"The oil stain."
I blinked.
The oil stain had been there when I bought the house.
"I'll clean it."
She wrote something on her clipboard.
"Twenty-four hours."
"Okay."
Then she pointed at my moving truck.
"Commercial vehicles cannot remain overnight."
"It'll be gone tonight."
She wrote again.
I was beginning to suspect she enjoyed the sound of her pen.
Then Atlas jumped down from the truck.
Patty froze.
Her eyes widened.
"What is that?"
"That's Atlas."
She took a step backward.
"That's a Rottweiler."
"Yes."
"We don't allow them."
I sighed.
"He's a service animal."
She laughed.
Not a friendly laugh.
A dismissive one.
"Everyone says that."
"He's task-trained."
"I don't care."
That got my attention.
I looked at her.
"Federal law does."
Her face hardened.
"Not in Whispering Oaks."
"Actually, yes."
She pointed at Atlas.
"That animal will be removed by five o'clock."
I stared at her.
"Patty, he's my service dog."
"Five o'clock."
"And if you call animal control?"
"I will."
I stepped closer.
"Don't."
She smiled.
"We'll see."
Then she climbed back into her golf cart and drove away.
Atlas nudged my hand.
I looked down.