I walked around it with the technician.
We inspected cracks.
Checked the drain.
Examined the surface.
I was making notes when I heard shouting from the other side of the fence.
"What did you do?"
I looked up.
Sandra was standing beyond the fence.
"I drained the pool."
"Why?"
"Maintenance."
"You can't do that."
I laughed.
"It's my pool."
"No."
Her voice was strangely calm.
"You don't get to drain it."
I stared at her.
"Excuse me?"
"You've been letting us use it."
"That doesn't give you ownership."
She shook her head.
"You don't understand."
"I understand perfectly."
"No. You don't."
She walked away.
The technician looked at me.
"Is she serious?"
"I think so."
Three days later, the police arrived.
The Binder
Back in my backyard, Officer Harris opened the black binder.
Sandra watched him.
Officer Torres stood beside him.
I remained several feet away.
Officer Harris turned to the first page.
"Pool installation contract."
He looked at me.
"When was this installed?"
"Seven years ago."
Sandra interrupted.
"That's not relevant."
Officer Harris looked at her.
"It is if we're determining ownership."
He turned another page.
"County permit."
Another page.
"Final inspection."
Another.
"Payment receipt."
Another.
"Maintenance contract."
He looked up.
"Ms. Pemberton, you've been paying for maintenance continuously?"
"Every week."
Sandra said:
"That doesn't prove ownership."
Officer Torres asked:
"Do you have any documentation?"
Sandra hesitated.
"Yes."
"What kind?"
She looked toward her house.
"I have messages."
"Messages about what?"
"About using the pool."
Officer Torres nodded.
"That would establish permission, perhaps. Not ownership."
Sandra's face tightened.
She looked at me.
"You knew this was going to happen."
I didn't answer.
Officer Harris continued through the binder.
Then he asked:
"Do you have a property survey?"
"Yes."
I handed it to him.
He studied it.
Officer Torres leaned over.
The survey showed my property line running several feet beyond the pool.
The entire structure was clearly inside my parcel.
Officer Harris looked at Sandra.
"Do you have anything showing that you own this pool?"
Sandra's confidence finally began to crack.
"I live next door."
"That's not what I asked."
She swallowed.
"No."
"Do you have a deed?"
"No."
"Contract?"
"No."
"Permit?"
"No."
"Payment records?"
"No."
"Any written agreement transferring ownership?"
"No."
Officer Harris closed the binder.
"Then I don't see evidence that this is your property."
Sandra's face went red.
"But she let us use it."
Officer Harris nodded.
"That sounds like permission."
"She gave us access."
"Access isn't ownership."
Sandra looked at Officer Torres.
"She drained it."
Officer Torres replied:
"If she owns it, she's generally allowed to decide whether it has water in it."
Sandra stared at him.
"But it's a pool."
"Yes."
"A pool is supposed to have water."
Officer Torres almost smiled.
"Usually."
I stood silently.
I didn't want to gloat.
There was nothing satisfying about watching a neighbor unravel in front of two police officers.
Mostly, I felt tired.
Then Officer Harris asked the question that ended the dispute.
"Why did you believe you owned the pool?"
Sandra didn't answer immediately.
Finally she said:
"Because she let us use it."
Officer Harris looked at her for several seconds.
"That isn't how property ownership works."
The backyard went quiet.
Sandra looked at me.
Her expression had changed.
There was no anger now.
There was embarrassment.
But embarrassment can become anger very quickly.
She pointed at the empty pool.
"You're going to regret this."
I said:
"I don't think I will."
She turned and walked toward her house.
Officer Harris stopped me before I could go inside.
"Ms. Pemberton?"
"Yes?"