Chapter 3: The Neighbor Nobody Talked About
Rob picked up the phone and read the message twice.
"Who is that?" I asked.
"I don't know yet." He set the phone down, screen up.
"But I'm going to find out."
I pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.
"Rob.
Tell me what's actually happening.
All of it."
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he closed the laptop.
"When I called my friend Marcus this afternoon — the one who knows property law — I mentioned Dale's name.
Just in passing.
And Marcus went quiet.
Then he said, 'What street do you live on?' I told him.
He said, 'I think I know that property.
I think I know that tree.'"
I waited.
"Marcus said he had a client two years ago.
Family that used to live two doors down from us.
The Hendersons.
They moved away, and he thought it was just because they'd found a bigger place.
But the real reason—" Rob stopped.
"He couldn't tell me everything.
Attorney-client privilege.
But he told me enough."
"Enough to write that on the notepad?"
"Enough to know Dale has done this before.
Not just the apples.
The encroachment.
The pressure.
The way he makes people feel like they're in the wrong when they're standing on their own property."
I thought about the Hendersons.
I'd barely known them.
A quiet couple.
They'd left in the spring, fast — a for-sale sign one week, a moving truck the next.
I'd assumed a job transfer.
"So that text," I said.
"You think it's connected to them?"
"I don't know." He looked at the phone again.
"But someone knows we're asking questions."
I got up and poured two glasses of water.
When I turned back, Rob had the notepad open again and was writing something underneath the three words he'd already put there.
"What are you adding?"
He turned it so I could see.
*Who else has he done this to?*
---
The next morning I was in the backyard with my coffee when I heard the gate latch on Dale's side.
I didn't move.
I just watched over the rim of my cup.
He came out with a rake.
He looked at our yard — at the apples still lying where they'd fallen — and his expression shifted.
Not anger.
Something more calculating than that.
He looked up and saw me.
"You planning on leaving those to rot?"
"Good morning, Dale."
"I'm asking you a question."
"I heard you." I took a sip of my coffee.
"We're not raking this year."
His jaw tightened.
"Those will draw wasps.
Raccoons.
You'll have a mess by September."
"Then we'll deal with it in September."
He stared at me for a long moment.
"You're making a mistake."
"Maybe." I looked at him steadily.
"Or maybe I'm just finally reading up on property law."
Something moved behind his eyes.
It was small, and it was fast, and if I hadn't been watching for it I would have missed it entirely.
He turned and went back inside without another word.
I stood there until his door closed.
Then I took out my phone and photographed the apples on the ground — the date and time stamp visible in the corner — and sent them to Rob with one line: *He came out.
He knows something is different.*
Rob replied in under a minute: *Good.
Keep documenting.
May you like
And Sarah — check the mail today.
Marcus is sending something.*
