"And I’ve read the bylaws," Daniel replied, keeping his voice dangerously calm. "Nothing in the CC&Rs says four people can’t eat dinner in their own private backyard at four in the afternoon. Now, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Patricia’s lips pressed into a thin, white line. "You’re new here. You clearly don't understand how things work. You should learn to respect the people who keep this community running."
"I respect the rules," Daniel said, stepping forward. "I also expect people to respect my property lines."
Patricia’s eyes narrowed. She tapped a button on her phone and lifted it to her ear. Daniel assumed she was calling a security guard or an HOA board member.
He was wrong.
"Yes, I need an officer at 42 Maple Court immediately," Patricia said into the phone, her voice suddenly trembling with manufactured terror. "There are four aggressive, heavily intoxicated men gathered in the backyard. They are threatening me. I feel extremely unsafe, and I’m concerned someone is going to be severely injured."
The laughter in the yard died instantly. Javier, a seasoned city firefighter who knew exactly what happened when calls like that were made, slowly set his drink down.
"Did you seriously just call 911 because we're grilling?" Owen asked, his voice tight.
Ten excruciating minutes later, a patrol SUV screeched to a halt in front of the house. Two officers hurried up the driveway, their hands resting cautiously on their belts. When they entered the yard, Patricia immediately rushed toward them, clutching her pearls in a performance worthy of an Oscar.
The older officer listened to her frantic story for thirty seconds before turning his gaze to Daniel, who was calmly flipping a rack of ribs.