Her jaw dropped. The mug slipped from her hands and shattered at her feet.
Jack stepped forward. “Maybe next time, don’t play cop with people who know the law better than you.”
She just stared down at the broken pieces.
The agent gave a final nod. “You’ll be contacted soon. Until then, stay in the area. Don’t tamper with anything.”
She barely nodded, stunned silent.
He walked back to the SUV.
I gave her a look. “Next time, maybe just stick to baking cookies.”
We walked home. She didn’t say a word. Her door stayed slightly ajar. Her blinds never opened again. And those prized rose bushes?
They never fully recovered.