The Woman Beside My Pool
At 6:12 on a quiet Saturday morning in Scottsdale, Arizona, I walked through the glass doors of my bedroom and stopped dead.
For a moment, I genuinely wondered whether I was still asleep.
Vivian Caldwell was standing beside my swimming pool.
Barefoot.
Wearing pale-pink silk pajamas.
And pouring gasoline into the water.
The forty-three-year-old president of our HOA held a red gasoline can in both hands.
A stream of fuel disappeared beneath the surface.
The smell reached me almost instantly.
I was wearing bright orange swim trunks. My plan had been to have coffee beside the pool before starting work.
Instead, I was staring at the woman who had spent eight months trying to control my property.
I moved quickly.
But I didn't attack her.
I grabbed the bottom of the gasoline can, forced it upright, and took it away from her.
Then I placed it safely on the stone deck, far from the firepit, outdoor kitchen, and electrical equipment.
I immediately shut down the pool circulation system.
Vivian folded her arms.
“You just interfered with an authorized HOA inspection.”
I stared at her.
“You entered my property before sunrise and poured gasoline into my pool.”
“The water was unsafe.”
“Gasoline made it safer?”
Her expression hardened.
“You refused every notice we sent.”
I glanced toward the security camera mounted beneath the roof.
Its blue indicator was glowing.
Recording.
I looked back at Vivian.
“Tell the camera which notice authorized gasoline.”
She looked up.