At eight o’clock, I took my heavy metal flashlight and stepped onto the front porch. The night was cold, and the damp air clung to my skin.
A sudden rustling sound came from the edge of the woods, near the high native shrubs.
I clicked the flashlight on and swept the beam across the yard, but the light only caught the pale undersides of the leaves.
Down at the end of the lane, near the mailboxes on the main road, a pair of parking lights glowed in the dark. A white crossover sat idling under the hemlocks, its engine a low, distant hum.
I did not think much of it, assuming it was a utility worker or someone waiting for a neighbor.
I turned the flashlight back toward my own driveway, shining the beam onto the empty hood of my car.
The bright light reflected off the clean metal, showing nothing but the dark shape of my own face looking back at me.
The morning light brought no answers, only a cold drizzle that grayed the sky and pooled in the gravel. Gary was already by the edge of the driveway when I came out, his eyes fixed on the low branches of the Douglas fir that hung over my old sedan. He did not have his broom today, only a small metal stepladder he must have carried over from his own yard.
“Take a look at this, Clara,” Gary said, pointing a finger toward the trunk.
I stepped onto the wet gravel, my shoes sinking slightly into the small stones. High up on the main branch, just where the needles thinned out to give a clear view of my windshield, a small black object was strapped tight to the bark with thick plastic zip-ties. It was a small, empty plastic bracket, molded in the shape of a half-moon.
Gary reached up and touched the plastic, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses with his flannel sleeve. “This is a mounting bracket for a high-definition trail camera.”
“A camera?” I asked, my fingers immediately finding my silver wedding band, twisting it around my knuckle. “Who would put a camera in my tree?”
“Someone who wanted to see exactly what is touching your car at night,” Gary said, his voice flat and dry. “And they did not want you to know they were looking.”
The drizzle began to turn into a steady Oregon rain, the cold drops tapping against the hood of my car. I looked from the empty bracket back to the woods, wondering how many nights that lens had been aimed at my driveway.
I went inside to escape the dampness, but the quiet of my kitchen offered very little comfort. I found a yellow legal notepad in the desk drawer, the paper clean and bright against the dark wood of the counter. At the top of the first page, I wrote the date and the word “Bracket,” my hand staying steady despite the sudden tightness in my chest.
At half past eleven, the sound of tyres on gravel broke the quiet.
I looked through the glass of the front door and saw Beatrice stepping out of her clean white crossover, her manicured nails bright red against her black leather purse. A man in a tan canvas jacket and a yellow hard hat followed her, carrying a clipboard and a heavy metal flashlight.
They did not knock before Beatrice opened the screen door, her fast, cheerful voice filling the small hallway before she even crossed the threshold. “Clara, dear, we are just doing a quick walk-through today. This is Mr. Vance from the regional office, and he needs to check the floor joists.”
The man gave a polite nod, but he kept his distance, looking slightly uncomfortable as he held his clipboard against his chest.
“I did not authorize an inspection, Beatrice, and I will not let him in,” I said, keeping my voice as even and soft as I could manage.
“Clara, don’t be difficult,” Beatrice said, her fingers tapping a rapid, impatient rhythm on the screen of her phone. “The roof is already compromised, and if there is structural damage to the foundation, we need to know before the winter rains set in.”
“The foundation is perfectly fine, and my husband built this house to last,” I said, stepping forward so that I blocked the entrance to the living room. “You have no right to bring anyone here without my permission.”
Beatrice’s bright smile did not reach her eyes, and her tone lost its warmth in an instant. “We are only trying to protect your investment, Clara, but if you refuse to cooperate, the county will have to get involved.”
The man with the clipboard took a step back toward the porch, looking down at his boots. “Perhaps we should reschedule when there is a formal agreement, Mrs. Vance.”
“We will do this today,” Beatrice said, her voice rising slightly.
“No,” I said, holding her gaze until she finally looked down at her phone screen again. “You will leave now.”
She did not say another word as she turned on her heel, her heels clicking sharply against the concrete steps as she led the inspector back to her car.
By two o’clock, the rain had stopped, leaving the asphalt of the downtown strip mall dark and steaming in the brief afternoon sun. I parked my sedan two slots away from Julian’s gray work truck, my hands still cold from the drive. Julian was sitting in the driver’s seat with the door half-open, a half-eaten sandwich in his lap.
