Winifred smiled as our cars were towed away, thinking she’d won some neighborhood fight. But by the next morning, she stood on her porch in shock, facing a $25,000 mistake she’d never forget. Dorian and I had only spent one night in the house.
It was a small, single-story rental in a quiet suburb. Tan bricks. Green shutters.
A patchy lawn that hadn’t been watered in months. We were just here for a short work assignment. Nothing permanent.
Nothing fancy. We’d barely unpacked the coffee maker when the doorbell rang. Dorian groaned.
“We don’t even have curtains up yet.”
I checked the peephole. “Looks like the welcome wagon’s here.”
He peeked. “Yikes.
She’s got cookies.”
I opened the door. There stood a woman in a light pink cardigan, a matching headband, and white capri pants. Her smile was bright, but her eyes were too sharp for someone just dropping off treats.
“Hi there!” she said, voice high and cheery. “I’m Winifred. I live across the street.
Just wanted to say hello!”
She held out a tray of chocolate chip cookies, lined up perfectly, not a crumb out of place. “Thanks,” I said, taking the tray. “That’s really nice.”
Dorian gave her a quick wave.
“Appreciate it.”
Her smile stayed put, but her eyes kept darting behind us. Over my shoulder. Then over Dorian’s.
She leaned a bit, like she was trying to peek inside. I stepped to the side. Her gaze swept down our hallway, then toward the living room.
“You folks settling in okay?” she asked, blinking fast. “Yeah,” I said slowly. “Just moved in yesterday.”
“Such a nice area,” she said, her eyes flicking back to the doorframe.
“Quiet. Clean. Very… neat.”
Dorian crossed his arms.
“We’re just here for work. Won’t cause any trouble.”
“Oh, I’m sure!” she said, her tone a bit too chipper. “Just wanted to say welcome.
And one small thing…”
I could sense it coming. That shift from cookies to complaints. “Our HOA—very friendly, but strict—has a rule about cars,” she said.
“Only one per house in the driveway.”
I blinked. “One car?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice tightening. “No exceptions.
Keeps the neighborhood looking tidy.”
Dorian raised his eyebrows. “But we’re not parking on the street. Both cars fit in the driveway just fine.”
“I know,” she said with a little head tilt.
“But it’s still two cars. One house. One driveway.
One car.”
“We’re only here temporarily,” I said. “Not permanent residents.”
She smiled wide. “Rules apply to everyone.
That’s what makes it fair.”
Dorian gave her a long look. “Well, thanks for the cookies.”
“Enjoy them!” she chirped. “I’m sure you’ll settle in just fine.”
We closed the door.
“That was intense,” Dorian said. “She looked past me like she thought we were hiding something in the kitchen,” I said, setting the tray on the counter. “Bet she’s already memorized our license plates.”
“Let her.
We’re not breaking any laws. Just an overzealous neighbor with too much time.”
Dorian shrugged. “Cookies smell good, though.”
Three days later, I woke to a strange noise outside.
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